When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. He embraced her like her father once had. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. At any rate he made it very clear that night that there was an ineradicable discord in life, a jarring something that must shatter all her dreams of a way of living for women that would enable them to be free and spacious and friendly with men, and that was the passionate predisposition of men to believe that the love of women can be earned and won and controlled and compelled.
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