She was too firmly intrenched in the established to have any sympathy with revolutionary ideas.

She had always been used to music, and she had enjoyed opera ever since she was a child, and all her world had enjoyed it, too.

Then by what right did Martin Eden emerge, as he had so recently emerged, from his rag-time and working-class songs, and pass judgment on the world's music?
She was vexed with him, and as she walked beside him she had a vague feeling of outrage.

At the best, in her most charitable frame of mind, she considered the statement of his views to be a caprice, an erratic and uncalled-for prank.

But when he took her in his arms at the door and kissed her good night in tender lover-fashion, she forgot everything in the outrush of her own love to him.