’ The lady frowned suspiciously. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. She would never, never go back. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. ” She tried to think of some altered state of affairs in which these monstrous limitations would be alleviated, in which women would stand on their own feet in equal citizenship with men. This time she was indeed beaten. “Well?” she said. The latter took from his pocket a small note-book and pencil. . We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man.
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