Howard, a little disappointed at her indifference, put the pearl, in its wisp of tissue-paper, into his pocket, and listened to the outpouring of her plans for the winter work of the league. In the midst of it, he kicked the logs together in the fireplace, and, sitting down, smoked comfortably. Once he said that one of her arguments was bully, and once he called her attention to the way the sparks marched and countermarched in the soot on the chimney back; "I used to call 'em 'soldiers' when I was a kid." "I meant to read you my paper," Fred was saying, "but I guess it will keep. Let's talk. Howard, Laura and I are going to get all the girls we know to take a stand--this is a pretty serious thing!--against playing around with men we know are dissipated. The idea grew out of this bill we're trying to get before the Legislature." "Good work!" he said, lazily, and leaned forward to knock the ashes out of his pipe. Zip yawned and curled up on the skirt of Freddy's dress. It was a warm, domestic scene, full of peaceful certainties. "You see," she said, "women are facing facts, nowadays. They believe in freedom, but they believe most of all in Truth. There'll be no more hiding behind a lot of conventions! That is what has held us back. We have as much right to say what we--feel, as men. Don't you think so?" Her voice was a little breathless. Howard, looking dreamily at the "soldiers," said, absently, "You bet you have!" "I want to tell you just what we're up to about turning down the rotten fellows," Fred said. "I want to talk it out with you and get your advice. But not now, because--because there are other things I want to say. But sometime." "Any time! I've just been laying for a jaw with you, Fred. I don't know any other woman I can talk to just as I can to a man!" At that, she couldn't help a little proud movement of her head, and to hide her pride she stooped down and stroked Zippy; as she did so the firelight fell on her face, smiling, and quivering a little. Her good gray eyes brimmed with joy. "Yes, we are pretty good friends," she said. "You see," he said, "you _understand_! Why, those letters of yours--I can't tell you what they meant to me!" He paused and laughed: "That reminds me. I told Leighton--you know the man I wrote to you about?" "The anti man?" "Yes; Tommy Leighton--" "I'll send him a bunch of literature--if he has any kind of mind?" "Oh, well; so-so. He's an anti, so what can you expect? I told him that you had the finest mind of any woman I had ever met. I told him that mighty few men could talk back to you--" He paused to fumble about in his pocket for his tobacco-pouch. "Laura gave me that," he interpolated; "Leighton said--" She leaned forward and laid her hand on his arm; the suddenness of her grip made him drop the little pouch, and as he stooped to pick it up, she said: "I've missed you--awfully." He did not see that she was trembling. He put the pouch in his pocket and retorted, gaily: