“Oh, no particular harm,” she said. “But I hate to be made to appear unfeeling. . . . All this sort of thing simply makes me impatient, it’s so . . . so . . . I don’t know. Men feel obliged to whoop themselves up to it, and women to simper.” She looked around at him scornfully. “What, really, Taswell! A man of your capacity! How can you expect to do any serious work?” “I can’t . . . now,” he muttered, avoiding her glance. “Why, I must be seven or eight years older than you.” “Oh!” he said painfully, sweeping away the suggestion. “Love . . . ! Bah! Excuse _me_!” The young man raised his head quickly. A dark flush was creeping up from his neck. “I’m not ashamed of loving you, if it comes to that,” he said. Elaine, with a side glance at him, modified her tone. “I’m not getting at you, Taswell. You’re an honest, generous fellow. I like you very much. You speak my lingo. . . . Much too good a fellow to be making love. I’m fed up with love. I’m sorry, but the mere mention of love brings out my worst side. Ugh! these fashionable women with their sleek lovers! There isn’t a throb of honest passion in the pack of them! I _hate_ love . . . !” He raised his sullen eyes to hers again. That was just it! his eyes said. So do I! “Once I suppose love was a splendid thing,” she swept on, “but since we’ve become so civilized or self-conscious, or whatever it is, it has turned into rather a slimy business, don’t you think? As soon as men began to dwell on their own animal instincts, and make up fine-sounding names for them—Ugh! what a nasty business . . . !” “I should like to kill him,” the young man murmured. Elaine instantly threw off her preoccupation with love, and gave him undivided attention. “Now look here, Taswell, you’re simply being carried away by an emotional tornado. Come to! Use you head, man! In order to justify your feelings, you are pretending to yourself that I’m a misunderstood and unappreciated woman cooped up here in my gilded cage, and all that rot! There is nothing in it! You’ve been in and out of the house during the last two months, and have used your eyes, I suppose. Well, I assure you, you have seen all there is to see. There is no horrid mystery. Nobody abuses me. Do I look like a woman who would submit to abuse? Should I ever be neglected, it would be because I willed it. I am happier than the run of women because I know exactly where I stand with myself!” “That is worse!” he murmured. “You are not listening to me!” she cried angrily. “. . . What is worse?” “Wasted . . . ! A woman like you . . . ! Like a fire in the night . . . !” “Oh my God!” cried Elaine. “Am I wasted because I choose to set my heart on a child, instead of a man? What a little you know!” II Wilfred raised his eyes from the typewritten sheets to ask sharply: “Are you listening Fanny?” “Why of course!” she said, looking across in surprise. “You seemed so intent on your stocking.”