"You may be all wrong," she said. "I may have to fight as well--you don't know--and somebody, you can never tell, may fight for you." Janet took the round, warm cheeks in her hands and caressed them with the long, sensitive fingers. "That'll never be," she said quietly--"never--never. I know it right away in here." She laid her hand upon her chest. "But why?" Sally repeated petulantly, as though wishing it could alter the truth. "Because I suppose I really want to do the fighting, however much I may think differently, when I see you and hear you talk, when your heart's going and there's all the meaning of it in your eyes. I've got to fight, and away inside me I want to. I suppose that's the compensation." Then Mrs. Hewson brought the key, saying words over it--an incantation of half-hearted rebuke--and following Sally with her eyes as she walked out of the kitchen. CHAPTER XIII There is Bohemianism still--there will always be Bohemianism. But the present will never wear the same air of fantasy as the past. It is the same with all things. Every circumstance take its colour from the immediate surroundings, and you cannot expect to get the same light-hearted Bohemianism in the midst of an orderly, church-going, police-conducted district. What hope is there for a troubadour nowadays with the latest regulations upon street noises? We must dispense with troubadours and get our Romance elsewhere. So everything has to suit itself to its own time--Bohemianism with the rest. One essential quality there is, however, in this Vie de Boheme that will never alter. It demands that those who live it, shall be careless of the morrow; it expects an absolute liberty of soul, let manners and conditions be what they may. You will still find that; you will always find it. Certain souls must be free and they always seek out the spots of the earth where social restrictions, social exigencies, are least of all in force. They live where life is freest; they eat their meals where it is not compulsory for them to be on their best behaviour. You cannot expect the Bohemian to be a slave, and to customs least of all. The only well-ruled line that he can follow is the customary prompting of his own instinct.