' Cowardice, contemptible in man or
woman, she is encouraged to cultivate as a charm. Incompetence to
pack her own bag or find her own way across a square and round a
corner is deemed an attraction. Abnormal ignorance and dense
stupidity entitle her to pose as the poetical ideal. If she give a
penny to a street beggar, selecting generally the fraud, or kiss a
puppy's nose, we exhaust the language of eulogy, proclaiming her a
saint. The marvel to me is that, in spite of the folly upon which
they are fed, so many of them grow to be sensible women."
"Myself," remarked the Minor Poet, "I find much comfort in the
conviction that talk, as talk, is responsible for much less good and
much less harm in the world than we who talk are apt to imagine.
Words to grow and bear fruit must fall upon the earth of fact."
"But you hold it right to fight against folly?" demanded the
Philosopher.
"Heavens, yes!" cried the Minor Poet. "That is how one knows it is
Folly--if we can kill it. Against the Truth our arrows rattle
harmlessly."
CHAPTER VI
"But what is her reason?" demanded the Old Maid.
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