“Have you seen many such unions in your short life, Erminie?” gravely inquired Britomarte. “No, I have not; but I know that all unions should be such! As for myself, I do not think I shall ever love; but I do know that I shall never marry unless I shall be sought by one whom I can love with all my heart, and soul, and spirit; whom I can honor almost as I honor my Creator; and I can obey in word and deed, with such perfect assent of my will and understanding, that to obey his will shall be to have my own way!—one who shall be to me the life of my life, the arbiter of my fate, almost my God! Yes, that is what I feel I want, and nothing else in the universe will satisfy me! That is what every true woman wants, and nothing else in the universe will satisfy her! Oh! Britomarte—you who are woman’s champion—you greatly bewray woman when you ascribe to the coercion of coarse human laws that divine self-abnegation and devotion which is the instinct and inspiration of her own heart!” exclaimed Erminie. “The dove pecks sharply—her little beaks are keen,” said Britomarte, smiling. Then, speaking more gravely, she added: “Women might be such angels, my darling, if men were such gods; but you will find few women willing to be so devoted, and fewer men to deserve such devotion. Men do not believe in women’s voluntary self-abnegation, and hence they coerce them by what you call coarse human laws, by what I call unjust, despotic, egotistical laws. I return to my point, darling. I hope that you will never marry.” “I do not think I ever shall, since it is not likely that I shall ever meet with any one such as I have described,” said Erminie. “Oh, no, that you will not, my dear,” said Elfie; “but you will think you have met such a prodigy, and that will be all the same to you. You will some day run against some commonplace John Thompson or Tom Johnson whom you will take for a Crichton or a Bayard. You are booked for a grand passion, my dear. It is in your system and it must come out. It would kill you if it was to strike in. I pity you, poor child, for that thing don’t pay. I know all about it; I’ve been all along there!” “You, Elfrida?” exclaimed Alberta, with unusual interest, for her. “Yes, me, ‘Elfrida!’ You had better believe it!” “Tell us all about it.” “I am going to. Well, you see when pap first brought me to this school to finish my education, we stopped in the city a few days to fit me out and show me the sights. One night he took me to see an opera. Hush, girls! I never was inside of an opera house before in my life; and you better believe I was dazzled by the splendor and magnificence around me, and found quite enough to do to gape and stare at the gorgeous decorations of the house and the beautiful dresses of the ladies, until the curtain rose. Then, whip your horses! The opera was ‘Lucia di Lammermuir,’ and the part of Edgar Ravenswood was performed by Signor Adriano di Bercelloni.” At the mention of that name Britomarte became attentive.