But aside from all that, their expression is--" "There is no intellect in them!" cried Sarah.
"There is tenderness, gentleness, love, and truth in them," I answered, with as careless an air as I could assume.
"Yes, there may be for a man, but I insist there is no real intellect." "Well, Sarah," I answered, showing irritation despite an effort to appear indifferent, "it is my opinion that the possession of great intellectual power by a woman is the one virtue with which men, as a rule, find themselves most willing to dispense.

It gives her too great an advantage." "Yes, a soft, plump figure like Betty's, long lashes and red lips, surrounded by dimples, are apt to please a fool." "But they're good in their way, Sarah, you'll admit--excellent!" I retorted sharply, caring little if she saw that I was angry.
"And men are fools, so there! Not another word about the barmaid!" cried Sarah, dismissing the subject with a wave of her hand.
But men, too, sometimes like to have the last word, so I remarked: "The mother of the Duchess of York was a barmaid, at least, a barmistress." "Yes, but is that any reason why Frances should be kissing this one?
Doubtless your friend Betty finds men enough to do the office." "Sarah!" I cried, springing to my feet, now thoroughly angry.

"If you were a man, I'd give you the lie direct!" Sarah began to laugh and clapped her hands, saying: "I was leading you on.

I suspected you were fond of her.

Now I know it." But Sarah's remark, being so near the truth, did nothing to allay my anger, so I told her she was a fool, and went into an adjoining room, where I found Frances and Bettina luxuriating in tearful sympathy.
I walked home with Bettina, and she invited me to go to her parlor to have a cup of tea.