“It was splendid,” she said.  “He had no right to prevent you living your own life.  No husband has that right.”

Mrs. Earle brushed her eyes with her handkerchief.  “You musn’t think, my dear, that I’m not a believer in the home because mine has been unhappy—­because my husband didn’t or couldn’t understand.  The true home is the inspirer and nourisher of all that is best in life—­in our American life; but men must learn the new lesson.  There are many homes—­yours, I’m sure—­where the free-born American woman has encouragement and the opportunity to expand.”

“Oh, yes.  My husband lets me do as I wish.  I made him promise before I accepted him that he wouldn’t thwart me; that he’d let me live my own life.”

Selma was so appreciative of Mrs. Earle, and so energetic and suggestive in regard to the scope of the Institute, that she was presently chosen a member of the council, which was the body charged with the supervision of the fortnightly entertainments.  It occurred to her as a brilliant conception to have Littleton address the club on “Art,” and she broached the subject to him when he next returned to Benham and appeared before the church committee.  He declared that he was too busy to prepare a suitable lecture, but he yielded finally to her plea that he owed it to himself to let the women of Benham hear his views and opinions.

“They are wives and they are mothers,” said Selma sententiously.  “It was a woman’s vote, you remember, which elected you to build our church.  You owe it to Art; don’t you think so?”

A logical appeal to his conscience was never lost on Littleton.  Besides he was glad to oblige Mrs. Babcock, who seemed so earnest in her desire to improve the aesthetic taste of Benham.  Accordingly, he yielded.  The lecture was delivered a few weeks later and was a marked success, for Littleton’s earnestness of theme and manner was relieved by a graceful, sympathetic delivery.  Selma, whose social aplomb was increasing every day, glided about the rooms with a contented mien receiving felicitations and passing chocolate.  She enjoyed the distinction of being the God behind the curtain.

A few days later the knowledge that she herself was to become a mother was forced upon her attention, and was a little irksome.  Of necessity her new interests would be interrupted.  Though she did not question that she would perform maternal duties fitly and fully, they seemed to her less peculiarly adapted to her than concerns of the intellect and the spirit.  However, the possession of a little daughter was more precious to her than she had expected, and the consciousness that the tiny doll which lay upon her breast, was flesh of her flesh and bone of her bone affected her agreeably and stirred her imagination.  It should be reared, from the start, in the creed of soul independence and expansion, and she herself would find a new and sacred duty in catering to the needs of this budding intelligence.  So she reflected as she lay in bed, but the outlook was a little marred by the thought that the baby was the living image of its father—­broad-featured and burly—­not altogether desirable cast of countenance for a girl.  What a pity, when it might just as well have looked like her.