He isn't my Lover, my Knight at all. He's just the same thing
to me as women used to be to the Knights--he's something to rescue, to
deliver from bondage. And--just like those beautiful, soft women,
he's--he's a sort of seduction to me. Oh--it's horrible!"
She waited a minute tensely. Thought always came to her in flashes.
"And so are all men. They're all in bondage."
The sun seemed to have a big, fat, knowing face. One of his eyes winked
at her.
"Here am I getting myself into a chain that's going to drag at me every
time I'm fighting for him. This--this softness, this love-making and all
the thrill of it--it's going to make holes in my armour and stuff them
up with--_crepe de Chine_!"
She had seen _crepe de Chine_ yesterday for the first time; Mrs. King
was making a blouse of it. Marcella had loved its fine sheen and
delicacy. But it did not seem much use as armour.
"Here's this thing happened to wake me up, give me insight. There is the
plausibleness of it, the temptation of it. I _know_ last night taught me
things, millions of things. It promises to teach me more each time it's
repeated. And each time it's repeated I get more and more _crepe de
Chine_ patches on my armour. I get bowled over like a ninepin. How am I
to know I'll not be permanently bowled over--till I get--like--like--" A
long line of those people she had pitied for their weakness came to her.
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