Since then Ford has gone one worse. Through these white novels of Cooper runs this acid of ant-bites, the formic acid of democratic poisoning. The Effinghams feel superior. Cooper felt superior. Mrs. Cooper felt superior too. And bitten. For they were democrats. They didn't believe in kings, or lords, or masters, or real superiority of any sort. Before God, of course. In the sight of God, of course, all men were equal. This they believed. And therefore, though they _felt_ terribly superior to Mr. Dodge, yet, since they were his equals in the sight of God, they could not feel free to say to him: "Mr. Dodge, please go to the devil." They had to say: "Pleased to meet you." What a lie to tell! Democratic lies. What a dilemma! To feel so superior. To _know_ you are superior. And yet to believe that, in the sight of God, you are equal. Can't help yourself. Why couldn't they let the Lord Almighty look after the equality, since it seems to happen specifically in His sight, and stick themselves to their own superiority. Why couldn't they? Somehow, they daren't. They were Americans, idealists. How dare they balance a mere intense feeling against an IDEA and an IDEAL? Ideally--i. e., in the sight of God, Mr. Dodge was their equal. What a low opinion they held of the Almighty's faculty for discrimination. But it was so. The IDEAL of EQUALITY. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Dodge. We are equal in the sight of God, of course. But er-- Very glad to meet you. Miss Effingham. Did you say--_er?_ Well now, I think my bank balance will bear it. Poor Eve Effingham. Eve! Think of it. Eve! And birds of paradise. And apples. And Mr. Dodge. This is where apples of knowledge get you, Miss Eve. You should leave 'em alone. "Mr. Dodge, you are a hopeless and insufferable inferior." Why couldn't she say it? She felt it. And she was a heroine. Alas, she was an American heroine. She was an EDUCATED WOMAN. She KNEW all about IDEALS. She swallowed the IDEAL of EQUALITY with her first mouthful of KNOWLEDGE. Alas for her and that apple of Sodom that looked so rosy. Alas for all her knowing. Mr. Dodge (in check knickerbockers): Well, feeling a little uncomfortable below the belt, are you, Miss Effingham? Miss Effingham (with difficulty withdrawing her gaze from the INFINITE OCEAN): Good morning, Mr. Dodge. I was admiring the dark blue distance. Mr. Dodge: Say, couldn't you admire something a bit nearer. Think how easy it would have been for her to say "Go away!" or "Leave me, varlet!"--or "Hence, base-born knave!" Or just to turn her back on him. But then he would simply have marched round to the other side of her. Was she his superior, or wasn't she? Why surely, intrinsically, she _was._ Intrinsically Fenimore Cooper was the superior of the Dodges of his day. He felt it. But he felt he ought not to feel it. And he never had it out with himself.