She, possibly enough, thought only of herself; he could best provide for her then simple wants, best guard her from the disagreeable accidents of nomadic life.  But Nature, unseen, directing her, was thinking of the savage brood needing still more a bold protector.  Wealth now is the substitute for strength.  The rich man is the strong man.  The woman’s heart unconsciously goes out to him.”

“Do men never marry for money?” inquired the Girton Girl.  “I ask merely for information.  Maybe I have been misinformed, but I have heard of countries where the dot is considered of almost more importance than the bride.”

“The German officer,” I ventured to strike in, “is literally on sale.  Young lieutenants are most expensive, and even an elderly colonel costs a girl a hundred thousand marks.”

“You mean,” corrected the Minor Poet, “costs her father.  The Continental husband demands a dowry with his wife, and sees that he gets it.  He in his turn has to save and scrape for years to provide each of his daughters with the necessary dot.  It comes to the same thing precisely.  Your argument could only apply were woman equally with man a wealth producer.  As it is, a woman’s wealth is invariably the result of a marriage, either her own or that of some shrewd ancestress.  And as regards the heiress, the principle of sale and purchase, if I may be forgiven the employment of common terms, is still more religiously enforced.  It is not often that the heiress is given away; stolen she may be occasionally, much to the indignation of Lord Chancellors and other guardians of such property; the thief is very properly punished—­imprisoned, if need be.  If handed over legitimately, her price is strictly exacted, not always in money—­that she possesses herself, maybe in sufficiency; it enables her to bargain for other advantages no less serviceable to her children—­for title, place, position.  In the same way the Neolithic woman, herself of exceptional strength and ferocity, may have been enabled to bestow a thought upon her savage lover’s beauty, his prehistoric charm of manner; thus in other directions no less necessary assisting the development of the race.”

“I cannot argue with you,” said the Old Maid.  “I know one case.  They were both poor; it would have made no difference to her, but it did to him.  Maybe I am wrong, but it seems to me that, as you say, our instincts are given us to guide us.  I do not know.  The future is not in our hands; it does not belong to us.  Perhaps it were wiser to listen to the voices that are sent to us.”

“I remember a case, also,” said the Woman of the World.  She had risen to prepare the tea, and was standing with her back to us.  “Like the woman you speak of, she was poor, but one of the sweetest creatures I have ever known.  I cannot help thinking it would have been good for the world had she been a mother.”

“My dear lady,” cried the Minor Poet, “you help me!”