"Not proud in the least, I declare. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. since the beginning. 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. On that first occasion, the delay in locating the entrance to the secret passage meant that she had to wait until morning to make her search. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York….
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