’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. “I think she would,” she decided. But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. He was so seldom wrong. ’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. She had never heard anything so unholy. . ’ ‘She is no longer a mystery,’ Gerald said. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. She flared her upper lip, baring her canines which had extended by half an inch. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled.
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