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"
I
hate
women
who
write
!
"
I
said
vehemently
.
"
Why
?
Because
they
are
able
to
exist
independently
?
Would
you
have
them
all
the
slaves
of
man
's
lust
or
convenience
?
My
dear
Geoffrey
,
you
are
unreasonable
.
If
you
admit
that
you
are
jealous
of
this
woman
's
celebrity
and
grudge
it
to
her
,
then
I
can
understand
your
spite
,
for
jealousy
is
capable
of
murdering
a
fellow-creature
with
either
the
dagger
or
the
pen
.
"
I
was
silent
.
"
Is
the
book
such
wretched
stuff
as
you
make
it
out
to
be
?
"
he
asked
presently
.
"
I
suppose
some
people
might
admire
it
,
"
--
I
said
curtly
,
"
I
do
not
.
"
This
was
a
lie
;
and
of
course
he
knew
it
was
a
lie
.
The
work
of
Mavis
Clare
had
excited
my
most
passionate
envy
--
while
the
very
fact
that
Sibyl
Elton
had
read
her
book
before
she
had
thought
of
looking
at
mine
,
had
accentuated
the
bitterness
of
my
feelings
.
"
Well
,
"
said
Rimânez
at
last
,
smiling
as
he
finished
reading
my
onslaught
--
"
all
I
can
say
Geoffrey
,
is
that
this
will
not
touch
Mavis
Clare
in
the
least
.
You
have
overshot
the
mark
,
my
friend
!
Her
public
will
simply
cry
"
what
a
shame
!
"
and
clamour
for
her
work
more
than
ever
.
And
as
for
the
woman
herself
--
she
has
a
merry
heart
,
and
she
will
laugh
at
it
.
You
must
see
her
some
day
.
"
"
I
do
n't
want
to
see
her
,
"
I
said
.
"
Probably
not
.
But
you
will
scarcely
be
able
to
avoid
doing
so
when
you
live
at
Willowsmere
Court
.
"
