“You seem to be accusing me of self-righteousness when you speak of other people being understanding. I’m not self-righteous--really I’m not, Desire--I do wish you’d believe that. Can’t you see why I’m not so lenient as some of your friends? It’s because I’m so anxious to protect you. If people are too lenient, it’s usually because they don’t want to be criticized themselves. But when a man’s in love with a girl, he doesn’t like to see her doing things that he might encourage her to do if he didn’t respect her and if they were only out for a good time together.” She had frowned while he was speaking. When he ended, she lifted her gray eyes. “I do understand. I think I understand much more than you’ve said. But please don’t judge me--that’s what I’m afraid of. I know I’m all wrong--wrong and stupid in so many directions.--I’ve only found out how wrong,” her voice dropped, “since I’ve known you.” He felt like weeping. He had judged her; in spite of his resolutions to let his love be blind, he had been judging her. Every time he had judged her, her intuition had warned her. And there she sat abasing herself that she might treat him with kindness. He became passionate in her defense. “You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t have anything, not a single thing in your life altered--nothing, Desire, from--from the very first. You’re the dearest, sweetest----” She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the mirror. He caught sight of his strained expression, and remembered they were in public. While he recovered himself, she did the talking. “I’m not the dearest, sweetest anything; you don’t see straight. Some day you’ll put on your spectacles. You’ll see too much that’s bad then. That’s what Horace has done.--He sailed for England this morning.” “What’s that? D’you mean he’s broken with----” She nodded. “Too bad, isn’t it? She didn’t much want him to come to America, but she’s fearfully cut up now he’s left She was counting on having such good times with him at Christmas. He didn’t explain anything; he just went. And----” She made a pyramid of her hands over which she watched him. “D’you know, she owns up now that some day she might have married him.” “But she never told him?” Desire looked away. “A girl never tells a man that till the last moment. He got huffy because she was cross with him for taking her to the country. He didn’t know that when a woman dares to be angry with a man, it’s quite often a sign that she’s in love with him.” “Is it?” He asked the question eagerly. Desire had been cross; this might be the key to her conduct. She caught his meaning and smiled mysteriously. “Yes--quite often.” Then, speaking slowly, “I guess most misunderstandings happen between men and women because they’re not honest with each other.” The tension broke. “Fancy calling you a man and me a woman,” she laughed. She bent forward across the table. “We both ought to be spanked--you most especially.” “Why me especially?”