Betty came up to see Frances nearly every day, and the kissing and
embracing that ensued disgusted Sarah.
"Now, if Frances were a man, I could understand it," said Sarah. "The
little barmaid must be tempting to a man, being pretty and--"
"Beautiful, Sarah!" I interrupted.
"Yes, beautiful, if you will."
"Her eyes--" I began, again interrupting Sarah.
"Oh, yes!" cried Sarah, impatiently. "Her eyes are fine enough, but their
expression comes from their color, their size, and their preposterously
long eyelashes. Black long lashes often give a radiance to the eyes which
passes for expressiveness, and I doubt not--"
"Nonsense, Sarah!" I cried, half angrily. "Bettina's eyes are expressive
in themselves. As you say, their soft dark brown is the perfection of
color, and they certainly are large. But aside from all that, their
expression is--"
"There is no intellect in them!" cried Sarah.
"There is tenderness, gentleness, love, and truth in them," I answered,
with as careless an air as I could assume.
"Yes, there may be for a man, but I insist there is no real intellect."
"Well, Sarah," I answered, showing irritation despite an effort to appear
indifferent, "it is my opinion that the possession of great intellectual
power by a woman is the one virtue with which men, as a rule, find
themselves most willing to dispense. It gives her too great an
advantage."
"Yes, a soft, plump figure like Betty's, long lashes and red lips,
surrounded by dimples, are apt to please a fool.
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