“Mere play upon words! All shame is false shame—we should be a great deal better without it. What say you, Miss Portman?—Silent, hey? Silence that speaks.”
“Miss Portman’s blushes,” said Mr. Vincent, “speak for her.”
“Against her,” said Mrs. Freke: “women blush because they understand.”
“And you would have them understand without blushing?” said Mr. Percival. “I grant you that nothing can be more different than innocence and ignorance. Female delicacy—”
“This is just the way you men spoil women,” cried Mrs. Freke, “by talking to them of the delicacy of their sex, and such stuff. This delicacy enslaves the pretty delicate dears.”
“No; it enslaves us,” said Mr. Vincent.
“I hate slavery! Vive la liberté!” cried Mrs. Freke. “I’m a champion for the Rights of Woman.”
“I am an advocate for their happiness,” said Mr. Percival, “and for their delicacy, as I think it conduces to their happiness.”
“I’m an enemy to their delicacy, as I am sure it conduces to their misery.”
“You speak from experience?” said Mr. Percival.