It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. She stood face to face with him, and his voice cut across her speech and made her stop abruptly. "I'm come to say good bye to you, and to assure you of my safety before I leave this place.
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