a cigarette, crossed her
legs, and gave us with startling candour her views of the marriage bond.

"What can you expect, you women?" she said. "You run after the men for
their titles--they've very little else, except debts, poor things--and
what is the result? The first result is that though you have bought them
you belong to them. Yes, your husband owns his beautiful woman, just as
he owns his beautiful horse or his beautiful dog."

This was so pointed that I felt my face growing crimson, but Alma and
the other women only laughed, so the Countess went on:

"What then? Once in a blue moon each goes his and her own way without
sin. You agree to a sort of partnership for mutual advantage in which
you live together in chastity under the same roof. What a life! What an
ice-house!"

Again the other women laughed, but I felt myself blushing deeply.

"But in the majority of cases it is quite otherwise. The business
purpose served, each is open to other emotions. The man becomes
unfaithful, and the woman, if she has any spirit, pays him out tit for
tat--and why shouldn't she?"

After that I could bear no more, and before I knew what I was saying I
blurted out:

"But I find that wrong and wicked. Infidelity on the part of the man
does not justify infidelity in the woman. The prayer-book says so."

Alma burst out laughing, and the Countess smiled and continued:

"Once in a hundred years there comes a great passion--Dante and
Beatrice, Petrarch and Laura. The woman meets the right man too late.
What a tragedy! What a daily and hourly crucifixion! Unless," said the
Countess with emphasis, "she is prepared to renounce the law and reject
society and live a life of complete emancipation. But in a Catholic
country, where there is no divorce, what woman can afford to do that?
Nobody in the higher classes can--especially if she has to sacrifice her
title. So the wise woman avoids scandal, keeps her little affair with
her lover to herself, and . . . and that's marriage, my dears."

A twitter of approval, led by Alma, came from the other women, but I was
quivering with anger and I said:

"Then marriage is an hypocrisy and an imposture. If I found I loved
somebody better than my husband, I should go to him in spite of the law,
and society, and title and . . . and everything."

"Of course you would, my dear," said the Countess, smiling at me as at a
child, "but that's because you are such a sweet, simple, innocent little
Irish