"D'you see him?"
"Do I not!" Amy was concentrated scorn. "Every evening! He comes to cheer me up; and I could kill him, I'm so bored! He's driving me mad!"
Patricia made a little sound with her tongue. Here, if ever, was the occasion for Jack to be strong, to control matters. He must be stupid—stupid! She shook her head, frowning.
"Amy, dear; it's such a pity for you to be making yourself ill like this. Couldn't you...."
"I'm gloating in it!" came Amy's shrill interruption. "I'm enjoying it. It's not often a woman comes up against the sex war as clearly as this. If it had been a man—oh, very different. They'd have stopped me. They'd have criticised me sick. They'd have had no more consideration for my feelings than for a dog's feelings. But I'm a woman—to be teased and lured and flattered and laughed at. What d'you suppose all the praise of woman is? You see us praised. Yes, and why? To keep us quiet. Like giving sweets to a baby. Praise is our comforter. It's not meant. A man's given a chance to learn that he's a fool. We're not. We're up against honeyed lies. It's cotton-wool everywhere, for us, until we're broken by it. And all the time they're laughing—sniggering at us behind our backs. They don't care. They fool us to the top of our bent. They praise our daubs and our abortions of books; and to themselves they're doubled up with laughter. That's what woman's freedom means. That's what equality of the sexes means. It means broken hearts for women. Broken hearts for bloody failures! Oh, my God, my God, my heart will break!"
vi
She began once more convulsively to sob; and Patricia, who was now herself white and shaken as the result of this tirade, was stricken with fear for her reason. These ghastly, tearing sobs were unbearable. They echoed in the lofty studio, rising, sometimes almost to the pitch of screams. For ten minutes they lasted, and then, gradually, with returns and relaxations of violence, Amy became quiet, and lay on her bed, drying her eyes. Long afterwards she began to talk in what was very nearly her ordinary voice.
"There, that's enough," she said. "I'm a fool. You're bad for me, Patricia. You make me lose my head. You look so kind and pretty, and as if you understood, which of course you don't in the least. No, if Jack was any good to me, I'd marry him at once just to get out of it. But a man who bores you is no good. I should leave him on the train somewhere, poor fool that he is. It's no good. We're all alone, Patricia. Each of us. You think you're not——"
"I know I am," swiftly corrected Patricia.
"Oho! So you're getting it, too. We all do, sooner or later; and you're the sort of pretty little fool who gets caught by her vanity. I've done it. You'll have a bad time before you're done. Yes, now I look at you I see you're a bit peaky. I suppose it's Harry Greenlees. Harry Greenlees, Good God!" Amy laughed with a strained satirical note. "Well, I warned you. I could have told you about all sorts of girls he's treated the same——"