"That is the only law--if it is truly a law--that a woman must ignore. All others it is best for her to observe. And if the laws of marriage are merely man-made or divine, I do not know. There is a din in the world to-day which drowns the voices preaching old beliefs.... And a girl is deafened by the clamour.... And I don't know. "But, it seems to me, that back of the laws men have made--if there be nothing divine in their inspiration--there is another foundation solid enough to carry them. Because it seems to me that the world's laws--even when unjust--are built on natural laws. And how can a girl say that these natural laws are unjust because they have fashioned her to bear children and feed them from her own body? "And another thing, Kelly; if a man breaks a man-made law--founded, we believe, on a divine commandment--he suffers only in a spiritual and moral sense.... And with us it may be more than that. For women, at least, hell is on earth." He stirred in his chair, and his sombre gaze rested on the floor at her feet. "What are we to do?" he said dully. Rita shook her head: "I don't know. I am not instructing you, Kelly, only recalling to your mind what you already know; what all men know, and find so convenient to forget. Love is not excuse enough; the peril is unequally divided. The chances are uneven; the odds are unfair. If a man really loves a woman, how can he hazard her in a game of chance that is not square? How can he let her offer more than he has at stake--even if she is willing? How can he permit her to risk more than he is even able to risk? How can he accept a magnanimity which leaves him her hopeless debtor? But men have done it, men will continue to do it; God alone knows how they reconcile it with their manhood or find it in their hearts to deal so unfairly by us. But they do.... And still we stake all; and proudly overlook the chances against us; and face the contemptible odds with a smile, dauntless and--damned!" He leaned forward in the dusk; she could see his bloodless features now only as a pale blot in the twilight. "All this I knew, Rita. But it is just as well, perhaps, that you remind me." "I thought it might be as well. The world has grown very clever; but after all there is no steadier anchor for a soul than a platitude." Ogilvy and Annan came mincing in about nine o'clock, disposed for flippancy and gossip; but neither Neville nor Rita encouraged them; so after a while they took their unimpaired cheerfulness and horse-play elsewhere, leaving the two occupants of the studio to their own silent devices. It was nearly midnight when he walked back with Rita to her rooms. And now day followed day in a sequence of limpid dawns and cloudless sunsets. Summer began with a clear, hot week in June, followed by three days' steady downpour which freshened and cooled the city and unfolded, in square and park, everything green into magnificent maturity.