"The poor young man!" she said. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. Briefly explained, she was as the child who discards the rag baby for the living one. ‘I can take care of myself, bête. The ring's yours, and you're mine. Don’t say the wretch was also following Valade.
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