“What higher law is there than the loyal instinct of our own hearts?” demanded Belle, with a flash of indignation.
“My dear, the prejudices of society! Its feelings must be respected. We have to mould our lives accordingly.”
“Why? Why should we obey such a code? Why should we cringe to this bogie you call society? Why should we make ourselves slaves to one another’s shadows?”
The marchioness drew herself up and regarded her young friend with real pain.
“Miss Yorke, you quite surprise me. I am shocked to hear you use such language. Do you realize what you are saying? You called society a bogie!”
“I was wrong. It is something more.”
“It is true that its dictates sometimes appear harsh and unreasonable, but that is the same for all of us. Why should you expect to be an exception to the rule more than others?”
“Shall I tell you?” All the bitterness of her newly acquired knowledge rang out in Belle’s voice. “Because I am one of the victims of society; because it placed its brand upon me before ever I was born. Society has made me an outlaw, and therefore I owe it no allegiance, and I will give it none. You tell me that because I am a public singer I have no right to the friendship of an honorable man; that there are whispers in circulation against my name already. Let them whisper! I have done with all that. I shall not abandon my friends at society’s bidding, and I won’t give up the man I love because it tells me—I won’t do it!”
The marchioness rose, deeply shocked and grieved.
“Really, I can’t stay here—”