‘Age has its advantages,’ said Lady Kirkdale. ‘Besides, as Edgar Allen Poe says, “What man truly loves in woman is her womanhood.”’ ‘That’s so true, dear mamma; a womanly woman can do anything she likes with a man, the other sort sets his teeth on edge at once.’ ‘A womanly woman indeed,’ broke out Geraldine; ‘it is only within the last few years women have dared show their womanhood. At last they are permitted to possess a small quota of human nature; they may be something more than waxen masks of doll-like acquiescence without disgracing themselves in the eyes of the world.’ ‘My dear Geraldine, don’t be so disgustingly Ibsenish.’ ‘You make me perfectly wild, Maisy. Do you suppose all these questions haven’t been working in everybody’s mind for the last fifty years. You may be pretty sure they have, if _we_ have come to hear of them. I consider the whole machinery of society to be especially contrived to keep an influential set of people sufficiently ignorant to effectually counter-balance the work of men and women of genius, who see clearly enough what the next stage of progress will be; and the mob would follow them readily if the dead weight of authority and influence did not keep them back.’ ‘Mamma, what is becoming of her? My dear Geraldine, you’ll never get married if you go on like this. You’ll have to take to lecturing on temperance or something, like poor Emily.’ ‘I hate marriage; I think it’s a degrading bargain, which can only be carried out by unlimited lying on both sides.’ ‘Really, mamma; why don’t you speak to her?’ ‘Because I can’t deny the truth of what she says.’ ‘But--look at Robert and me!’ ‘Yes, look at you, that’s just what I mean----’ ‘Geraldine, my dear, my dear, hush!’ cried Lady Kirkdale. ‘You mustn’t talk like this, you distress Maisy. And after all, you needn’t be so bitter about it. God knows, if you prefer not to marry, I am not the woman to wish to force you to it. You’ve been upset, hadn’t you better go and lie down?’ ‘Oh no! I’m all right. One must speak sometimes, one can’t spend one’s life grinning like a Cheshire cat, and pretending one thinks everything perfect.’ ‘Well, to change this very unpleasant subject,’ said Maisy, ‘what is this Mr. George Travers like?’ ‘He is tall and slight, I should say about forty, with a careworn face and a charming smile: he can dance, ride, scull, and play billiards to perfection. There is no subject on which he is not well informed,--in fact, if he were only safely married, he would be a great acquisition to society,’ replied Lady Kirkdale. ‘And Geraldine is in love with him,’ said Maisy. ‘How dare you say such things!’ cried Geraldine. ‘When a girl, who is generally good-tempered, becomes snappish and disagreeable, you may be sure she is in love with a detrimental. The detrimental is on the spot, you are snappish. The situation is complete, my dear.’ Geraldine walked out of the room and banged the door loudly. ‘What is to be done about her, mamma?’