"If one woman can judge and understand another, what I have told you is true, Steve. Long ago I won the child’s confidence. She told me this quite frankly, and in a manner which makes the truth of it unmistakable.... We have become great friends, this little dancer and I. I don’t think I ever knew a simpler nature or a more transparently honest one.... And that is why I was not worried at any little ephemeral romance that might amuse the child with Jim Cleland.... I was too certain of them—_both_," she added, looking calmly into the grey eyes that winced again and fell under her serene gaze. "I’m a rotten little beast," said Stephanie. "You’re very feminine." "Oh, Helen, I’m not. I’m a rotter. I didn’t know it was in me. I thought I was above such things——" "Nobody is, Steve, until they make the effort. High thinking requires more than a natural generosity and sympathy—more than innate sentiment. It is an attainment; and there is none without effort. And effort sometimes hurts." "I want to speak to that girl when she comes in," said Stephanie. "I never have; I’ve never noticed her at all. I shall ask her to tea." Helen laughed: "She’ll be here pretty soon. Of course you’re not supposed to know about Harry." "Of course not. But I’ll make amends for my incivility. I _was_ a beast! But—it’s confusing—and hard for a girl to understand when a girl like that is so unconventional with one’s—one’s——" "Brother?" suggested Helen drily. "Yes.... I’m terribly ashamed.... Does Jim know?" "About Harry Belter? No. I don’t think anybody does." "What a sham that man is!" exclaimed Stephanie hotly. "No. He’s a typical man, dear. Some women yield, some resist; that’s all. And the man never has the slightest idea that he is tyrannizing. If you tell him that he’ll be amazed and furious. He’ll point out to you all the love and affection and solicitude and money he’s lavished on the object of his adoration; he’ll portray for you her obstinacy, her coldness, her shocking ingratitude for benefits received. He really believes himself a martyr. "Steve, man’s idea is still that to the victor belong the spoils. We are the spoils of the chase, dear. His conventions were made to contain us in a sort of game-preserve before capture; cage us after we are made prisoner. His laws fetter us; a misstep ruins us; irregularities never impair him. That is the ancient view; that, still, is the secret view of man; that is his inborn conviction regarding us and himself.... And, very slowly, we are beginning his education." "I didn’t know you felt that way," said Stephanie. "I do.... But if I were in love"—she laughed gaily—"I’d be inclined to take my chances with this monster I have painted for you." "You _do_ believe in marriage?"