And however one might sentimentalize it，this sex business was one of the most ancient，sordid connexions and subjections.Poets who glorified it were mostly men.Women had always known there was something better，something higher.And now they knew it more definitely than ever.The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love.
The only unfortunate thing was that men lagged so far behind women in the matter.They insisted on the sex thing like dogs.
And a woman had to yield.A man was like a child with his appetites.
A woman had to yield him what he wanted，or like a child he would probably turn nasty and flounce away and spoil what was a very pleasant connexion.
But a woman could yield to a man without yielding her inner，free self.
That the poets and talkers about sex did not seem to have taken sufficiently into account.A woman could take a man without really giving herself away.
Certainly she could take him without giving herself into his power.Rather she could use this sex thing to have power over him.For she only had to hold herself back in sexual intercourse，and let him finish and expend himself without herself coming to the crisis：and then she could prolong the connexion and achieve her orgasm and her crisis while he was merely her tool.
Both sisters had had their love experience by the time the war came，and they were hurried home.Neither was ever in love with a young man unless he and she were verbally very near：that is unless they were profoundly interested，TALKING to one another.The amazing，the profound，the unbelievable thrill there was in passionately talking to some really clever young man by the hour，resuming day after day for months...this they had never realized till it happened！The paradisal promise：Thou shalt have men to talk to！--had never been uttered.It was fulfilled before they knew what a promise it was.
And if after the roused intimacy of these vivid and soul-enlightened discussions the sex thing became more or less inevitable，then let it.
It marked the end of a chapter.It had a thrill of its own too：a queer vibrating thrill inside the body，a final spasm of self-assertion，like the last word，exciting，and very like the row of asterisks that can be put to show the end of a paragraph，and a break in the theme.
When the girls came home for the summer holidays of 1913，when Hilda was twenty and Connie eighteen，their father could see plainly that they had had the love experience.
L'amour avait possépar là，as somebody puts it.
But he was a man of experience himself，and let life take its course.As for the mot a nervous invalid in the last few months of her life，she wanted her girls to be 'free'，and to 'fulfil themselves'.She herself had never been able to be altogether herself：it had been denied her.Heaven knows why，for she was a woman who had her own income and her own way.She blamed her husband.But as a matter of fact，it was some old impression of authority on her own mind or soul that she could not get rid of.It had nothing to do with Sir Malcolm，who left his nervously hostile，high-spirited wife to rule her own roost，while he went his own way.
So the girls were 'free'，and went back to Dresden，and their music，and the university and the young men.They loved their respective young men，and their respective young men loved them with all the passion of mental attraction.All the wonderful things the young men thought and expressed and wrote，they thought and expressed and wrote for the young women.Connie's young man was musical，Hilda's was technical.But they simply lived for their young women.In their minds and their mental excitements，that is.
Somewhere else they were a little rebuffed，though they did not know it.
It was obvious in them too that love had gone through them：that is，the physical experience.It is curious what a subtle but unmistakable transmutation it makes，both in the body of men and women：the woman more blooming，more subtly rounded，her young angularities softened，and her expression either anxious or triumphant：the man much quieter，more inward，the very shapes of his shoulders and his buttocks less assertive，more hesitant.
In the actual sex-thrill within the body，the sisters nearly succumbed to the strange male power.But quickly they recovered themselves，took the sex-thrill as a sensation，and remained free.Whereas the men，in gratitude to the woman for the sex experience，let their souls go out to her.And afterwards looked rather as if they had lost a shilling and found sixpence.
Connie's man could be a bit sulky，and Hilda's a bit jeering.But that is how men are！Ungrateful and never satisfied.When you don't have them they hate you because you won't；and when you do have them they hate you again，for some other reason.Or for no reason at all，except that they are discontented children，and can't be satisfied whatever they get，let a woman do what she may.
However，came the war，Hilda and Connie were rushed home again after having been home already in May，to their mother's funeral.Before Christmas of 1914both their German young men were dead：whereupon the sisters wept，and loved the young men passionately，but underneath forgot them.They didn't exist any more.