“Who do you think has come for you, Bogardus?” she said softly, but with the intentness of a cat. The idea came to me that she had brought Dianne back to learn the truth in a difficult confrontation. “Not Dianne again!” I said with as much indifference as I could command. “No--not Dianne,” she replied slowly, not entirely the dupe of my manner, “nor Dulcina either. This time it is really Doctrina, the head of the University.” But all at once her antagonism vanished and leaning close to me, she said hurriedly: “She is the enemy of all males--and oh, my dear, be careful! Consider every word you say. Beware of every trap she may put you, for this afternoon you must appear before the Supreme Council. I should not warn you, I know, but I cannot help it, my beloved--” She drew back hastily as Doctrina approached. Whatever reliance, in my new Casanovian fatuity, I might have put in the strength of my newly revealed sex appeal, one glance at Doctrina rudely dispelled my illusions. She marched up the lawn like a procession of one, nodded to Acquilla and gave me the conventional embrace. But the peck on my cheeks was more like a bite than a kiss. We disliked each other intuitively, cordially and immediately. “Were you anyone of importance in your day?” she demanded, eyeing me unfavorably. “Only in the Socratic sense,” I replied humbly. “I don’t seize the allusion.” “Socrates, you may remember, claimed he was the wisest of men because he knew he knew nothing,” I replied, bowing. I thought this rather neat and disarming, but Doctrina was impermeable. There was something Prussian in the massiveness of her jowl and the lantern-like eyes that faced me down. “Well, perhaps even so we may learn something,” she said, turning to Acquilla, who was preparing to depart to the aero hospital. “You will find him not only intelligent,” said Acquilla to give me a hint, “but most appreciative of the progress we have made.” “Humph--we shall see,” replied Doctrina, turning on her heel and gesturing to me to follow. I raised my eyebrows involuntarily at this abruptness, and caught the agonized look of Acquilla fixed on me entreatingly. I nodded encouragingly and followed my new cicerone, resolved to give her no cause for complaint. After all when one belongs to a cause, discretion is as necessary as courage. “What do you know about the position of children in our civilization?” said Doctrina when we had risen. I felt as though I stood before an examining board. “I know that in the pursuit of the noblest object of human life, the liberation of the individual,” I replied from memory, “you have abolished marriage and the home!” “Well, go on,” said Doctrina in a noncommittal voice as I paused for approval. “That in order to do away with the evil of motherhood and the clash of the generations, the children are taken as soon as born and entrusted to the state.” “So far, correct,” Doctrina said rather unwillingly, “but you forget--”