e.

Martin: I can't doubt it. Yet that was the mischief. I could find no
logical cause for your disturbance. And an illogical world proceeds
from confusion to chaos. For want of a little logic my foot and your
swing passed out of control.

Jane: The logic had only to be asked for, and it would have been
forthcoming.

Martin: Is it too late to ask?

Jane: It is never too late to be reasonable. But why am I sitting on--
Why am I sitting here?

Martin: For the best of reasons. You are sitting where you are sitting
because the swing is so disturbed. Please teach me to be reasonable,
dear Mistress Jane. Why were you disturbed?

Jane: Very well. I was naturally greatly disturbed to learn that your
heroine hated your hero. Because it is your errand to relate
love-stories; and I cannot see the connection between love and hate.
Could two things more antagonistic conclude in union?

Martin: Yes.

Jane: What?

Martin: A button and buttonhole. For one is something and the other
nothing, and what in the very nature of things could be more
antagonistic than these?

So saying, he tore a button from his shirt and put it into her hand.
"Don't drop it," said Martin, "because I haven't another; and besides,
every button-hole prefers its own button. Yet I will never ask you to
re-unite them until my tale proves to your satisfaction that out of
antagonisms unions can spring."

"Very well," said Jane; and she took out of her pocket a neat little
housewife and put the button carefully inside it. Then she said, "The
swing is quite still now."

"But are you sure you feel better?" said Martin.

"Yes, thank you," said Jane.)

It was after this (said Martin) that the Proud Rosalind became known by
her title. It was fastened on her in derision, and when she heard it
she set her lips and thought: "What they speak in mockery shall be the
truth." And the more men sought to shame her, the prouder she bore
herself. She ceased all commerce with them from this time. So for five
years she lived in great loneliness and want.

But gradually she came to know that even this existence of friendless
want was not to be life, but a continual struggle-with-death. For she
had no resources, and was put to bitter shifts if she would live.
Hunger nosed at her door, and she had need of her pride to clothe her.
For the more she went wan and naked, the more men mocked her to see her
hold herself so high; and out of their hearts she shut that charity