“Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. " "Ah, Jack," said Wood, shaking his head, "where there's a will there's a way. How will we get there, I’d like to know? We’ve no money. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. If he had imagined Melusine would be hampered by her petticoats, he was disappointed. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. Understand me. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley.
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