And Valentine remembered how many women there are to whom the prince never comes, and who must needs die and be buried beneath that gloomy umbrage.
"O! let us have women doctors, women lawyers, women parsons, women stone-breakers--anything rather than these dependent creatures who sit in other people's houses working prie-dieu chairs and pining for freedom," he thought to himself, as he watched the pale stern face in the chill afternoon light.
"Do leave off working for a few minutes, and talk to me, Di," he said rather impatiently.

"You don't know how painful it is to a man to see a woman absorbed in some piece of needlework at the very moment when he wants all her sympathy.

I am afraid you are not quite happy.

Do confide in me, dear, as frankly as I confide in you.

Are these people kind to you?
Charlotte is, of course.