"Are you going to have many strawberries?"

"It's too soon to tell: they haven't bloomed yet. It's too soon
to tell when they _do_ bloom. Sometimes strawberries are like
women: Whole beds full of showy blossoms; but when the time comes
to be ripe and luscious, you can't find them."

"Indeed."

"'Tis true, 'tis pity."

I had always supposed that to a Southern gentleman woman was not a
berry but a rose. What does he hunt for in woman as much as bloom
and fragrance? But I don't belong to the rose-order of Southern
women myself. Sylvia does. Why did you send me that story?"

"Didn't you like it?"

"No. A woman couldn't care for a story about a man and a tigress.
Either she would feel that she was too much left out, or suspect
that she was too much put in. The same sort of story about a lion
and a woman--that would be better."

I raked in silence for a minute, and when I looked up Georgiana
was gone. I remember her saying once that children should be kept
tart; but now and then I fancy that she would like to keep even a
middle-aged man in brine. Who knows but that in the end I shall
sell my place to the Cobbs and move away?