"I think it is very extraordinary," Lady Anne remarked, "that she should be willing to take a secretary who knows nothing of typewriting or shorthand. I told her how ignorant I was, but she didn't seem to mind much."
Julien sat down by the side of the sewing-machine.
"Anne," he began, "do you really think you're going to care for this sort of thing?"
"What sort of thing?" she demanded.
"Why, life on your own. You have been so independent always and a person of consequence. You know what it means to be a servant?"
"Not yet," Lady Anne admitted. "I think, though, that it is quite time
I did. I am rather looking forward to it."
Julien was a little staggered. She looked over at him and laughed scornfully.
"After all," she said, "I am not sure, Julien, whether you are a person of much understanding. You proposed to me because I happened to be the sort of girl you were looking for. My connections were excellent and my appearance, I suppose, satisfactory. You never thought of me myself, me as an independent person, in all your life. Do you believe that I am simply Lady Anne Clonarty, a reasonable puppet, a walking doll to receive some one's guests and further his social ambitions? Don't you think that I have the slightest idea of being a woman of my own? What's wrong with me, I wonder, Julien, that you should take me for something automatic?"
"You acted the part," he reminded her.
"With you, yes!" she replied scornfully. "I should like to know how much you encouraged me to be anything different. A sawdust man I used to think you. Oh, we matched all right! I am not denying that. I was what I had to be. I sometimes wonder if misfortune will not do you good."