He might have known as much himself, but he is an arrant popinjay, and thinks all women wish to look at his fine shape, and hear him flatter them when he is in the mood." "You would not--let him enter ?" Clorinda threw her graceful body into a chair with more light laughter.
"I would not", she answered.

"You cannot understand such ingratitude, poor Anne; you would have treated him more softly.

Sit down and talk to me, and I will show thee my furbelows myself.

All women like to chatter of their laced bodices and petticoats.

_That_ is what makes a woman." Anne was tremulous with relief and pleasure.