old bachelor's pipe dream of a lady. One can't write modern fiction from that point of view. It's insubstantial. We realists have been demonstrating now for years that Judith O'Grady and the Colonel's lady are very much alike beneath the skin. We have destroyed the legend of the lady, and we have destroyed the legend of the gentleman. We have put them out of their misery: they don't exist any more. We're just men and women together. If you don't know Cornelia as a wife, you don't know her—you don't know her as a realist. Women are not like her—not inside. Go beneath the surface, and you'll find the Judith O'Grady in Cornelia.'"
"What nonsense!" cried Cornelia. "What perfect nonsense! Give it to me." And almost snatching the letter from my hand, she tore it into fine shreds, and tossed it showering into a wild currant bush.
