"What Robert says reminds me forcibly of a passage in _Gulliver’s Travels_," interposed Mark Pryor. "I mean the passage in which the horses, the noble highborn creatures that govern, move about stark naked, whilst the Yahoos, the loathsome human creatures that live like beasts, yearn to cover their shame with rags and strings of beads." "For the matter of that," continued Robert, "look at our little group here. We’ve all lived and worked quite contentedly in the thick of Kips Bay. Yet there’s nothing in our daily behavior at which a Philistine of the deepest dye would turn a hair. Where, in fact, could one find a more incurably respectable lot of people—always counting out Lydia who, I believe, is still a member in good standing among the Outlaws?" "Look here, old boy!" Lydia called out. "Are you attacking or defending me?" "As the supreme ornament of Charlotte’s studio, you can always count on my homage, Lydia. But as an Outlaw, you must expect no quarter. I’ve lived among the Outlaws and weighed them in the balance." "Meaning what?" said Lydia, groaning for effect. "That their honor rooted in dishonor stands?" "Not a bad way of putting it, Lydia," replied Robert, smiling. "Shall I give you the gist of Outlawry? Well, it is an excrescence of Radicalism, often a decorative, sometimes a merely indecorous excrescence. The purpose of Radicalism is to remove the obstacles that lie athwart the course of life, of life aspiring to an estate infinitely higher than that of man. What part in this mighty purpose is played by the mummers of Greenwich Village, the camp-stool triflers of Washington Square, the picarescos of Kips Bay, and the other Outlaw aggregations?" "They stand for insurgency, don’t they?" drawled Lydia. "For insurgency, yes. But what sort of insurgency? Your typical Outlaw ’insurges’ against perfectly harmless laws and conventions: obstacles of no importance. And at the very same time, he conforms to ruthlessly strangling laws and conventions: obstacles that really matter." "Kips Bay or bust!" announced Lydia, reluctantly abandoning her tiger skin as the only alternative to a pursuit of Robert’s theme. *VI* On the walk uptown, Lydia attached herself to Pryor and Charlotte, while Robert with Janet soon fell far behind. What a first aid to free speech an independent income is! Dozens of questions which, in Paris, had stuck on the tip of Robert’s tongue now rolled off as freely as down a buttered slide. He was the first to break boldly into the vicious circle of topics of the day. "You’d better return my pearls and diamonds!" he began with a grave smile. "As for me, I’ll send back all your letters and also the lock of your hair that I’ve worn next my heart." He said that there was only one conclusion to be drawn from the unbroken silence she had maintained ever since the end of the partnership of Barr and Lloyd; an end, he reminded her, not of _his_ making.