Very often, in New York, when I had time to saunter about, I would go up Broadway and wait until a car, well crammed with people, came along. Then I would jump on board and stand near the door. Whenever a man wanted to get out, he would say to me “Please,” or “Excuse me,” or just touch me lightly to warn me that I stood in his way. But the women! Oh, the women! why, it was simply lovely. They would just push me away with the tips of their fingers, and turn up such disgusted and haughty noses! You would have imagined it was a heap of dirty rubbish in their way.
.......
Would you have a fair illustration of the respective positions of woman in France, in England, and in America?
Go to a hotel, and watch the arrival of couples in the dining-room.
Now don’t go to the Louvre, the Grand Hotel, or the Bristol, in Paris. Don’t go to the Savoy, the Victoria, or the Metropole, in London. Don’t go to the Brunswick, in New York, because in all these hotels you will see that all behave alike. Go elsewhere and, I say, watch.
In France, you will see the couples arrive together, walk abreast toward the table assigned to them, very often arm in arm, and smiling at each other—though married.
IN FRANCE.
In England, you will see John Bull leading the way. He does not like to be seen eating in public, and thinks it very hard that he should not have the dining-room all to himself. So he enters, with his hands in his pockets, looking askance at everybody right and left. Then, meek and demure, with her eyes cast down, follows Mrs. John Bull.
