Bertram D. Snooper, a poor but ambitious and talented young lawyer, had
just lost his first suit. He had dared to aspire to the hand of Gladys
Vavasour-Smith, the beautiful and talented daughter of one of the oldest
and proudest families in the county. The bluest blood flowed in her
veins. Her grandfather had sawed wood for the Hornsbys and an aunt on
her mother's side had married a man who had been kicked by General Lee's
mule.
The lines about Bertram D. Snooper's hands and mouth were drawn tighter
as he paced to and fro, waiting for a reply to the question he intended
to ask Gladys as soon as he thought of one.
At last an idea occurred to him.
"Why will you not marry me?" he asked in an inaudible tone.
"Because," said Gladys firmly, speaking easily with great difficulty,
"the progression and enlightenment that the woman of to-day possesses
demand that the man shall bring to the marriage altar a heart and body
as free from the debasing and hereditary iniquities that now no longer
exist except in the chimerical imagination of enslaved custom.
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