“Perhaps because practical meat-and-drink body needs always claim the nourishment the things of your mind need--and you let the mind go hungry.” “That’s it--that’s what people do--but you won’t. I hear it in your voice--see it in your face. The things in you are too vital to be starved. You can cripple them but you can’t kill them.” “I do not know.” “You must set yourself free.” Freda smiled ruefully. “That’s what women are always talking about and what they mean is a washing machine.” “That’s no freedom--that’s just being given the run of the prison. Don’t you see that what I mean is to keep yourself free from all the petty desires--the little peeping conventions--free for the great desires and pains that will rush through you some day? You have to be strong to do that. You can put up wind breaks for emotion so easily. And you don’t want them.” “It means being very fearless.” “I have never yet met anything worth fearing except cowardice.” He stopped. They were in the middle of some sidewalk, neither of them noticed where. “Why did you kiss me last night?” “I wanted to. I’ve not been sorry,” answered Freda. “By all the rules I’ve learned I ought to be abashed, but you don’t live by rules, so why waste them on you?” Her smile was faintly tremulous. His strange, unfamiliar eyes looked into hers and rested there. “And we won’t have to spend time talking about love,” he said, half to himself, “we shan’t wear it threadbare with trying to test its fabric. It comes like the wind--like God.” Again they breasted the wind and her hand was fast in his. It was a clean, cool clasp. Freda felt oddly that she had saved her soul, that she had met an ultimate. CHAPTER XI NEWSPAPER CUTS I The State Convention was imminent. In the vast barrenness of the Auditorium rows upon rows of ticketed chairs were filling up with delegates, sectional banners waved in the various parts of the big hall, flags made the background for the speakers, chairs and table. “The machinery for creating a government is in progress,” said Margaret, “what do you think of it?” Helen shook her head. “Inadequate. When you think why they have come, how they have come, what destinies they hold in their hands. Would women do it better I wonder, Margaret?” “Women are more serious. Perhaps. Anyway we must try it. If we don’t like that machinery we’ll have to invent another kind.” “Funny male gathering. Think they all have their women--and their feeling towards their own women must influence their feeling towards all of us. Their own women to treat cruelly or kindly--or possessively.” “They’re on the last lap of their possession,” answered Margaret.