"Not necessarily. I mean a man who permits a woman to support him without making any effort on his part to do a man's work. He may be an Adonis and gifted to the point of genius, but I have no respect for him. He----" Wallie did not linger. He remembered the ancient adage, and while he did not consider himself an eavesdropper or believe that Miss Spenceley meant anything personal, nevertheless the shoe fit to such a nicety that he hurried to the elevator, his step accelerated by the same sense of guilt that had sent Mr. Cone scuttling to his refuge behind the counter. "Squaw-man"--the term was as new to him as "Gentle Annie." As Miss Eyester had opined, Miss Macpherson was taking her tonic, or about to. "I've come to make a suggestion, Auntie," Wallie began, with a little diffidence. "What is it?" Miss Macpherson was shaking the bottle. "Let's not go South this winter." "Where then?" She smiled indulgently as she measured out the medicine. "Why not California or Arizona?" he suggested. "I don't believe this tonic helps me a particle." She made a wry face as she swallowed it. "That's it," he declared, eagerly. "You need a change--we both do." "I'm too set in my ways to enjoy new experiences, and I don't like strangers. We might catch contagious diseases, and there is no place where we could be so comfortable as in Florida. No," she shook her head kindly but firmly, "we will go South as usual." "Oh--_sugar!_" The vehemence with which Wallie uttered the expletive showed the extent of his disappointment. "Wallie! I'm surprised at you!" She regarded him with annoyance. "I'm tired of going to the same places year after year, doing the same thing, seeing the same old fossils!" "Wallie, you are speaking of my friends and yours," she reminded him. "They're all right, but I like to make new ones. I don't want to go, Aunt Mary." She said significantly: "Don't you think you are a little ungrateful--in the circumstances?" It was the first time she had ever reminded him of his dependency. "If you mean I am an ingrate, that is an unpleasant word, Aunt Mary." She shrugged her shoulder. "Place your own interpretation upon it, Wallace." "Perhaps you think I am not capable of earning my own living?" "I have not _said_ so." "But you mean it!" he cried, hotly. Miss Macpherson was nearly as amazed as Wallie to hear herself saying: "Possibly you had better try it." She had taken two cups of strong coffee that morning and her nerves were over-stimulated, and perhaps with the intuition of a jealous woman she half suspected that "the girl from Wyoming" had something to do with his restlessness and desire to go West. The time she most dreaded was the day when she would have to share her nephew with another woman. Wallie's eyes were blazing when he answered: "I shall! I shall never be beholden to you for another penny. When I wanted to do something for myself you wouldn't let me. You're not fair, Aunt Mary!"