I want an equal, not a slave—­a friend, a companion, not a man drawn to me by his imagination and desiring to put me on a pedestal before marriage, that he may reverse our position afterward.  And then, too, marriage would hamper and restrict me.  I must not give up to mankind what is meant for a party.  But here I have a reflection to make, the result of my three years’ experience since I became a “strong-minded woman.”  It is always maintained that a woman who chooses the life and holds the views that I do destroys her attraction and charm for the other sex, and that no man, however clever and successful she may be, will want to marry a woman who puts her intellect into trousers instead of petticoats.  There was never a greater mistake.  I have had four offers of marriage since I “unsexed” myself (that’s the proper expression, I believe), and all from most respectable, well-to-do, worthy men; and I really think they all cared for me.  I cannot help having a certain sense of gratified vanity about this, for, in spite of my critics, I am a woman still.  I have earned a rest to-night, so I’ll stop writing and go to bed.

Nov. 16.  I feel lonely to-night.  I am not often lonely:  perhaps my little book will comfort me.  Sometimes I have said to myself that my motto was that of a star:  “Einsam bin ich, nicht allein.”  To-night it is not so.  That Mr. Lawrence who was introduced to me to-night had a striking face, but there was a sort of masculine manner about him that I don’t fancy.  Manliness I like, but he seemed to be so sure that I was not his equal; and yet he treated me with perfect respect and courtesy.  Some one whispered in my ear, “He is a great society swell.”  I have never seen anything of what is called society:  I was not born with a title to admission within its circle, and I have always been too proud to seek it; yet I confess I have a curiosity to see what it is like.  I suppose I should see the best result that the old way of looking at women can produce—­the pink-cotton system, I call it.  I don’t believe that man would ever dream of contradicting me in a question of fact, or of using his strongest logical weapons against me in a discussion:  he would only play with me mentally.  How angry the very thought makes me!  And yet he would defer to my opinion, and pay me all respect, and listen to everything I said, however silly, because I am a woman.  What a strange, inconsistent mingling of discordant ideas!  A toy and a divinity!  His manners were, however, very agreeable:  I suppose he is what is called a man of the world.  Rather a poor thing to be:  his manners are dearly bought.  He said something about his cousin Mrs. Fordyce calling on me.  Well, if she does, I shall perhaps have a glimpse at the beau monde.  I wonder if all the men in society look as high-bred as he does?  He is probably narrow-minded naturally, but he is one result of our scheme of civilization, which has its good as well as its bad points.  Dear me!  I certainly did not mean to make an analysis of Mr. Lawrence’s character.  Good-night, my little book!