“Well, you see I haven’t seen much of this sort of thing between husbands and wives, though I am satisfied it ought to exist in every marriage. I heard a woman lecture once on what she called the ‘Subjection of Women.’ She made me so angry that I wanted to answer her—mere slip of a girl that I was—but they—well, I wasn’t let. That isn’t good English, I know, but it is what I mean. The woman wanted to strike the word ‘obey’ out of the marriage service, just as if the form of a marriage ceremony had anything to do with a real marriage. As well as I could make out her meaning, she wanted every woman to enter upon wedlock with fixed bayonets, with her glove in the ring, and with a challenge upon her lips. I don’t believe in any such marriage as that. I regard it as an infamous degradation of a holy relation. It isn’t marriage at all. It is a mere bargain, like a contract for supplies or any other contract. You see, I had never seen a perfect marriage like yours and Cousin Arthur’s at that time, but I had thought about it, because I had seen the other kind. It was my idea that in a true marriage the wife would obey for love, while for love the husband would avoid commanding. I don’t think I can explain—but you understand me, Dorothy—you must understand, because it is just so with you and Cousin Arthur.” “Yes, I understand,” answered Dorothy. “Of course you do. You are never so happy as in doing whatever you think Cousin Arthur would like you to do, and he never wants you to do anything except what it pleases you to do. I reckon the whole thing may be ciphered down to this: you love Cousin Arthur, and Cousin Arthur loves you; each wants the other to be free and happy, and each acts as is most likely to produce that result. I can’t think of any better way than that.” “Neither can I,” answered Dorothy, with two glad tears glistening on her cheeks; “and I am glad that you understand. I can’t imagine anything that could be better for you than to think in that way. But tell me, Byrdie, why you are so enthusiastic in our Southern cause and in your ministry to our wounded soldiers?” “Because your cause is my cause. I haven’t any friends in the world but you and Cousin Arthur, and—your friends.” Dorothy observed that the girl paused before adding “—and your friends,” and Dorothy understood that the girl was thinking of Owen Kilgariff. To Dorothy it meant much that she avoided all mention of Kilgariff’s name.