'For a woman--what?'

'For a princess, her ancestry.'

'Ah! but I spoke of women. There, there is my ground of love for my
Professor! I meet my equals, princes, princesses, and the man, the
woman, is out of them, gone, flown! They are out of the tide of
humanity; they are walking titles, "Now," says my Professor, "that tide
is the blood of our being; the blood is the life-giver; and to be cut off
from it is to perish." Our princely houses he esteems as dead wood.
Not near so much say I: yet I hear my equals talk, and I think, "Oh! my
Professor, they testify to your wisdom." I love him because he has given
my every sense a face-forward attitude (you will complain of my
feebleness of speech) to exterior existence. There is a princely view of
life which is a true one; but it is a false one if it is the sole one.
In your Parliament your House of Commons shows us real princes, your
Throne merely titled ones. I speak what everybody knows, and you, I am
sure, are astonished to hear me.'

'I am,' said I.

'It is owing to my Professor, my mind's father and mother. They say it
is the pleasure of low-born people to feel themselves princes; mine it is
to share their natural feelings. "For a princess, her ancestry." Yes;
but for a princess who is no more than princess, her ancestors are a
bundle of faggots, and she, with her mind and heart tied fast to them,
is, at least a good half of her, dead wood. This is our opinion. May I
guess at your thoughts?'