"Ah!" she cried, "you admit that."
"My dear girl, whenever I think of it your pluck amazes me."
To my astonishment her eyes closed and her bosom heaved. Then I saw such a struggle as I do not wish ever to witness again. Pride prevented her from raising her hand to hide her face. And pride put up a superhuman fight with human weakness. Her features were distorted. One could see that soul and body were engaged in mortal combat. That spectacle was poignantly fascinating. I thrilled to see it and yet hated myself for not being able to look away. Why—who knows? But at length I could stand it no longer. I got up and shook her gently. She stiffened into marble, but did not offer to resist me.
"Peace, peace," I said. "You foolish, foolish child, you are wasting forces that were given you for quite another purpose."
Suddenly her eyes opened and looked straight in mine. "What?" she questioned, and two great tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Why do you hate your sex?" I asked. "God knows it is more valuable than mine."
"Man," she muttered—and shuddered from me—bitterly defiant.
"Woman," I retorted. "And each of us with a fateful mission to fulfil, not to fight against."
"Yours to sting, to hurt, to crush."
"And yours to foster and create a better, finer-natured breed."