"I understand it's not like ours.

I can see how monotonous our quiet life must seem to you, how much more stirring yours must be.

It must be like the biological change you told me about when the second sex was introduced--a far greater movement, constant change, with new possibilities of growth." I had told her of the later biological theories of sex, and she was deeply convinced of the superior advantages of having two, the superiority of a world with men in it.
"We have done what we could alone; perhaps we have some things better in a quiet way, but you have the whole world--all the people of the different nations--all the long rich history behind you--all the wonderful new knowledge.

Oh, I just can't wait to see it!" What could I do?
I told her in so many words that we had our unsolved problems, that we had dishonesty and corruption, vice and crime, disease and insanity, prisons and hospitals; and it made no more impression on her than it would to tell a South Sea Islander about the temperature of the Arctic Circle.

She could intellectually see that it was bad to have those things; but she could not FEEL it.
We had quite easily come to accept the Herland life as normal, because it was normal--none of us make any outcry over mere health and peace and happy industry.