Well, I’ll tell you my story, and then perhaps you’ll tell me what to do.  About—­let me see—­a month ago I went with some men one evening, out of pure idleness, to a public meeting.  The men who spoke were all stupid, and roared and mouthed stuff “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” and I was thinking how I could get away and have a game of cards at the club, when suddenly a voice like music smote upon my astonished ears.  I looked up, and there on the platform stood a woman, speaking, by Jove! and doing it well, too.  I listened and looked, and should have enjoyed it if it had not disgusted me so in theory.  I must confess, barring the fact of her being there, there was nothing objectionable about her.  She was handsome, and had a magnificent voice:  she talked a hundred per cent, better than the men who preceded her; and it was well for the meeting that it was over when she stopped:  any other speaker would have made a terrible anti-climax.  The two fellows with me proposed our being introduced to her, and half from curiosity, half—­I swore to speak the truth—­half, George, from attraction (hear me out, old fellow:  she was feminine-looking and very handsome)—­I went forward and was presented.  She interested and attracted me, the more so perhaps that from the moment our eyes met I was conscious that there existed between us a strong natural affinity, latent, but capable of being developed.  I called on her the next day, and made my cousin Clara invite her to a party.  Clara, who is thoroughly unconventional, and would do anything to please me, did so without a second thought.  But imagine my distress when, as I entered the drawing-room a little late, I saw my fair Amazon standing in a doorway, not only alone, but alone in the midst of curious and scornful glances.  My courtesy was at stake, my chivalry was roused, and she looked very handsome and very like any other woman brought to bay.  She had the most charming expression, compounded of bewilderment and defiance, on her face when my eyes fell on her, and it changed to one that pleased me still better (which I won’t describe) when our eyes met.  You, you unbelieving dog, think that because she is “strong-minded” she must be repulsive and immodest.  But there is a charming inconsistency about female human nature.

But to go on with my story.  I felt quite like a champion, I assure you, for, after all, it was shabby of the women to give her the cold shoulder, and cowardly of the men to stand aloof; so I devoted myself to her, and asked Alice Wilton to be presented to her.  Miss Linton has not a particle of usage du monde, nor is she what would be called high-bred; but she is self-possessed and gentle in her manner, and makes a good enough figure in the company of ladies and gentlemen.  Here I confess my weakness.  I did think her very attractive, and I was conscious that I had a power over her which I did not forbear to exercise.  The result of this was that when we parted she had