’ ‘Pah! How can it be romantic? That is silly. Lucy was surprised to hear that any party could happen on a week night, but the parents of the house in question were the rich absentee type. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. 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. She had not even endorsed it.
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