'It said, I suppose, all you had to say.'
'No, indeed. I did have much more to say. That was the third letter I wrote. Now you shall see the other two. I wrote three, and had to choose which I would send you. I fancy that yours to me was easier written than either one of mine. You had no doubts, you know. I had many doubts. I could not send them all by post, together. But you may see them all now. There is one. You may read that first. While I was writing it, I was determined that that should go.' Then she handed him the sheet of paper which contained the threat of the horsewhip.
'I am glad you did not send that,' he said.
'I meant it.'
'But you have changed your mind?'
'Is there anything in it that seems to you to be unreasonable? Speak out and tell me.'
'I am thinking of you, not of myself.'
'Think of me, then. Is there anything said there which the usage to which I have been subjected does not justify?'
'You ask me questions which I cannot answer. I do not think that under any provocation a woman should use a horsewhip.'
'It is certainly more comfortable for gentlemen,--who amuse themselves,--that women should have that opinion. But, upon my word, I don't know what to say about that. As long as there are men to fight for women, it may be well to leave the fighting to the men. But when a woman has no one to help her, is she to bear everything without turning upon those who ill-use her? Shall a woman be flayed alive because it is unfeminine in her to fight for her own skin? What is the good of being --feminine, as you call it? Have you asked yourself that? That men may be attracted, I should say. But if a woman finds that men only take advantage of her assumed weakness, shall she not throw it off? If she be treated as prey, shall she not fight as a beast of prey? Oh, no;--it is so unfeminine! I also, Paul, had thought of that. The charm of womanly weakness presented itself to my mind in a soft moment,--and then I wrote this other letter. You may as well see them all.' And so she handed him the scrap which had been written at Lowestoft, and he read that also.
He could hardly finish it, because of the tears which filled his eyes. But, having mastered its contents, he came across the room and threw himself on his knees at her feet, sobbing. 'I have not sent it, you know,' she said. 'I only show it you that you may see how my mind has been at work'