“I wonder what would become of you, Louis Stevenson, if you had to get by as a woman must.” She straightened her back and pinned him with a withering look. “You would hate it, I can assure you—to have to beg and scheme to get any say over how the household money is spent, to have to regard the clothes you wear as gifts and be beholden for whatever else comes to you. I think you would be a resentful person, indeed. I suspect you would make quite a stink about it.”
