of the dreadful names that redden and sicken us.--The Old Testament!--
I have a French friend, a Mademoiselle Louise de Seines--you should hear
her: she is intensely French, and a Roman Catholic, everything which we
are not: but so human, so wise, and so full of the pride of her sex!
I love her. It is love. She will never marry until she meets a man who
has the respect for women, for all women. We both think we cannot
separate ourselves from our sisters. She seems to me to wither men, when
she speaks of their injustice, their snares to mislead and their cruelty
when they have succeeded. She is right, it is the--brute: there is no
other word.'

'And French and good!' Mrs. Marsett ejaculated. 'My Ned reads French
novels, and he says, their women . . . . But your mademoiselle is a
real one. If she says all that, I could kneel to her, French or not.
Does she talk much about men and women?'

'Not often: we lose our tempers. She wants women to have professions;
at present they have not much choice to avoid being penniless. Poverty,
and the sight of luxury! It seems as if we produced the situation,
to create an envious thirst, and cause the misery. Things are improving
for them; but we groan at the slowness of it.'

Mrs. Marsett now declared a belief, that women were nearly quite as bad
as men. 'I don't think I could take up with a profession. Unless to be
a singer. Ah! Do you sing?'

Nesta smiled: 'Yes, I sing.'

'How I should like to hear you! My Ned's a thorough Englishman--
gentleman, you know: he cares only for sport; Shooting, Fishing, Hunting;