ABSTRACT

Merely to buttonhole the Woman Movement for a moment and ask it a few questions is to bring down upon one’s head a cataract of abusive and irrelevant retorts, to be accused of oldfogyism, of misogyny, of disappointment in love, of wearing the scars, or the bleeding wounds, of the pecking hen. To give tentative answers to the questions, to suggest that woman has insuperable limitations, natural inferiorities is to be charged with the heinous crime of being a “mere man,” or to be dismissed with a derisive jibe as impertinent, though probably not so witty, as Max Beerbohm’s punning description of the suffragette parade as the “army of the unenjoyed.”