“Why,” Felix suddenly asked in exasperation, “should we all want to be so damned modern?” “Hark to the defiant bridegroom!” said Clive. “He wishes us to understand that _his_ wife is going to love, honour, and obey him, in the good old—fashioned way. He won’t stand for any of this new-fangled nonsense. The Cave-man emerges!” Felix flushed. He had only succeeded in making a fool of himself, it seemed. Rose-Ann spoke up. “I hope it _will_ be modern,” she said. “I’m sure it won’t be like any of the marriages I’ve seen back in my home town.... Why are you so afraid of freedom and modernity, Felix?” Perhaps it was that word _afraid_, which Rose-Ann used so lightly, that stung him. “Because,” he said, “I am apparently the only one here who knows what those words mean.” He had not intended to say it—certainly he had not intended to say it in that tone of voice. It came out, raspingly, like a voice out of a music-box, a voice from a strange record that has been put in unawares. His voice was, even to his own ears, remote and metallic. Rose-Ann looked at him, startled. “What words, Felix?” she asked gently. “The words you have all been bandying about,” he replied. “Modernity. Freedom.” His voice was still hard. “Well, what _do_ they mean?” She leaned toward him. The others were silent, listening—Clive with an amused smile, Phyllis with troubled eyes. “Not what you think, I’m afraid, Rose-Ann,” Felix’s voice answered, the voice with a quiet grimness in it. Rose-Ann’s voice took up the challenge softly. “And what do _you_ think they mean, Felix?” He looked away from her, and spoke as if from a distance, slowly. “Freedom.... It’s not a nice word, not a pretty word ... to me. There is something terrible in it ... something to be afraid of....” He looked back at her. “Don’t offer me freedom, Rose-Ann.” Her voice was still soft, but infinitely cool and firm. “Why? Because you might take it? I knew that when I made the offer, Felix. I think I know what you mean. But I take back nothing.” She lifted her chin proudly. “I am not afraid of freedom.” “Bravo!” cried Clive. “Rose-Ann, I am falling in love with you myself! Why don’t you marry _me_ instead of Felix! He doesn’t appreciate you.” Curiously enough, nobody except Felix seemed to mind Clive’s clowning. Both girls laughed, and the atmosphere was suddenly cleared. “But what an odd occasion for us to choose to stage a quarrel!” said Rose-Ann, gaily. “Yes,” said Felix, now bewildered and contrite. “I must have got into my argumentative mood. I’m sorry. When I get to arguing I think of no one and nothing, except the point at issue—which is usually not of the slightest importance. It’s a bad habit you must break me of when we are married.” “You are forgiven,” said Phyllis. “Don’t forget there’s fruit salad coming,” said Rose-Ann, rising and bringing a bowl from the sideboard.