She had come out from behind her trenches into the arena
where high birth counts for nothing, but where victory belongs to that
wonderful natural endowment which we call talent, and before which all
powers bow when it can no longer be denied. But the unknown had also
offended the woman in her, for he had said:
"The Corinna of 1807 would have cooked dinners and rocked cradles if
she had lived after 1870. But you are no Corinna."
For the first time she had heard the voice of the enemy, the
arch-enemy, man. Cook dinners and rock cradles! They should see!
She went home. She felt so crushed that her muscles hardly obeyed her
relaxed nerves.
When she had gone a little way, she suddenly turned round and retraced
her footsteps. Supposing anybody found that paper! It would give her
away.
She returned to the spot, and breaking off a hazel switch, dragged the
paper out from where it lay and carefully smoothed it. Then she raised
a piece of turf, hid the paper underneath and rolled a stone on the
top. It was a hope that lay buried there, and also a proof--of what?
That she had committed a crime? She felt that she had. She had done a
wrong, she had shown herself naked before the other sex.
From this day on a struggle went on in her heart.
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