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She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. 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. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help.
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