nd," said Bessie. "We couldn't wear
her clothes, but she can wear ours. Why is it?"

"It's quite simple. We have been handicapped from the start because we
have been forced to compete with them on their own ground. They are
perfectly natural; they have nothing and aspire to nothing, while we are
wholly artificial--have everything and aspire to more."

"Why, to hear you, one would think that Jack was talking!" exclaimed
Bessie in genuine surprise.

"Oh! I don't pretend to agree with his views, but as regards us, he's
about right. I was never able to see ourselves as some others see us
until we came here. And I have come to the conclusion that our views of
life are about as distorted as the cracked reflection of myself in the
mirror yonder. We have unconsciously lived a life antagonistic to nature
and consequently find ourselves ridiculous in our simplest endeavors to
be natural. Of course," she added, "they would appear the same if things
were reversed and we had them on our ground.

"With us," she went on, "marriage is more a game of intrigue than love;
here it is purely one of sentiment. Aside from my intrinsic value, what
weapon have I to employ against this Indian woman? The things which
count for so much with us, fall flat here.

"Why, I'm not even in a position to make Jack jealous! If I were at
home, I would have a dozen men at my feet and as many more as I wished
to play off against him, not to mention the thousand opportunities for
neglect. In fact, all the weapons which we women are so fond of
employing against men. Whereas, here I am at the feet of my Lord
Jack--his indifference is insufferable! Oh! I'll pay him back for this!"
she cried, pale with anger.

"Men are brutes--all of them!" remarked Bessie laconically, rising to a
sitting posture on the sofa.

"I hate him--hate him!" continued Blanch in a fresh paroxysm of passion.
"To think that he of all men should have been the one chosen to show me
myself--the only one of us who was strong enough to break away! Why was
I not able to hold him? Why am I not able to come to him now? There is
something wrong somewhere. We seem to have lost our grip on things. I
can't understand it!" Just then the old, gilt French clock on the white
marble mantelpiece slowly chimed the hour of five. The sound of the
clock caused Blanch to pause. "Five o'clock," she said, calming herself.
"Don Felipe will be waiting for us in the garden."

"That's so," answered Bessie, risi