"I do. It’s agreeable; it’s sanitary; it’s soothing. It invigorates one’s self-confidence and self-respect. And it doesn’t disarrange one’s hair and rumple one’s gown. Therefore, I prefer the undemonstrative admiration of a man to the indiscreet demonstrations of a boy." "Do you mean me?" he asked, furious. But she ignored the question: "Boys _are_ funny," she said, swinging her velvet reticule in circles. "Any girl can upset their equilibrium. All a girl has to do is to look at a boy sideways—the way Lady Button-eyes looked at you yesterday afternoon——" "What!" "At the Rochambeau. And you got up and went over and renewed your friendship with her. Helen and I saw you." "I was merely civil," he said. "So was she. She fished out a card and wrote on it. _I_ don’t know what she wrote." "She wrote her telephone call. There isn’t the slightest chance of my using it." Stephanie laughed: "He certainly is the nicest, politest boy in all Manhattan, and sister is very, very proud of him. _Good_-bye, James——" She offered her lips to him audaciously, bending forward on tip-toe, both hands clasped behind her. But her grey eyes were bright with malice. "Nice, polite boy," she repeated. "Kiss little sister." "No," he said gloomily, "I’m fed up on sisterly kisses——" "You insulting wretch! Do you mean you _won’t_? Then you _shall_——!" She started toward him, wrath in her eyes, but he caught her wrists and held her. "You’re altogether too well satisfied with yourself," he said. "You’ve no emotions inside your very lovely person except discreet ones. Otherwise, you’ve got the devil inside you and it’s getting on my nerves." "Jim! You beast!" "Yes, I am. What of it? Beasts have emotions. Yours have either been cultivated out of you or you were born without any. I’m glad I am part beast. I’m glad you know it. The rest of me is human; and the combination isn’t a very serious menace to civilization. But the sort of expurgated girl you are is!" "Don’t you think I’m capable of any deep emotions?" she asked. The smile had died on her lips. "Maybe. I don’t know." "Who should, if you don’t?" He shrugged: "Your husband, perhaps." "Jim! I told you not to call him that!" "Well, a spade is a spade——" "Do you mean to be offensive?" "How can that offend you?" She released her wrists and shot a curious, inexplicable look at him. "I don’t understand you," she said. "You can be so generous and high-minded and you can be so unkind and insolent to me." "Insolent?" "Yes. You meant it insolently when you spoke of Oswald as my husband. You’ve done it before, too. Why do you? Do you really want to hurt me? Because you know he isn’t my husband except by title. He may never be."