Wilfred laughed, and felt uneasy. What had she seen? Was his face thus easily to be read in the afternoon sunshine of the Avenue? He made haste to give Jessie a humorous account of the boarding-house in the country that he had discovered for himself, and could not recommend. Jessie punctuated the story with scornful little snorts of laughter, shooting glances of her bright eyes into his face, that fairly snapped with some feeling mysterious to Wilfred. Arriving before the house where she was expected, they paused at the foot of the steps. Said Wilfred, concluding his story: “Above all, avoid a high-brow boarding-house. Intellectual table-talk is no compensation for watery hash.” At that Jessie exploded. It was not a loud explosion, but it had force. “You make me sick, Wilfred! Does that reach you? I’d like to smack your grinning face . . . !” “Why . . . go ahead!” said Wilfred, astonished, but grinning still. “Don’t speak to me! Or you’ll make me say something I’ll regret! You’re a fool, do you hear? All men are fools, and you’re the greatest! Oh, I’d like to take you down a peg! I’d like to do something that would really _hurt_ you! But you’ve got no feelings! You’re just a conceited grinner! Stand there and laugh at me, do! Your mouth’s too big; why stretch it wider? Oh, you’re such a fool it’s past all bearing!” And with that, she scampered up the steps without a backward look. Wilfred walked home thoughtfully. He was not in the least angered at Jessie, for her tirade had touched no sore spot. There had been something beautiful in it; a human who could let all fly like that. Oh, Jessie was as sound as an apple! He supposed that her scorn would do him good; there was no tinge of contempt in it. But what on earth was biting her? He was obliged to reject the imputation of jealousy. She had rejoiced in showing him that he had no power over _her_. He carefully went over her words, but without obtaining any clue. Her speech had the quality of pure vituperation, which bears no relation to the thing at issue. “Fool” was simply a generic term for one who utterly disgusted you. Then a light began to break over Wilfred, and he became more thoughtful still. How strange if it should be _that_! he thought. . . . He slipped into a dream. XI When in the course of time, Frances Mary’s door was opened to Wilfred, he experienced a disagreeable let-down. She was quite unchanged; just as good-looking; just as comradely. It was an offense in his eyes now. It might as well have been Stanny or Jasper; there was no thrill in it. What a fool he had been to let himself imagine things! . . . Why was he unable to fall in love with Frances Mary? It was because there was no trace of sex-consciousness in her to arouse a like feeling in him. In other words it was her finest quality which put him off. Same old vicious circle!