"You will be lonely at times, I'm afraid," said he. "But I can't provide friends or even acquaintances for you for several months--until my affairs are in better order and my sister and her husband come back from Europe." "Oh, I shan't be lonely," cried she. "I've never cared for people." "You've your books, and your music--and riding--and shopping trips to town--and the house and grounds to look after." "Yes--and my dreams," said she hopefully, her eyes suggesting the dusky star depths. "Oh--the dreams. You'll have little time for them," said he drily. "And little inclination, I imagine, as you wake up to the sense of how much there is to be learned. Dreaming is the pastime of people who haven't the intelligence or the energy to accomplish anything. If you wish to please me--and you do--don't you?" "Yes," she murmured. She forced her rebellious lips to the laconic assent. She drooped the lids over her rebellious eyes, lest he should detect her wounded feelings and her resentment. "I assumed so," said he, with a secret smile. "Well, if you wish to please me, you'll give your time to practical things--things that'll make you more interesting and make us both more comfortable. It was all very well to dream, while you had little to do and small opportunity. But now--Try to cut it out." It is painful to an American girl of any class to find that she has to earn her position as wife. The current theory, a tradition from an early and woman-revering day, is that the girl has done her share and more when she has consented to the suit of the ardent male and has intrusted her priceless charms to his exclusive keeping. According to that same theory, it is the husband who must earn his position--must continue to earn it. He is a humble creature, honored by the presence of a wonderful being, a cross between a queen and a goddess. He cannot do enough to show his gratitude. Perhaps--but only perhaps--had Norman married Josephine Burroughs, he might have assented, after a fashion, to this idea of the relations of the man and the woman. No doubt, had he remained under the spell of Dorothy's mystery and beauty, he would have felt and acted the slave he had made of himself at the outset. But in the circumstances he was looking at their prospective life together with sane eyes. And so she had, in addition to all her other reasons for heartache, a sense that she, the goddess-queen, the American woman, with the birthright of dominion over the male, was being cheated, humbled, degraded.