's child--to go on--and they will. Why should _I_ want to?"

"But it means Heaven!" I insisted. "Peace and Beauty and Comfort
and Love--with God." I had never been so eloquent on the subject of
religion. She could be horrified at Damnation, and question the justice
of Salvation, but Immortality--that was surely a noble faith.

"Why, Van," she said, holding out her hands to me. "Why Van--darling!
How splendid of you to feel it so keenly. That's what we all want, of
course--Peace and Beauty, and Comfort and Love--with God! And Progress
too, remember; Growth, always and always. That is what our religion
teaches us to want and to work for, and we do!"

"But that is HERE," I said, "only for this life on earth."

"Well? And do not you in your country, with your beautiful religion of
love and service have it here, too--for this life--on earth?"

None of us were willing to tell the women of Herland about the evils of
our own beloved land. It was all very well for us to assume them to
be necessary and essential, and to criticize--strictly among
ourselves--their all-too-perfect civilization, but when it came to
telling them about the failures and wastes of our own, we never could
bring ourselves to do it.

Moreover, we sought to avoid too much discussion, and to press the
subject of our approaching marriages.

Jeff was the determined one on this score.

"Of course they haven't any marriage ceremony or service, but we can
make it a sort of Quaker wedding, and have it in the temple--it is the
least we can do for them."

It was. There was so little, after all, that we could do for them. Here
we were, penniless guests and strangers, with no chance even to use
our strength and courage--nothing to defend them from or protect them
against.

"We can at least give them our names," Jeff insisted.

They were very sweet about it, quite willing to do whatever we asked, to
please us. As to the names, Alima, frank soul that she was, asked what
good it would do.

Terry, always irritating her, said it was a sign of possession. "You are
going to be Mrs. Nicholson," he said. "Mrs. T. O. Nicholson. That shows
everyone that you are my wife."

"What is a 'wife' exactly?" she demanded, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

"A wife is the woman who belongs to a man," he began.

But Jeff took it up eagerly: "And a husband is the man who belongs to
a woman. It is because we are monogamous, you know. And marriage is the
ceremony, civil and rel