"Notions that a girl’s mission is to go to parties and dance when she doesn’t desire to—that a girl had better conform to the uninteresting and stilted laws of the recent past and live her life as an animated clothes-rack, mind her deportment, and do what nice girls do, and marry and become the mother of numerous offspring; which shall be taught to follow in her footsteps and do the same thing all over again, generation after generation—_ad nauseam_!—— Oh, Jim! I’m not going to live out my life that way and be looked after as carefully as a pedigreed Pekinese——" "For Heaven’s sake——" "For Heaven’s sake—yes!—and in God’s name, Jim, it is time that a woman’s mind was occupied by something beside the question of clothes and husbands and children!" The boy whistled softly, stared at her, and she looked at him unflinchingly, with her pretty, breathless smile of defiance. "I want to live my own life in my own way. Can’t I?" she asked. "Of course——" "You say that. But the instant I venture to express a desire for any outlet—for any chance to be myself, express myself, seek the artistic means for self-utterance, then you tell me I am unconventional!" He was silent. "Nobody hampers _you_!" she flashed out. "You are free to choose your profession." "But why do _you_ want a profession, Steve?" "Why? Because I feel the need of it. Because just ordinary society does not interest me. I prefer Bohemia." He said: "There’s a lot of stuff talked about studios and atmosphere and ’urge’ and general Bohemian irresponsibility—and a young girl is apt to get a notion that she, also, experiences the ’cosmic urge’ and that ’self-expression’ is her middle name.... That’s all I mean, Steve. You frequently have voiced your desire for a career among the fine arts. Now and then you have condescended to sketch for me your idea of an ideal environment, which appears to be a studio in studio disorder, art produced in large chunks, and ’people worth while’ loudly attacking pianos and five o’clock tea——" "Jim! You are not nice to me.... If I didn’t love you with all my heart——" "It’s because I’m fond of you, too," he explained. "I don’t want my sister, all over clay or paint, sitting in a Greenwich village studio, smoking cigarettes and frying sausages for lunch! No! Or I don’t want her bullied by an ignorant stage director or leered at by an animal who plays ’opposite,’ or insulted by a Semitic manager. Is that very astonishing?" The girl rose, nervous, excited, but laughing: "You dear old out-of-date thing! We’ll continue this discussion another time. Dad’s been alone in the library altogether too long." She laughed again, a little hint of tenderness in her gaiety; and extended her hand. He took it. "Without prejudice," she said. "I adore you, Jim!" "And with all my heart, Steve. I just want you to do what will be best for you, little sister." "I know. Thank you, Jim. Now, we’ll go and find dad."