eeting her, were known to me only
by repute.

I knew nothing of them that was not good. The lady's 'output' had not
been at all huge, and it was agreed that her 'level' was high. I had
always gathered that the chief characteristic of her work was its great
'vitality.' The book in my hand was a third edition of her latest novel,
and at the end of it were numerous press-notices, at which I glanced
for confirmation. 'Immense vitality,' yes, said one critic. 'Full,'
said another, 'of an intense vitality.' 'A book that will live,' said
a third. How on earth did he know that? I was, however, very willing
to believe in the vitality of this writer for all present purposes.
Vitality was a thing in which she herself, her talk, her glance, her
gestures, abounded. She and they had been, I remembered, rather too much
for me. The first time I met her, she said something that I lightly and
mildly disputed. On no future occasion did I stem any opinion of hers.
Not that she had been rude. Far from it. She had but in a sisterly,
brotherly way, and yet in a way that was filially eager too, asked me
to explain my point. I did my best. She was all attention. But I was
conscious that my best, under her eye, was not good. She was quick to
help me: she said for me just what I had tried to say, and proceeded to
show me just why it was wrong. I smiled the gallant smile of a man who
regards women as all the more adorable because logic is not their strong
point, bless them! She asked--not aggressively, but strenuously, as one
who dearly loves a joke--what I was smiling at. Altogether, a chastening
encounter; and my memory of it was tinged with a feeble resentment. How
she had scored! No man likes to be worsted in argument by a woman. And
I fancy that to be vanquished by a feminine writer is the kind of defeat
least of all agreeable to a man who writes. A 'sex war,' we are often
told is to be one of the features of the world's future--women
demanding the right to do men's work, and men refusing, resisting,
counter-attacking. It seems likely enough. One can believe anything
of the world's future. Yet one conceives that not all men, if this
particular evil come to pass, will stand packed shoulder to shoulder
against all women. One does not feel that the dockers will be very
bitter against such women as want to be miners, or the plumbers frown
much upon the would-be steeple-jills. I myself have never had my sense
of fitness jarred, nor a spark of anim