"Let me answer that," said Martin. "Woman in the home or out of it, is only one manifestation of our social rebirth. In a world of environment changing hourly, the individual must change hourly, too, or lose his social value. Now, the real tragedy of modern life is not that woman is changing more rapidly than man, but that in our confusion, it is the most advanced type of woman who marries the most antiquated type of man, or _vice versa_. Ages of social evolution may lie between them." "There you are, Jane; he has put our problem in a nutshell. You have married the most antiquated type of man," laughed Jerry. "What does it matter whether men do this better, and women do that better? The thing is to add to the general store of wisdom of the race; we all have to pour in our share. A hundred years from now it will look as if each contributed about equal amounts, won't it?" asked Bobs. "What about this enmity between men and women?" Jerry asked. "Men don't want us to get their jobs. They won't see the true situation, and they blame us," Bobs answered; "that makes enmity." "And women are superior, satirical, mad at us," he retorted. "But you want to marry us, in spite of it, Jerry, so nothing interferes with our 'sacred function,' as you call it," Bobs laughed. "There cannot be sex war, Paxton. That need is the very ground work of life. The mating instinct is not affected by a change of labour for either sex. Mother Nature sees to that," Martin said. "The gist of all you are saying is, that we need a new kind of marriage, a new kind of family, a new kind of parents, and a new kind of man. We've got the new kind of woman." "We've got the new man. Why, Jerry, you're one of them," said Jane. "I? Good Lord!" he exclaimed, and the discussion ended in laughter. Talk drifted far and wide, as it was wont to do with these four friends. Jane persuaded Jerry to show them his picture, and they discussed it, methods of work, kinds of inspiration, all the questions of the creative process which forever intrigue artists. It was eleven o'clock before Bobs rose to go. Jerry insisted upon walking to her studio with her, and Jane was glad of her opportunity to have a few moments alone with Martin. As the door closed on them, she turned to him. "Martin, my friend, has it been an unusually trying visit for you?" she asked gently. "Yes. My freedom has come to me, Jane." "You mean she has gone?" "Yes, poor soul, two days ago." "Martin, I am glad, glad for you both." She held her hands to him impulsively and he laid his eyes against them in silence. "Has it hurt so deeply that you cannot be glad, Martin?" "Jane, what does it mean to me now? I've borne my slavery all these years without groaning, but my freedom has come too late." "Martin, what a thing to say! Freedom can never be too late." "Can you say that to me, Jane? Jane! Don't you know how I love you--how I want you--how deeply I need you, my beloved?" "Martin!"