To believe that the girl herself transcends all lies (for Jacob was not such a fool as to believe implicitly), to wonder enviously at the unanchored life--his own seeming petted and even cloistered in comparison--to have at hand as sovereign specifics for all disorders of the soul Adonais and the plays of Shakespeare; to figure out a comradeship all spirited on her side, protective on his, yet equal on both, for women, thought Jacob, are just the same as men--innocence such as this is marvellous enough, and perhaps not so foolish after all.
For when Florinda got home that night she first washed her head; then ate chocolate creams; then opened Shelley.

True, she was horribly bored.
What on earth was it ABOUT?
She had to wager with herself that she would turn the page before she ate another.

In fact she slept.

But then her day had been a long one, Mother Stuart had thrown the tea-cosy;--there are formidable sights in the streets, and though Florinda was ignorant as an owl, and would never learn to read even her love letters correctly, still she had her feelings, liked some men better than others, and was entirely at the beck and call of life.

Whether or not she was a virgin seems a matter of no importance whatever.