women of Oregon. It is a good beginning, and none can see the end."
"Sally O'Dowd isn't a free woman, and she can't get married, thank goodness!" cried Jean, as she and her sisters talked the matter over together between themselves alone.
"That's so," echoed Mary. "Sally has a husband living, and so there is no danger of our losing father."
"Let's not be too certain," cried Jean. "If you'd kept your eyes open for the last month, as I have, you wouldn't be surprised at anything. Sally's case was up on appeal when she left the States, but it has doubtless gone by default. She has the custody of her children, and that was all she asked of Sam O'Dowd."
"Then Sally is a free woman," said Marjorie.
"No woman is free when she is married," retorted Jean. "The laws of men do not recognize the individuality of a married woman. I, for instance, am Jean Ranger to-day, but if I should marry to-morrow, I'd be—"
"Nothing but a nonentity named Mrs. Ashton Ashleigh," interrupted Mary. "Women delight in surrendering their names in marriage to the man they love."
"You're right," cried Jean, her eyes blazing. "I'd surrender to-morrow if Ashton would come to claim his own. But it would be a partnership, and not a one-sided agreement."
"That's what every woman thinks when she puts her neck in the noose," laughed Marjorie; "but when the man comes along who is able to capture her heart, she is ready to make the venture."
"That's because the fundamental principle of matrimony is correct," retorted Jean.
"Dat's so, honey," said Susannah. "Women is jist like pigs. When one of 'em burns his nose in a trough o' hot mash, dey'll all hurry to 'vestigate an' git de same sperience."
