er the time when at the call of
that same word "honour," she had thrown away, not only her peace, but
her happiness?

"Whatever your opinions may be, Miss Matoaca, I respect your honest and
loyal support of them," I said.

The embarrassment that had overwhelmed me five minutes before had
vanished utterly. At the first chance to declare myself--to contend, not
merely with a manner, but with a situation, I felt the full strength of
my manhood. The General himself could not have uttered his piquant
pleasantries in a blither tone than I did my impulsive defence of the
right of private judgment. Miss Mitty raised her eyes to mine, and Miss
Matoaca did likewise. Over me their looks clashed, and I saw at once
that it was the relentless warfare between individual temperament and
racial instinct. In spite of the obscurity of my birth, I knew that in
Miss Matoaca, at that instant, I had won a friend.

"Surely Aunt Matoaca is right to express what she thinks," said Sally,
loyally following my lead.

"No woman of our family has ever thought such things, Sally, or has ever
felt called upon to express her views in the presence of men."

"Well, I suppose, some woman has got to begin some day, and it may as
well be Aunt Matoaca."

"There is no reason why any woman should begin. Your great-grandmama did
not."

"But my great-grandmama couldn't tell when her tooth ached, and you can,
I've heard you do it. It was very disrespectful of you, dear Auntie."

"If you cannot be serious, Sally, I refuse to discuss the subject."

"But how can anybody be serious, Aunt Mitty, about a person who didn't
know when her own tooth ached?"

"Dear sister," remarked Miss Matoaca, in a voice of gentle obstinacy, "I
do not wish to be the cause of a disagreement between Sally and
yourself. Any question that was not one of principle I should gladly
give up. I know you are not much of a reader, but if you would only
glance at an article in the last _Fortnightly Review_ on the
Emancipation of Women--"

"I should have thought, sister Matoaca, that Dr. Peterson's last sermon
in St. Paul's on the feminine sphere would have been a far safer guide
for you. His text, Mr. Starr," she added, turning to me, "was, 'She
looketh well to the ways of her household.'"

"At least you can't accuse Aunt Matoaca of neglecting the ways of her
household," said Sally, merrily, "even the General rises up after dinner
and praises her mince pies. Do you like mince pies, Ben