respect as myself, Miss Rosa. None need be a slave to
conventionality unless he choose."

She made a gesture that was like twisting a chain apon her wrist.

"You know you are not sincere in saying that. I wondered, moreover,
when you were railing at the practicalities of city life, if you
were learning, like the rest of the men, to accommodate your talk to
your audience. Where is the use of your trying to disguise the truth
that all women are slaves? I used to envy you when I was in
Philadelphia, last winter, when you pleaded business engagements as
an excuse for declining invitations to dinner-parties and balls.
Now, if a woman defies popular decrees by refusing to exhibit
herself for the popular entertainment, the horrible whisper is
forthwith circulated that she has been 'disappointed,' and is hiding
her green wound in her sewing-room or oratory. 'Disappointed,'
forsooth! That is what they say of every girl who is not married to
somebody by the time she is twenty-five. It matters not whether she
cares for him or not. Having but one object in existence, there can
be but one species of disappointment. Marry she must, or be PITIED!"
with a stinging emphasis on the last word.

Tom Barksdale and Mabel were pacing the portico from end to end,
chatting with the cheerful familiarity of old friends. Catching some
of thin energetic sentence, Mabel looked over her shoulder.

"Who of us is fated to be pitied, did you say, Rosa dear?"

"Never yourself!" was the curt reply. "Rest content with that
assurance."