"We are, you dear little mouse," smiled Dorothy. "We know a lot more, and to be forewarned is to be forearmed. I'm glad I didn't live when you had to faint at the sight of a mouse, or swoon when you were kissed. It would be such a waste," she added gaily. Mrs. West sighed, conscious that a new age of womanhood had dawned with which she was out of touch. "Mother," said Dorothy presently, "what made you love father?" Mrs. West looked up in surprise at her daughter, but continued to fold her napkin and place it in her ring before replying. "Because your father, Dorothy, was----" she hesitated. "My father," suggested Dorothy. Mrs. West smiled; but there was a far-away look in her eyes. "Everybody loved your father," she went on a moment later. "Yes, mother, but everybody didn't marry him," she said practically. "Noooo----" hesitated Mrs. West. "But you mean to say that everybody would have liked to marry him." "He was very wonderful," said Mrs. West, a note of sadness creeping into her voice. "But you haven't answered my question," persisted Dorothy. "Why is it that we women love men?" Mrs. West was not conscious of the quaint phrasing of her daughter's remark. "We don't love men, Dorothy," she cried, "we love a man, the right man." "But," persisted Dorothy, "why do we do it? They're not pretty and they're not very interesting," she emphasised the "very," "and only a few of them are clever. Sometimes in the Tube coming home I see a girl and a man holding hands. What is it that makes them want to hold hands?" "It's natural to fall in love," said Mrs. West gently. "But that's not falling in love," protested Dorothy scornfully. "If I fell in love with a man I shouldn't want to hold his hand in a train. I should hate him if he expected it." "It's a question of class," said Mrs. West a little primly. "Oh! mother, what an awful snob you are," cried Dorothy, jumping up and going round and giving her mother a hug. "Let's go into the drawing-room and be comfy and have a chat." When they were seated, Mrs. West in an armchair and Dorothy on a stool at her feet, the girl continued her interrogations. "Now suppose," she continued, "I were to fall in love with a man who was ugly, ill-mannered, badly dressed, with very little to say for himself. Why should I do it?" Dorothy looked challengingly up at her mother. "But you wouldn't, dear," said Mrs. West with gentle conviction. "Oh, mother, you're awfully trying you know," she cried in mock despair. "You've got to suppose that I have, or could. Why should I do it?" Mrs. West gazed at her daughter a little anxiously, then shook her head. "Now I can quite understand," went on Dorothy, half to herself, "why a man should fall in love with me. I'm pretty and bright, wear nice things, particularly underneath----" "Dorothy!" broke in Mrs. West in a tone of shocked protest.