The Janet who laughed and chatted with Robert was a very different girl from the Janet who was accustomed to hang romantically on Claude’s lips. Nothing, of course, could equal the magnetism of Claude or match the fire and glory of their mutual passion. Still, in Claude’s presence she seemed constantly to be playing up to some magnificent part; she felt like a cross between, say, the Lady of Shalott and the ecstatic lady in the Song of Songs. Without denying that it was a rapturous game, a game well worth the candle, she found it a trifle exhausting. With Robert, on the other hand, the high-tension, party-dress Janet could be put away (so to speak) and the simple, work-a-day, blouse-and-skirt Janet substituted. Now Janet was the kind of girl who always looked her worst in her best things and was most herself when least dressed up. Naturally, she did not apply this symbol to her two friendships. Being a young, rebellious, and infatuated young lady, how could she? Besides, had she done so, she might have reasoned the matter out to a disturbing conclusion. "Well, Robert," she said, cheerily. "Begin, and tell me all that’s in your heart of hearts." "It’s not my heart I mean to talk about. It’s yours." "Mine! What an idea! Why, my heart’s in the pink of condition. Positively no inspection needed. ’Oh my heart is a free and a fetterless thing, A wave of the ocean, a bird on the wing.’ I don’t mean to say that it’s a flighty object, though," she added, with a smile. "No, if it were, it would be much easier to talk to you about it," said Robert. "What do you mean?" "Well, a whole century separates the Janet I first knew—the Janet who hesitated to go to a picture play on the Sabbath—from the Janet who reads Bernard Shaw and Bertrand Russell, attends labor meetings on Sundays, and catches each newest whiff of radical opinion. The change takes one’s breath away." "You admit it’s a change for the better, don’t you?" "In every way but one." "Which one?" "You have taken Cornelia too seriously. Her views on sex are morbid and totally unsuited for adoption by a healthy, inexperienced girl." "Now, Robert, please don’t begin that over again. You’ve said it all before." "I shall say it and say it again until I’ve convinced you. Even you must admit that Cornelia has a chronic grudge against men." "Well, it isn’t so unnatural, after her unhappy love affair, is it?" "Precisely. As a result of that love affair, all her sex emotions are inverted. She sublimates her sex into acts of spite, usually unconscious acts. For instance, she is subtly encouraging you to run off with Claude as she ran off with Percival Houghton. Forgive me for mentioning it, Janet. But I can’t bear to see you duped. Believe me, if you followed her example, with an equally unhappy result, she would like nothing better." "Claude is not in the least like Percival Houghton," said Janet coldly. "Whatever else he may be, he isn’t a cad."