Miss Falconer's slim body stiffened. "O--o--o--oh!" she gasped. "How can you say such a thing? I _never_ did!" Poor Philip--who had yet to learn the lesson that feminine indiscretions must always be accepted without comment and never again referred to without direct invitation--merely reiterated his tactless statement. "But you did," he said. "Or perhaps," he added desperately, for Peggy's eyes were almost tearful, "you were only smiling to yourself about something." To his profound astonishment this lame suggestion was accepted. Miss Falconer nodded. Her self-respect was saved. "Yes," she said; "that was it. Go on." "--And when Uncle Joseph saw you smiling--to yourself--he said that women always did that. He said they couldn't help it. It was a--a prebby--a prebby-something instinct. I can't remember the word." "Presbyterian?" suggested Miss Falconer helpfully. "Our cook is one." "Something like that. Yes, I believe it _was_ that," said Philip. He was quite sure it was not, but he was anxious not to offend again. "He said it was due to a--a Presbyterian instinct. He thinks women ought to be avoided." "Why?" asked Peggy, deeply intrigued. "He doesn't like them," explained Philip. He spoke quite apologetically. Half an hour ago he could have set forth the doctrines of Uncle Joseph as matters of fact, not of opinion. But Miss Falconer did not appear to be offended. She seemed rather pleased with Uncle Joseph. "I don't like them much myself," she announced. "Except Mother, of course. I like little girls best--and then little boys." She squeezed Philip's arm in an ingratiating manner. "But why doesn't Uncle Joseph like women? They can't do anything to _him_! They can't stop _him_ doing nice things! They can't send _him_ to bed!" concluded Miss Falconer bitterly. Evidently the memory of some despotic nurse was rankling. "Did he ever tell you why?" "Oh, yes--often." "What does he say?"