What he wanted desperately was to be alone. She stopped eating. “Do you hear!” she said “whatever you are, wherever you are! I will not be slave to the thought of any man, slave to the customs of any time. On her lapel was an ivory button, bearing the words “Votes for Women. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. “Time for my Patience,” she said.
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