"You think weakness one of our prerogatives, and like us almost the better for it.

We are meekly to accept our fate, and from soft couches lift our languid eyes in pious resignation.

I won't do it; and when a powerful horse is beneath me, carrying me like the wind, I feel that his strength is mine, and that I need not succumb to feminine imbecility or helplessness in any form." "Brava, Madge!" cried Henry Muir.
"You were born a knight," added Graydon, "and have already made more and better conquests than many celebrated in prose and poetry." "Oh, no," cried Madge, lifting her eyebrows in comic distress.

"I was born a woman to my finger-tips, and never could conquer even myself.

I have an awful temper.