It beckons. Were we men, we should spring at the sign--the cold billow would be dared for the sake of the colder enchantress; being women, we stand safe, though not dreadless. She comprehends our unmoved gaze; she feels herself powerless; anger crosses her front; she cannot charm, but she will appal us; she rises high, and glides all revealed on the dark wave-ridge. Temptress-terror! monstrous likeness of ourselves! Are you not glad, Caroline, when at last, and with a wild shriek, she dives?"
"But, Shirley, she is not like us. We are neither temptresses, nor terrors, nor monsters."
"Some of our kind, it is said, are all three. There are men who ascribe to 'woman,' in general, such attributes."

It beckons. Were we men, we should spring into the cold billow; being women, we stand safe, though not without dread. She feels herself powerless; anger crosses her face; she cannot charm, but she will appal us; she rises high, and glides revealed on the dark wave-ridge. Temptress-terror! monstrous likeness of ourselves! Are you not glad, Caroline, when at last, with a wild shriek, she dives?"
"But, Shirley, she is not like us. We are neither temptresses, nor terrors, nor monsters."
"Some of our kind, it is said, are all three. There are men who ascribe to 'woman,' in general, such attributes."
