When I thought she was a burgher girl, I felt like a fussy old hen with a flock of ducks if he were alone with her.

She seemed then a bewitching little ogress slowly devouring my handsome Prince Max.

That she was fair, entrancing, and lovable beyond any woman I had ever known, only added to my anxiety.

Would Max be strong enough to hold out against her wooing?
I don't like to apply the word "wooing" to a young girl's conduct, but we all know that woman does her part in the great system of human mating when the persons most interested do the choosing; and it is right that she should.

The modesty that prevents a woman from showing her preference is the result of a false philosophy, and flies in the face of nature.