as she is presented in our literature and
drama, and you will find one expression of her character, one idea
alone of her sphere. It is a point of such interest that I would like
to linger upon it. Wherever woman enters she is a disturbing
influence; she is the centre of emotional action, it is true, but with
no recognised position in life outside of her sex; around her rage
seas of stormy passions, which sometimes she calms, sometimes lashes
into angrier foam. In a sense it may be said that she has scarcely an
individual existence; it is solely in her relation to man that her
nature is considered. If she works, or practises one of the arts, she
does this only until marriage. It does not seem to be conceived as
possible that she can follow work, as the artist must, for herself. It
is curious how far we have been misled by that giving-power of woman,
which, in part, is right and natural to her, but also, in much greater
part, has been harmfully forced upon her. The creator's need to find
expression is, I am certain, at least as strongly rooted in woman as
in man, but no plant can attain to growth unless fitting nourishment
is given to it. To ignore this leads very directly to deception. Thus
we find Mr. Wells, usually so true in his insight, keeps up an old
pretence and affirms in his latest novel, _Marriage_--

"They don't care for art or philosophy, or literature or
anything except the things that touch them directly. And the
work----? It's nothing to them. No woman ever painted for the
love of painting, sang for the sounds she made, or philosophised
for the sake of wisdom as men do."

So it is always. Without question it has been taken for granted by
those who have depicted woman that her sole occupation is an emotional
one; here alone is she justified in literature, as in life.

The fully complete woman of the future is still to be created;
assuredly she is not to be found among the women who have been
portrayed so widely for us by recent writers. These are portraits
arising out of the present confusion; as such they are interesting,
but they are quite unreal in their relation to life. They show us
women, and men too, in revolt. Often these women are really nothing
more than feminist stump-orators preaching the doctrine of an
unconsidered individualism: "Free Motherhood," "Free Love"--free
anything, in fact. These portraits are far removed, indeed, from the
perfected woman that is to be. We wan