‘I am afraid I was very cross the other night,’ said she, with a sunny smile. ‘But I thought you had treated me badly, and I am going to have my revenge to-night, and show you that I am in earnest. My greatest friend, Laura Mereweather, has most fortunately been able to come just when I invited her. Wasn’t that wonderful?’ ‘I am prepared to say that it was; but I don’t yet know why.’ ‘You know Miss Mereweather; by name, at least?’ ‘To my shame I must confess that I never even heard of her before.’ ‘What an extraordinary thing! She has a European reputation.’ ‘You astonish me! For what?’ ‘As being the most advanced female thinker, and the greatest benefactor to her sex, of her time.’ Sebastian’s face fell, as he looked round the room. ‘These very intellectual women have often nothing remarkable in their personal appearance,’ said he. ‘Would you believe that, of the several young ladies I see seated about the room, I could not say which I should suppose to be Miss Mereweather. ‘_That_,’ said Helena impressively, ‘that slight girl, all intellect, and mind, and spirit, talking to my brother--that is Laura!’ ‘Is it really?’ he said, his eyes falling upon the ethereal-looking being described by Helena. He saw a thin, nervous-looking girl--a girl with not a bad face, if it could not be called absolutely handsome. She too was dressed, like Helena, in a tightly fitting robe with undistended skirts, but her dress was black. She wore an eyeglass, looked restlessly around, and had a deep contralto voice. There was nothing alarming in her appearance; she looked, thought Sebastian, as if she would have made an excellent head-mistress of a large school, the matron of an hospital, or some authority of that description. ‘She is a woman of powerful individuality, I should say,’ he remarked. ‘Is she not? After dinner she shall talk to you.’ ‘Oh, you are very kind! I wouldn’t trouble her for the world.’ ‘It is no trouble. Nothing done for the cause would be a trouble to Laura; and then you must be enlightened. You must learn that ours is not a cause to be treated with levity. You must be punished for what you did and said the other night,’ said Helena. ‘I submit; but--I am sure you could talk just as well,’ said Sebastian, resignedly. ‘Ah, if I could!’ said Helena, gazing with admiring devotion towards her friend. ‘Is there not an immensity of power and force about her?’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Laura has several times been mistaken for a man--by persons who have heard her voice, and her remarks, without seeing her.’ ‘Has she? How excessively annoying for her!’ said Sebastian, with feeling. ‘Annoying! It pleases her, as a testimony to her power, and as a proof that there is no real disparity in the respective capacities of men and women. Of course, when it is known that books or pictures have been written or painted by women, all hope of fair and impartial criticism is over.’