"More recognition of public rights. A bad noise is a nuisance, like a bad smell. We didn't used to mind it much--but the women did. You see, what women like has to be considered now." "It always was considered!" I broke in with some heat. "The women of America were the most spoiled, pampered lot on earth; men gave up to them in all ways." "At home, perhaps, but not in public. The city and state weren't run to suit them at all." "Why should they be? Women belong at home. If they push into a man's world they ought to take the consequences." Owen stretched his long legs and looked up at the soft, brilliant blue above us. "Why do you call the world 'man's?" he asked. "It was man's; it ought to be. Woman's place is in the home. I suppose I sound like ancient history to you?" and I laughed a little shamefacedly. "We have _rather_ lost that point of view," Owen guardedly admitted. "You see----" and then he laughed. "It's no use, John; no matter how we put it to you it's a jar. The world's thought has changed--and you have got to catch up!" "Suppose I refuse? Suppose I really am unable?" "We won't suppose it for a moment," he said cheerfully. "Ideas are not nailed down. Just take out what you had and insert some new ones. Women are people--just as much as we are; that's a _fact_, my dear fellow. You'll have to accept it." "And are men allowed to be people, too?" I asked gloomily. "Why, of course! Nothing has interfered with our position as human beings; it is only our sex supremacy that we have lost." "And do you _like_ it?" I demanded. "Some men made a good deal of fuss at first--the old-fashioned kind, and all the worst varieties. But modern men aren't worried in the least over their position. . . . See here, John, you don't grasp this--women are vastly more agreeable than they used to be." I looked at him in amazement. "Fact!" he said. "Of course, we loved our own mothers and daughters and sisters, more or less, no matter how they looked or what they did; and when we were 'in love' there was no limit to the glory of 'the beloved object.' But you and I know that women were pretty unsatisfactory in the old days." I refused to admit it, but he went on calmly. "The 'wife and mother' was generally a tired, nervous, overworked creature. She soon lost her beauty and vigor, her charm and inspiration. We were forever chasing fine, handsome, highly desirable young girls, and forever reducing them to weary, worn-out women--in the name of love! The gay outsiders were always a fresh attraction--as long as we couldn't have them. . . . See here, John, can't you understand? Our old way of using women wasn't good for them--nor for us, either, by the way--but it simply spoiled the women. They were hopelessly out of the running with us in all human lines; their business was housework, and ours was world work. There was very little real companionship.