When he had disappeared, sitting down, she drew from her breast a slip of paper, unfolded it, and laid it on her knee.

"It is better," she said.

"It's not good poetry, of course, but it's truer, and it's not done according to a pattern like his.

Yes, it's real, real, real, and he'll never see it--never see it now, for I've fought it' all out, and I've won." Then she slowly read the verses aloud: "Yes, I've won," she said with determination.

So many of her sex have said things just as decisively, and while yet the exhilaration of their decision was inflaming them, have done what they said they would never, never, never do.