'love,' love was all that her lover proposed to give for her. Would
she not naturally exclaim: 'But where's the house, to say nothing
of the fittings? And what are we to live on'?"

"It is you now who are playing with words," asserted the Old Maid.
"The greater includes the less. Loving her, he would naturally
desire--"

"With all his worldly goods her to endow," completed for her the
Minor Poet. "In other words, he pays a price for her. So far as
love is concerned, they are quits. In marriage, the man gives
himself to the woman as the woman gives herself to the man. Man has
claimed, I am aware, greater liberty for himself; but the claim has
always been vehemently repudiated by woman. She has won her case.
Legally and morally now husband and wife are bound by the same laws.
This being so, her contention that she gives herself falls to the
ground. She exchanges herself. Over and above, she alone of the
twain claims a price."

"Say a living wage," corrected the Philosopher. "Lazy rubbish lolls
in petticoats, and idle stupidity struts in trousers. But, class
for class, woman does her share of the world's work. Among the
poor, of the two it is she who labours the longer. There is a many-
versed ballad popular in country districts. Often I have heard it
sung in shrill, piping voice at harvest supper or barn dance. The
chorus runs -


A man's work 'tis till set of sun,
But a woman's work is never done!