“Poets don’t have mistresses nowadays,” said Rose-Ann, impersonally, “at least, in Chicago. They have flirtations—and ‘affairs.’ An ‘affair’ may mean anything. Howard Morgan has been having ‘affairs’ for the last forty years. I was surprised that he didn’t have some pretty girl sitting on his lap tonight. He does it in such a fatherly way that nobody can object, not even his wife. After all, I repeat, it’s Phyllis’s concern, not mine.” “You mean that she might be agreeable to such an arrangement?” Felix asked angrily. “How do I know?” she said. “Put out the candle, will you, Felix?” “I can’t understand you!” he said. “I thought you liked her?” “I do,” she said. “At least, I’m willing to let her live her own life as she sees fit.” “I’m not,” said Felix, blindly. “No,” said Rose-Ann. “Of course you’re not. You want to save her from ‘that old scoundrel.’ But I don’t see how you can do it, Felix, except by divorcing me, and marrying her yourself. And just because you’re jealous of Howard Morgan—” “Jealous! Rose-Ann!” “—Is no reason for quarrelling with me....” “I’m not quarrelling with you, Rose-Ann. But I think you are trying to quarrel with me. You behave as though you were jealous, yourself.” The idea had seemed absurd, until he stated it; then he looked at her wonderingly. “Perhaps you are!” “Perhaps I am, Felix. But I wish you wouldn’t stalk up and down while you’re talking to me. Of course I’m jealous, Felix.” “What in the world of?” “Of Phyllis.... Oh, I know I’m not being reasonable, Felix. But I’m tired, and I’ve been scolded by my father, and made to feel like—like a wife. I suppose that’s why I’m behaving like one. And—and—damn it all, I’m going to cry.” And she did. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XXX. Fathers and Daughters 1 FELIX, astonished and perturbed, came over and petted her. “What’s the matter, darling?” he asked. “Oh, Felix,” she said, putting her head against his breast, “do you love me?” “Of course I love you! Don’t you know it?” “I suppose so. But—all this—I’ve felt separated from you. I’ve felt—I don’t know what—I suppose it was what my father said—that this was just going to be him and my mother all over again....” “He said that!” “No, that isn’t what he said. But that’s what it made me feel. Felix, we aren’t going to stop loving one another now, are we?” “Of course not. But what was it your father did say?” “Nothing—only he spoke of how many distinguished friends we had, and—I knew he meant it all satirically—and that you had the makings of a successful man in you, if they were properly brought out by an ambitious wife—meaning me. And I felt as though—as though—Felix, I don’t want to behave to you as my mother did to my father....” “What do you mean?” he asked quietly, still petting her like a child.