There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. "I'll tell you why," he said. A man as rich as you are ought to have a thousand-ton yacht. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek.
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