’ She sipped at the liquid in her glass, but her eyes remained fixed, rather unnervingly, on Gerald. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. So he resolved to try another tack. 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. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. ’ ‘Dunderhead.
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