"Oh, the bride, of course," said I. "Amaury won’t care a straw for her, and she will be worried out of her life if she does not dress to please him." "Let us hope that she will, then," answered Guy, still laughing. "It is the Damoiselle Eschine d’Ibellin, daughter of Messire de Rames. Thou dost not know her." "Dost thou?—what is she like?" "Oh, most women are like one another," said Guy—(what a falsehood!). "Except my fair Lady, and thee, little Lynette, and the Lady Clémence, thy fair mother,—a woman is a woman, and that is all." "Oh, indeed!" said I, rather indignantly. "A man is a man, I suppose, and that is all! Guy, I am astonished at thee. If Amaury had said such a thing, I should not have wondered." "Men are different, of course," answered Guy. "But a woman’s business is to look pretty and be attractive. Everybody understands that. Nobody expects a woman to be over wise or clever." "Thou hadst better be quiet, Guy, if thou dost not want thine ears boxed," said I. "If that is not a speech enough to vex any woman, I never heard one. You men are the most aggravating creatures. You seem to look upon us as a kind of pretty animal, to be kept for a pet and plaything; and if you are not too obtuse yourselves to find out that your plaything occasionally shows signs of a soul within it, you cry out, ’Look here! This toy of mine is actually exhibiting scintillations of something which really looks almost like human intellect!’ Let me tell you, Sir Count, we have as much humanity, and sense, and individuality, as yourselves; and rather more independence. Pretty phrases, and courtly reverences, and professions of servitude, may sound very well in your ears; and of those you give us plenty. Does it never occur to you that we should thank you a great deal more for a little genuine respect and consideration? We are _not_ toys; we are not pet animals; we are not pretty pictures. We are human creatures with human feelings like yourselves. We can put up with fewer compliments to our complexions, if you please, and a little more realisation of our separate consciences and intellects." "’Ha, Lusignan!’" cried Guy, looking half ashamed and half amused. "’Sainte Marguerite for Poitou!’ Upon my word, Lynette, I _have_ had a lecture. I shall not forget it in a hurry." "Yes," said I, "and thou feelest very much as if Lady Isabel’s pet monkey had opened its mouth, and uttered some wise apothegms upon the rights of apes. Not that thou hast an atom more respect for the rights of apes in general, but that thou art a little astonished and amused with that one ape in particular." Guy went off laughing: and I returned to my embroidery. Really, I never did see any thing like these men. "Nobody expects a woman to be wise," forsooth! That is, of course, no man. A woman is nobody.