"You needn't have told me," she said.
"You would prefer dishonesty?" I asked.
"You are the most hateful person I have ever met," she said.
"I'm sorry," I said.
She walked angrily to confront me, but then she looked away.
"I do not see any cabs," she said.
"No," I said.
She turned to face me.
"Was I pretty?" she asked.
"When?" I asked.
"In your imagination," she said, archly.
"Sensational," I said.
She smiled. "How was I dressed?" she asked.
"You were exhibited naked," I told her, "as women are sold."
"Oh," she said.
"If it is any comfort," I said, "your wrists were joined by a long length of chain. The auctioneer showed you off with a whip."
"With a whip?" she asked, shuddering.
"Yes," I said.
"Then I would have had to obey him, wouldn't I?" she asked.
"You did obey him," I said.
"Perfectly?" she asked.
"Perfectly," I said.
"If I had not, he would have used the whip, wouldn't he?"
"Of course," I said.
"Then it was wise of me to obey."
"I would suppose so," I said.
"I was pretty?" she asked.
"Marvelously exciting and beautiful," I said.
She blushed, and smiled. How feminine she was.
"Jason," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Would you have bought me?"
"What else was for sale?" I asked, smiling.
She struck me with sudden fury and my face stung. "Hateful monster!" she said.
She turned angrily away from me.
"I am not a slave!" she said. "I am not a slave!"
At this point I noticed that a car's headlights went on. It had been parked down the street about a block away. It had been there for some time.
"Hey!" I called, raising my arm, suddenly seeing that, as it approached, it was a cab.
The cab pulled to the curb.
"I will take you home," I said.
"It is not necessary," she said. She was angry, distressed, upset.
The driver came about and opened the back door on the right.
"I have been very rude," I said. "I'm really sorry. I did not mean to upset you."
She did not even look at the driver. "I'm not one of those females you have to patronize," she said. "I am a true woman."
She climbed angrily, distressed, into the cab. The glimpse of her ankle was exciting. I forced from my mind the thought that its lovely slimness would look well inclosed in a loop and ring.
"Please give me an opportunity to apologize," I begged. I was, myself, suddenly upset. I realzed that she might be angry, and might not see me again. I could not bear the thought of losing her in this fashion. I had admired and desired her from afar for months. Then tonight we had met, and talked. I found her irresistibly attractive. "Please let me apologize," I begged. "I was thoughtless and rude."
"Don't bother," she said.
"Please, please," I said.
"It is not necessary," she said, icily.
I was miserable. She was an intelligent woman. How offended she must have been by my foolish audacity. How scandalized she must have been by the pretensions of my boorish and foolish masculinity. Did I not care for her feelings? Did I not respect her mind? How tiresome and obnoxious she must have found my inopportune and unorthodox views. Surely there was still time to change them, to please her. I hoped that I had not ruined everything that might have been between us. Was I not strong enough to be solicitous, sweet, gentle, tender and feminine? I hoped she would still like me, that she could still permit me a chance to try to please her. I realized then, with a force I had not felt before, probably because I had not found a woman so exciting as she before, that, in this society, men must strive to please women, that they must, if they wish to relate to them, be and do exactly what the women wish and require, else the women will simply remain aloof. The women, now, were of a whole new breed, somehow magically different from all women of the past, free and independent. It was they who would set their terms, and it was the men who would, if they wished to know them, comply with their wishes. But was this not all right? Surely women have a right to demand that men comply precisely with their wishes. If the men do not do so, the women simply need have nothing to do with them. In my society it was women who called the tune, and the men who would have to dance. If the women, for some reason, wished us to be just like women then we would have to do our best to be just like women. They could decide matters, by the device of granting or withholding their favors.
"Please," I begged.
"You are despicable," she said.
"Please forgive me," I begged.
The driver went to close the door. "Wait," I said to him. I held the door open. For some reason, it seemed, he wished for me to remain outside the cab. He did not ask me if I were getting in, or accompanying the lady. It seemed he wished to be on his way, leaving me behind. I did not understand this, but I did not stop to consider it.
"Please, Miss Henderson," I said. "I know I must have truly offended you. For this I am extremely sorry." I was thinking quickly. "But it is late now, and it may be hard to find another cab. If you will not let me take you home, let me, at least, share the cab, so I can get back to my apartment without a great deal of inconvenience."
The driver reacted irritably. I did not understand this. It seemed to me in his best interest to have an extra fare.
"All right," she said, looking straight ahead, "get in."
I entered the cab. The driver shut the door, it seemed to me a bit angrily.
Miss Henderson and I sat side by side in the cab, not speaking.
The driver went around the cab. In a moment he had slipped behind the wheel.
We then gave him the addresses. Miss Henderson lived closer to the restaurant than I. Although the driver was not facing us I could tell that he reacted angrily when I gave him my address, which was farther from the restaurant. His irritation made no sense to me. What difference could it make which fare was let off first? He seemed a surly fellow, Too, he was a large man.
"I am sorry, Miss Henderson," I said.
"That's all right," she said, not looking at me.
In the top of the seat in front of us, that against which the driver's back rested, there was a long, lateral slot. In the top of the cab, interestingly, there was a similar slot. The slot was about an inch in width.
The cab pulled away from the curb and entered the traffic on 128th Street.
"I am a woman," said Miss Henderson, speaking very precisely and very quietly. "I am free. I am independent."
"Of course," I said, hastily.
"In the restaurant you held me for an instant, when you were helping me with my cape. I did not like that."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You tried to put me in your power," she said. "I will never be in a man's power."
I was silent, miserable.
"Too, you insulted me, when you wished to pay for the meal and leave the tip."
"I'm sorry, Miss Henderson," I said.
"I will never be dependent on a man for anything," she said.
"Of course not," I said.
"I am free and independent, and a person, and a true woman," she said.
"Yes, Miss Henderson," I said.
She looked at me. "Do you think I am a slave?" she asked.
"Of course not!" I said. "Of course not!"
"Do not forget it," she said.
"No, Miss Henderson," I said.
We drove on in silence.
"Do you think I might see you again, sometime?" I asked.
"No," she said. Then she looked at me, in fury. "I find you utterly contemptible," she said.
I put down my head. I was miserable. My behavior, so boorish and gross, and my foolish attitudes and opinions, so crudely expressed, so unenlightened, had ruined our possibilities for a meaningful relationship. I was miserable. I was not pleasing to her.