There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Don’t think I can’t sympathize and understand.
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