"You’d better see a little less of poor, bedraggled Mazie Ross, if it’s on _her_ level that you’re being tempted to think." *IV* Janet hastened after her in a complete change of mood. "Come back, Cornelia," she called out, remorsefully. "I had no right to be sarcastic. Forgive me, and I’ll eat all the humble pie you like." Cornelia sat down again. "This is a new tack for you to take," she said, making the most of an advantage Janet seldom gave her. "The fact is, Cornelia, I’m—my feelings were ploughed up today, ploughed up from top to bottom. The postman brought me an offer of marriage this morning." "An offer of marriage!" "From Monsieur St. Hilaire." Cornelia had of course heard the facts of the whole St. Hilaire episode. She also knew that Janet still corresponded with Henriette, and that all the recent letters of the girl’s father had been sent back unopened. "I thought you never read his letters?" "This one was folded up in Henriette’s note. I’m sure the child wasn’t a party to the trick. Here it is. Will you read it?" Cornelia did so. "Well, I must say I’m surprised," she said, returning the letter. "He writes in a very decent, manly strain. Altogether different from what I expected. The devil doesn’t seem to be nearly as black as he’s painted." "Oh, he’s not a professional satyr, if that’s what you mean. I never implied that he was." Cornelia pondered the matter for a minute. She recalled forgotten particulars about M. St. Hilaire, amongst others, the account of his generous income. "So he’s in Paris with Henriette," she mused. "I notice that he says he’s coming here tomorrow to get his answer in person. What will you do about it, dear?" "I wish I knew. I want to see Henriette again, tremendously. But I don’t want to see her father. Do give me your advice, Cornelia. What do you think I ought to do?" "Well, why not give him another chance? He’s made you a perfectly straight and honorable offer this time. As I recall the whole story, he wasn’t really repugnant to you, except at that one time." "No. But am I lightly to forget that he—that he touched me without my consent, presuming to think that, because I had loved one man, my body was at the free disposal of all men?" "It was a wretched mistake to make—" "A mistake! It was a monstrous piece of stupidity and impudence." "Quite so, my dear. I’m not standing up for him. Still, don’t let us forget that men are not built like women." "That’s a truth that cuts both ways, isn’t it?" said Janet. She had given up being astonished at Cornelia’s peculiar mixture of the old and the new in the matter of theories about men and women. She merely wondered to what weird angle Cornelia meant to shift her outlook now.