"Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. 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. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. " "Then I wish you good night. ‘Flirting, Gerald? A new come-out for you. ‘By the by, get Trodger to send up one of our best men, will you? Someone discreet. "She in intensely impressionable and romantic, and probably she is giving the chap qualities he doesn't possess.
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