“Yes,” responded Dr. Loyd, with a laugh, “you are right; our luxurious tastes are centuries old; but we have advanced in other ways. Science, for instance. There have been splendid discoveries.” “Most of them infringements of old Chinese and Egyptian patents.” “Do you mean to say that we have not advanced?” demanded the other, deliberately laying down his paper. “Yes,” admitted Mr. Brande; “we have telephones, sewing-machines, bicycles, telegrams; I doubt if they have made us happier than our forefathers. Women have advanced--that is certain. A century ago they were content to live in one place, and in a condition of torpid ignorance--they were satisfied that their _métier_ was to sit at home, and cook and sew. Now, we have changed all _that_. I am reading an article by a woman,” tapping the page, “which is amazingly brilliant, lucid, and daring.” “Oh, they are _daring_ enough--fools rush in, you know.” “Meaning that we are angels! Thank you, Loyd,” rejoined Mr. Brande, with his dry little laugh. “This article is quite in your own line. The subject is heredity, the burning question of the day and hour. How pitiless it is, this heredity,” he continued, removing his _pince-nez_, and sitting well back in his chair--“the only certain and unfailing legacy! Strange how a voice, a trick, a taste, the shape of a feature, or a finger, is handed down, as well as soul-corroding vices, bodily diseases and deformities. Even animals----” “Yes, yes,” impatiently, “you are going to tell me about the puppy who points as soon as his eyes are open. I know everything that has been said. Of course we see a great deal of one side of it in our profession.” “I wish that a taste for cooking had been handed down in my wife’s family,” cried Colonel Sladen, suddenly plunging headlong into the conversation. “I tell her that she will poison me yet, and just as effectually as if she were Lucrezia Borgia.” “I’m only surprised that she has not done it long ago,” muttered a bystander. “What’s that you were saying about the advance of women, eh, Brande? It’s the greatest rot and nonsense, this scribbling and prosing about the equality of the sexes,” blustered Colonel Sladen, squaring himself on the hearthrug. “Women must be kept in their proper places--their sphere is home, the nursery and kitchen.” Cries of “Oh! oh!” from several young men, drawn to the scene by a well-known blatant bass voice. “Yes, I say”--encouraged by his audience--“that this growing independence should be nipped, and at once. Women are pushing themselves into our places--doctors, decorators, members of school boards, senior wranglers, journalists. I don’t know _what_ they will want next.” “Then I shall be happy to enlighten you,” rejoined a clear treble voice from the doorway, and there stood Miss Valpy, in her most mannish coat, Tattersall waistcoat, and sailor hat, heading a crowd of other ladies. “Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but we _want_ this room.”