have suited me. I wonder what he has been doing with himself these last two years? distinguishing himself, I hope.
It angers me sorely sometimes when I think that neither of the men who loved me have ever done anything to lift themselves above the ruck of other men, being held back, in truth, as much by a superabundance of gold and lands as anything else.
What I should have liked, if I had my life to choose for myself, would have been to love and be loved by a moderately poor, ambitious man, who would fight his way up, step by step, taking me with him. Then when we had reached the top, we should have loved each other so much better for having borne the burden and heat of the day together. He could never have sneered at me then by saying, "You married me because I was rich."
If women who openly, shamelessly marry for money only knew the despicable, degraded wretches they look, and are! Selling their bodies for what? Sensual material enjoyments, that none but a coarse, vulgar mind would set any great store by. Soft carriages, good food, rich habits, bodily comforts, that the beasts of the field might sigh after if they knew of them. And for the heart, the soul, what? Nothing. It is the gross shell that encloses those minor considerations that is the care of this class of women. And yet, can she be always eating choice meats, drinking choice wines? Can she spend her whole time lolling in her carriage among her gauds? Does she never find a time for looking upon her husband, who in his heart despises her, knowing that his money has bought and paid for, not only her body and allegiance, but also every look and embrace she gives him?
I hold that woman who deliberately marries for money as more utterly fallen than she who leaves husband, children, and home to follow the man she loves through the world. The latter sins heinously, it is true; but is she not obeying the divine, though in this case erring, and self-sacrificing instinct of love, while the other
