He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. "How long shall I be here?" he asked.
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