"And yet there are thousands of women who exist for us in books only, Laura, Beatrice, Trojan Helen, Aspasia, the glorious Phryne, and hosts of others," I demurred.
"Yes; but they exist for us only as their historians permit them, as their biographers saw, or imagined them. Would Petrarch ever have permitted Laura to do an ungracious act, or anything which, to his masculine understanding, seemed unfeminine; and would Dante have mentioned it had Beatrice been guilty of one? A man can no more understand a woman from the reading of books than he can learn Latin or Greek from staring at the sky."
"Of that," said I, shaking my head, "of that I am not so sure."
"Then—personally—you know very little concerning women?" she inquired.
"I have always been too busy," said I. Here Charmian turned to look at me again.
"Too busy?" she repeated, as though she had not heard aright; "too busy?"
"Much too busy!" Now, when I said this, she laughed, and then she frowned, and then she laughed again.
"You would much rather make a—horseshoe than talk with a woman, perhaps?"
"Yes, I think I would."
"Oh!" said Charmian, frowning again, but this time she did not look at me.