Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. Gerald went through all the papers in front of Gosse and that woman of his, one by one. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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