She is the oracle of the house, and she rules accordingly. Perhaps her constant habit of self-reliance has made her a little dogmatic and impatient of contradiction. She has the courage of her own opinions, and the pugnacity of them. It is not wise to differ from them unless you be prepared to pummel her with logic and authority. Then you may have a chance with her in argument, but with all her strength of will and self-reliance, she is a very woman, and her reason will often be none but a woman’s reason, “I think it so, because I think it so.” She “sees life steadily,” and if she does not see it quite whole, she certainly has a good view of it, and from her coign of vantage she perceives the devious ways of women who have no vocation. Therefore, she devotes herself to art as a profession, with just the same enthusiasm as a man of fortune strives in the City to increase his banking account. She has not the stimulus of necessity, but she feels a certain triumphant satisfaction in doing what she is not obliged to do. She has artistic aspirations, why should she not pursue them with as much avidity as if her livelihood depended upon her success? Why, she argues, should a woman only take to professional work when she cannot depend upon men to work for her? And why should she be accused of taking the bread out of poorer women’s mouths because she sells pictures, when her father or husband is able and willing to give her as much as she wants? No, Miss Strongith’will realises the sordid fact that money is the chief incentive to all work, and that work is valued according to its price; therefore she claims the right for women to work for money according to their instincts, abilities, and inclinations, without exciting any more remark than a man would who worked under similar circumstances. But though Miss Strongith’will asserts woman’s right to independence and the courage of her individuality, she is none the less womanly, none the less gentle and steadfastly affectionate to those she knows intimately, and those who understand her. Would she have been more so had she been happily married, so that her own individuality had blended harmoniously with that of the man she loved, and had become greater for motherhood? That is the question. _THE SUBMISSIVE WOMAN_ I remember, when I was a little boy, a beautiful young woman and a very handsome man coming to my father’s house, and these were husband and wife. And I looked upon him with a sort of worshipful wonder, for they told me he was a brave soldier, and had fought gloriously in battles. At that period of my life my young imagination was quickened by every story of adventure, and the only books or pictures that appealed to me were those that told of battle, or of the doughty deeds of soldiers and sailors. The sword seemed to me then far mightier than the pen, which latter I regarded merely as an instrument of scholastic torture.