She shook her head. “Gentlemen at large don’t read hard at the Museum in August. I never understood they were much given to reading at any time of year, for that matter. No, I know you do something. You are in a profession; I can see that. You are not a doctor; you are too polite and kind-mannered for that. I thought at first that you were a journalist, but they don’t have cheque-books. Oh, tell me, please!” He laughed gaily. “Ten thousand guesses and you’d never hit it. My dear lady, I profess Culdees.” Vestalia pondered the information with gravity for a little, stealing sidelong glances to learn if this was more of his fun. “You can see how ignorant I am,” she remarked at last. “You will recognise presently that you are wasting your time with me. What _are_ Culdees? Or is it a thing? I assure you I haven’t the remotest notion.” “It is a secret,” he assured her, in tones which strove to be serious, but revealed a jocose note to her ear. She shook his arm gleefully. “As if we could have secrets on our birthday!” she cried. “Tell me instantly all about Culdees! I insist.” “But I don’t know anything about them. That is the secret--nobody knows anything about them. I draw a salary for devoting three weeks each year to explaining to a class of young men who desire to know nothing whatever about the Culdees, that if they did wish to learn about them they couldn’t possibly do it.” “Are there any more jobs like that, that you know of?” inquired the girl. “It would just suit me.” Then she spoke less flippantly. “I’m afraid you’ve already discovered how shallow and ill-informed I am. You do not think it is worth while to talk seriously with me!” He seemed much affected by her rebuke. “My dear lady----” he began, in earnest disclaimer. “No; what I mean is--” she interrupted him--pleased by his show of contrition, but even more interested in the flow of her own ideas, and the sound of her own voice, which had taken on musical intonations, and delicately-measured cadences since breakfast that were novel to her delighted hearing--“what I mean is, men do not have any real intellectual respect for women; they do not think of them in their deep-down thoughts as their mental equals; they still regard them, as their ancestors did thousands of years ago, as mere toys, playthings, creatures to pat on the cheek and talk pleasant nonsense to, when there is nothing better to do. And the worst of it is that so many women--a large majority--are contented with this, and aspire to nothing higher, and they set the rules for the rest; and hence young women who _have_ ambitions, and do desire to make themselves the equals of men, and set up high ideals of intellectual life, they--they find themselves--find themselves----”