of a girl who does not think half so much of him as you do,
and of whom he will never think a quarter what he would of you. He is
not, probably, entirely stupid either. All he wants, very likely, is
just a hint as to where his true happiness lies: but, being a woman, you
can't give it in words; and, being Maud Elliott, you can't give it in
any other way, if you died for it. Really, Maud, the canon which
makes it a woman's duty to be purely passive in love is exasperating,
especially as it does not represent what anybody really believes, but
only what they pretend to believe. Everybody knows that unrequited love
comes as often to women as to men. Why, then, should n't they have an
equal chance to seek requital? Why have not they the same right to look
out for the happiness of their lives by all honorable means that men
have? Surely it is far more to them to marry the men they love than to
a man to marry any particular woman. It seems to me that making suitable
matches is not such an easy matter that society can afford to leave the
chief part of it to the stupider sex, giving women merely the right of
veto. To be sure, even now women who are artful enough manage to evade
the prohibition laid on their lips and make their preference known. I am
proud to say that I have a royal husband, who would never have looked
my way if I had not set out to make him do so; and if I do say it, who
should n't, I flatter myself he has a better wife than he could have
picked out without my help. There are plenty of women who can say the
same thing; but, unluckily, it is the best sort of women, girls like
you,--simple, sincere, noble, without arts of any sort,--who can't
do this. On them the etiquette that forbids women to reveal their hearts
except by subterfuge operates as a total disability. They can only
sit with folded hands, looking on, pretending not to mind, while their
husbands are run away with by others."

Maud took up the poker and carefully arranged the coals under the grate
in a heap. Then she said: "Suppose a girl did what you 've been speaking
of. I mean, suppose she really said such a thing to a man,--said that
she cared for him, or anything like that,--what do you suppose he
would think of her? Don't you fancy she would be in danger of making him
think very cheaply of her?"

"If she thought he were that kind of a man," replied Lucy, "I can't
understand her ever falling in love with him. Of course, I 'm not saying
that he wo