"You'd have hit it off better if you'd called her The Sow. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. "You've won your wager. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth. And they never talked of anything at all, never discussed, never even encouraged gossip. “Don’t we all rather humbug about the coarseness? All we women, I mean,” said she. ‘The whole town is talking. ” The man nodded. Last time I left home I felt as hard as nails. Still—you must learn for yourself.
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