I had aroused the Ishmaelite--her hand against every woman and every woman's hand against her--that survives in all her sex.
"My dear Judith," said I, "if a wicked fairy godmother had decreed that a healthy rhinoceros should be my housemate you would have extended me your sympathy.

But because Fate has inflicted on me an equally embarrassing guest in the shape of a young woman--" "My dear Marcus," interrupted Judith, "the healthy rhinoceros would know twenty times as much about women as you do." This I consider one of the silliest remarks Judith has ever made.

"Do," she continued, "tell me something coherent about this young person you call Carlotta." I told the story from beginning to end.
"But why in the world did you keep it from me ?" she asked.
"I mistrusted the sixth sense of woman," said I.
"The most elementary sense of woman or any one else would have told you that you were doing a very foolish thing." "How would you have acted ?" "I should have handed her over at once to the Turkish consulate." "Not if you had seen her eyes." Judith tossed her head.

"Men are all alike," she observed.
"On the contrary," said I, "that which characterises men as a sex is their greater variation from type than women.

It is a scientific fact.
You will find it stated by Darwin and more authoritatively still by later writers.