And how she had scoffed at his "man's view"; how indignantly she had repulsed his suggestion that there was a side to the subject that her friends the idealists were much too ideal to see.
Were they really, as Bastian Cautley put it, so engrossed in producing a new type that they had lost sight of the individual?
Was the system so far in accordance with Nature that it was careless of the single life?
Which was the only life open to most of them, poor things.
And she had blundered more grossly than the system itself.

What, after all, had she done for that innocent whom she had made her friend?
She had taken everything from her.

She had promised to keep her place for her at St.Sidwell's and was monopolising it herself.

Worse than that, she had given her a friend with one hand and snatched him from her with the other.

(If you came to think of it, it was hard that she who had so much already could have Bastian Cautley too, any day, to play with, or to keep--for her very own.