" "She? My God, the pity of it! She knows nothing of life. . You dear, dear girl. Lucy kicked her side, then her wounded leg, dislodging her. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. I do not care, but only that you will leave my affairs to me. But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life.
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