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. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. Melusine—the real Melusine—would never have made such a stupid mistake. "Good bye!" cried Jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses, "to-morrow, at the same time.
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