"Yes, I suppose so--and probably miserable."
"And rich, Peter?"
"I should have more than enough."
"Instead of being a village blacksmith--"
"With just enough, and absurdly happy and content," I added,
"which is far more desirable--at least I think so."
"Do you mean to say that you would rather--exist here, and make
horseshoes all your life, than--live, respected, and rich."
"And married to--"
"And married to the Lady Sophia?"
"Infinitely!" said I.
"Then your cousin, so far as you are concerned, is free to woo
and win her and your uncle's fortune?"
"And I wish him well of his bargain!" I nodded. "As for me,
I shall probably continue to live here, and make horseshoes
--wifeless and content."
"Is marriage so hateful to you?"
"In the abstract--no; for in my mind there exists a woman whom I
think I could love--very greatly; but, in the actual--yes,
because there is no woman in all the world that is like this
woman of my mind."
"Is she so flawlessly perfect--this imaginary woman?"
"She is one whom I would respect for her intellect."
"Yes."
"Whom I would honor for her proud virtue."
"Yes, Peter."
"Whom I would worship for her broad charity, her gentleness, and
spotless purity."
"Yes, Peter."
"And love with all my strength, for her warm, sweet womanhood--in
a word, she is the epitome of all that is true and womanly!"
"That is to say--as you understand such things, sir, and all your
knowledge of woman, and her virtues and failings, you have
learned from your books, therefore, misrepresented by history,
and distorted by romance, it is utterly false and unreal. And,
of course, this imaginary creature of yours is ethereal,
bloodless, sexless, unnatural, and quite impossible!"
Now, when she spoke thus, I laid down my pipe and stared, but,
before I could get my breath, she began again, with curling lip
and lashes that drooped disdainfully.
"I quite understand that there can be no woman worthy of Mr.
Peter Vibart--she whom he would honor with marriage must be
specially created for him! Ah! but some day a woman--a real,
live woman--will come into his life, and the touch of her hand,
the glance of her eyes, the warmth of her breath, will dispel
this poor, flaccid, misty creature of his imagination, who will
fade and fade, and vanish into nothingness. And when the real
woman has shown him how utterly false and impossible this dream
woman was--then, Mr. Peter Vibart, I hope she will laugh at you
--as I do, and turn her back upon you--as I do, and leave you
--for the very superior, very pedantic pedant that you are--and
scorn you--as I do, most of all because you are merely a
--creature!" With the word, she flung up her head and stamped
her foot at me, and turning, swept out through the open door
into the moonlight.