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. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. He did not quarrel with Rowland's profusion, for his own revenues were ample; but he did object to the large sums lavished by him in the service of a faction he was resolved not to support. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that.
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