“I have my doubts, my friend,” he is saying to Percy-Bartlett, as they puff their cigars and sip a liqueur after the ladies have retired to the drawing-room, “I have my doubts that a woman can ever become a thoroughly equipped _connoisseuse_ at the dinner-table. I know that there is no line of endeavor in which the new woman does not feel competent to shine; but,” and here the old gentleman waved his liqueur-glass at Percy-Bartlett with a stately and hospitable gesture, “but they haven’t that delicate sense of taste, that sensitiveness to the most refined and elusive flavors that we men possess. Do you know, there are some dishes that I can’t make Gertrude eat at all! Just imagine, sir, a woman, an intellectual woman, who takes pride in shocking her old father with her advanced ideas and theories, and who has had every advantage of travel and instruction, who absolutely refuses to eat terrapin in any form. How, sir, can woman expect us to acknowledge her equality when she boldly admits that she doesn’t like terrapin?” Percy-Bartlett smiled; but his eyes were restless, his face pale, and his manner that of a man who is making an effort to be sociable against his inclinations. “I think, Mr. Van Vleck,” he replied, “that you and I are in close sympathy regarding the absurd pretensions made by women to-day. Do you know, sir, I have grown very weary of the whole thing. There is a restlessness, a pushing, discontented, crude, and unfeminine spirit abroad among the women of our set that has actually had a crushing effect upon me. I think that it is responsible for the constantly recurring fits of the blues that have bothered me so much of late.” Cornelius Van Vleck, whose heavy but not unsymmetrical features lacked mobility, gazed at his guest with some concern in his bluish-gray eyes. “You aren’t looking quite fit, young man, that’s a fact. Take some of that brandy. It’s something very fine, I assure you. By the way, why don’t you knock off a bit, and run over to the other side with us? Gertrude and I are going over at once. She needs a change, a great change. There’s something wrong with the girl. She has grown morbid and flighty, sir. I can’t understand it--unless these new ideas that are floating around have struck in. She has been asking me some very embarrassing questions of late, sir, some very embarrassing questions. I even suspect that Gertrude has been visiting some of my tenants on the East Side, and distributing alms. As if organized charities were not sufficient to relieve the distress in the city! I have remonstrated with her, sir; but what can you do with a woman to-day? Whose authority do they respect, sir? A father’s? a husband’s?” Percy-Bartlett sipped his brandy nervously, while a slight flush arose to his pallid cheeks.