“I don’t know what to say, Lucy,” she admitted finally. “I realize that your mother is a moral idiot, and that John ought to see through her, but I know more about men and women than you do, dear, and I understand what a woman can do to a man.” “Ain’t I a woman, too?” Lucy demanded fiercely, relapsing into the language of her childhood. “Yes, dear, but you’re not the courtesan type. You’re the mother type, and you don’t understand the other. I used to think I was the cerebral type,” Miss Storms pursued musingly, smiling her gently ironical smile, “but I’m not. I’m the mother type, too, and I wish this minute that you were my child.” “So do I,” said Lucy quickly, returning the pressure of Miss Storms’ hand. “Sex is the most of life, dear. One can’t escape it any more than one can death, and the most fatal thing is to try to. Look at celibates for example. I have learned a great deal in forty years, Lucy, and I knew when I advised you to marry, that John was not great individually. But he is nature, dear, and the thing to do is to get the other woman out of the way. It frightens me to think of anything else, Lucy.” “But I want to be loved, Miss Storms.” Tears were in Lucy’s eyes again. “I want--I want----” She could not go on. “Lucy! Do you love Jim Sprague?” Miss Storms’ voice was sharper. “No!” cried Lucy vehemently. “And you do love John, don’t you?” Miss Storms almost pleaded. “I--I would if I had a chance.” Hesitating over the first words, Lucy finished determinedly. Miss Storms kissed her cheek. “The only thing is to get rid of your mother, no matter what the difficulties are,” Miss Storms resumed in a practical tone. “Oh, _why_ doesn’t that Mr. Walsh say or do something! At all events we must get her away. And then you musn’t even forgive John. You must put the past out of your mind--never give it a thought. It must disappear as if it had never existed. Make all the responsibility yours. John must never be humiliated, never know that you have suffered.” “But what about me?” Lucy reminded her indignantly. Miss Storms’ smile was rather bitter as she answered. “I know you think I am only considering the man, Lucy,” she replied. “As a rule, I do. I did in your father’s case. Women have to take the responsibility for life. Besides, the man is the potential father, and until the woman has children she worships the potential father. Afterward she worships the children. But I’m not ignoring you, dear. I am thinking of you, too. John is still the potential father, to you--of more children, I hope.” Lucy was silent as she gazed out the window. “You may think me hard on women, Lucy. Nature is hard on them. You may think there are other men--Jim Sprague, for instance--but there aren’t. The female is the type--the responsible one. They are the race. Men are their possessions. You chose John to be the father of your children--and you didn’t Jim.” Lucy was still silent.