“Then why this hysterical frenzy you saw in the mob of spectators--a frenzy like the blood lust of the Roman arena? No, no, dear man, put away your pride and prejudices. They are out of place. You are a man of the past with a singularly honest and reasoning brain, but don’t deceive yourself. The nature of man is the same today as yesterday or tomorrow. If we should listen to the sentimentalist and restore him to equality in our civilization, the world would return to war within a generation.” Was it true? I was silent, troubled, finding no conviction in my self-interrogatory. Acquilla was too clever to pursue her advantage. She rose and coming to me took my hand. “I wished to spare you all this, dear,” she said in a swift change of mood. “My only thought was to lead you gradually to a perception of why the great adventure on which we are embarked cannot now be entrusted to a divided authority.” “Answer me this, Acquilla,” I said looking at her fixedly, “am I a free agent or am I simply your prisoner, delightful as that sentence may be?” “That is a problem that is still to be decided by the Supreme Council,” she replied. “A very perplexing problem. Whether you will be interned or treated as a distinguished visitor depends on you, my dear. Now do you understand all my solicitude?” The thought that I could play upon my hold over her to add a new ally, occurred to me. I said in a conciliatory tone, though I must confess with a certain pleasant provocation: “My lovely Amazon, don’t you see that it is just because I am unlike your foolish males of today--that it is my intelligence which attracts you.” “To be truthful,” she said looking at me boldly, “it is that, and a good deal more than that.” I acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “Then to continue in a truthful mood, is it not the man of yesterday that is the true mate of the woman of today?” “I can admit all that between us two, yes--and yet I can deny it in its public application,” replied Acquilla with that annoying obstinacy of cerebral women that destroys the necessary illusion in romance. “Still--” “Oh, foolish man, are you going to spoil everything with your eternal consistency?” she added, devouring me with eyes that were awake with passion. Consistency? No, certainly not! If I had been in love with her, I should have flung consistency to the winds. But having Dianne in all my veins, I replied, adroitly: “My charming Acquilla, I shall not pretend to be more obtuse than I am. The time has come when we must understand each other. You also must understand one thing: I am what I am--a man brought up in the strictest traditions of the Dutch Reformed Church; proud of my name and my ancestry. No Bogardus has ever temporized or yielded an inch to any doctrine that would upset the sanctity of marriage--” To my astonishment Acquilla began to laugh. I cannot describe it as a complete laugh, but it was undeniably a titter.