hts would become the property of another.
Thought, emotion, love itself, must pass under the yoke! There would be
no nook or corner entirely and indisputably my own."

"I should not regard that as a hardship," said Henriette, "if I loved my
husband."

"I should consider it not only a hardship, but beyond endurance."

"But, my dear, you are impracticable."

"That is what I think domestic life is!" Hadria's quiet tone was
suddenly changed to one of scorn. "You talk of love; what has love
worthy of the name to do with this preposterous interference with the
freedom of another person? If _that_ is what love means--the craving
to possess and restrain and demand and hamper and absorb, and generally
make mincemeat of the beloved object, then preserve me from the
master-passion."

Henriette was baffled. "I don't know how to make you see this in a truer
light," she said. "There is something to my mind so beautiful in the
close union of two human beings, who pledge themselves to love and
honour one another, to face life hand in hand, to share every thought,
every hope, to renounce each his own wishes for the sake of the other."

"That sounds very elevating; in practice it breeds Mr. and Mrs. Gordon."

"Do you mean to tell me you will never marry on this account?"

"I would never marry anyone who would exact the usual submissions and
renunciations, or even desire them, which I suppose amounts almost to
saying that I shall never marry at all. What man would endure a wife who
demanded to retain her absolute freedom, as in the case of a close
friendship? The man is not born!"

"You seem to forget, dear Hadria, in objecting to place yourself under
the yoke, as you call it, that your husband would also be obliged to
resign part of _his_ independence to you. The prospect of loss of
liberty in marriage often prevents a man from marrying ("Wise man!"
ejaculated Hadria), so you see the disadvantage is not all on one side,
if so you choose to consider it."

"Good heavens! do you think that the opportunity to interfere with
another person would console me for being interfered with myself? I
don't want my share of the constraining power. I would as soon accept
the lash of a slave-driver. This moral lash is almost more odious than
the other, for its thongs are made of the affections and the domestic
'virtues,' than which there can be nothing sneakier or more detestable!"

Henriette heaved a discouraged sigh. "You are wrong, my dear