‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. Moreover, she claims that this whole enterprise of hers is purely for the purpose of marrying an Englishman. See what your misconduct has deprived you of —see what you might have been. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. Mother and Son XI. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. Stir a foot, and I strike.
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