“We progress, Christina Alberta,” said Devizes, “but it’s still generally the rule that a woman’s life is determined very largely by the character and occupations of—the leading man in the play. Have you by any chance been in love yet?”
She wanted to tell him all the truth about herself, but some things are untellable. She hesitated and blushed hotly. “Nowadays,” she said, and stopped. “I’ve some imagination. I’ve run about London. I’ve perhaps imagined things——”
His eyes were very searching for a moment but none the less kindly.
“I’ve been in love—in a kind of way,” she admitted.
He nodded with a dreadful effect of complete comprehension.
“I don’t want to run my life in relation to any man,” she extended.
“Clever girls never do. Any more than clever young men want to spend their lives adoring a goddess.”
“In any case I don’t see myself becoming a child-producing housekeeper,” she said.
“Even if you married. No. I doubt whether you are that type. But if you are going to reject that easy way—and it is an easy way, in spite of what people say—if you are going to be a citizen on your own as a man is, then you’ve got to do a man’s work, Christina Alberta. There’s to be none of the Pretty Fanny business you know.”
“Well, am I?” asked Christina Alberta.