Reader, you may think it strange that we two young women were wandering about Europe together without any male relative. The truth is that that personage so peculiarly British, and known as Mrs. Grundy, is dead. It is primarily her complete downfall in this age of emancipation, bicycles, and bloomers that makes the modern spinster’s lot in many respects an eminently attractive one. We were discussing it over our coffee on the following morning, when Ulrica, referring to our conversation on the previous night, said,-- “Formerly, girls married in order to gain their social liberty; now, they more often remain single to bring about that desirable consummation.” “Certainly,” I acquiesced. “If we are permitted by public opinion to go to college, to live alone, to travel, to have a profession, to belong to a club, to wear divided skirts,--not that I approve of them,--to give parties, to read and discuss whatsoever seems good to us, to go to theatres and even to Monte Carlo without masculine escort, then we have most of the privileges--and several others thrown in--for which the girl of twenty or thirty years ago was ready to sell herself to the first suitor who offered himself and the shelter of his name.” “I’m very glad, my dear, that at last you are becoming so very sensible,” she answered approvingly. “Until now you have been far too romantic and too old-fashioned in your ideas. I really think that I shall convert you to my views of life in time--if you don’t marry old Keppel.” “Kindly don’t mention him again,” I protested firmly. “To a certain extent I entirely agree with you regarding the emancipation of woman. A capable woman who has begun a career, and feels certain of advancement in it, is often as shy of entangling herself matrimonially as ambitious young men have ever shown themselves to be in like circumstances.” “Without doubt. The disadvantage of marriage to a woman with a profession is more obvious than to a man, and it is just the question of maternity, with all its duties and responsibilities, which is occasionally the cause of many women forswearing the privileges of the married state.” “Well, Ulrica,” I said, “speak candidly, would you marry if you had a really good offer?” “Marry? Certainly not!” she answered with a laugh, as though the idea was perfectly preposterous. “Why should I marry? I have had a host of offers, just as every woman with a little money always has. But why should I renounce my freedom? If I married, my husband would forbid this and forbid that--and you know I couldn’t live without indulging in my little pet vices of smoking and gambling.” “Wouldn’t your husband’s love fill the void?” I queried. “It would be but a poor substitute, I’m afraid. The most ardent love nowadays cools within six months, it seems, and more often even wanes with the honeymoon.” “I have really no patience with you,” I said hastily; “you are far too cynical.”