“It must be exciting to speak before a large audience,” she said. “If I were a man, I think I should like to be in politics.”
“I cannot imagine you in politics,” I answered.
She laughed.
“I said, if I were a man.”
“Are you going to the meeting?”
“Oh, yes. Father promised to take me. He has a box.”
I thought it would be pleasant to have her there.
“I'm afraid you'll find what I have to say rather dry,” I said.
“A woman can't expect to understand everything,” she answered quickly.
This remark struck me favourably. I glanced at her sideways. She was not a beauty, but she was distinctly well-formed and strong. Her face was oval, her features not quite regular,—giving them a certain charm; her colour was fresh, her eyes blue, the lighter blue one sees on Chinese ware: not a poetic comparison, but so I thought of them. She was apparently not sophisticated, as were most of the young women at home whom I knew intimately (as were the Watling twins, for example, with one of whom, Frances, I had had, by the way, rather a lively flirtation the spring before); she seemed refreshingly original, impressionable and plastic....