“I think women would be proud to hear that,” she said contemptuously. She disliked Perrin; all common natures did.
“Yes,” said Margaret. “A woman’s courage comes from a quality of soul. A man’s comes more from a faculty of body. You can’t think of the two without feeling that in the woman you have something far finer.”
“They squeal if they see a mouse,” said Stukeley.
“Yes? If you will name the highest flight of man’s courage, I will prove to you that at that point woman’s courage begins.”
“A man’s courage is often indifference,” said Perrin. “When I was nearly drowned once, I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to die. Why am I not frightened?’ I wasn’t frightened. I was only tired of swimming and swimming, with the water against me.”
“You skedaddled from that dog the other day,” said Stukeley.
“What dog was that, Mr. Stukeley?” Mrs. Prinsep asked.
“Oh,” said Stukeley, with a chuckle. “A dog that flounced out at him from one of the houses here. Good luck. To see old Pilly run. Did he get you, Pilly, or did you get up the tree in time?”
“I was in time,” said Perrin, flushing, looking very uncomfortable.
“Are you very much afraid of dogs, Mr. Perrin?” Mrs. Prinsep asked.