After all, I fancy that I shall have to apply for a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. It should be the happiest day of your life, and I would not detract from its happiness by letting you remember for a moment that there are others to whom your inevitable decision must bring some pain. Bullding is going to. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. She heard him come in; the light burned on. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. Too late now.
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