She saw that for a girl to love a man, unasked, is neither ignoble nor immodest. It is divine to love--always! Such love is a jewel, worn unseen above a girl's heart; to offer it, is to take it out of its white shelter and fling it into hands that, not having sought it, will soon let it drop between indifferent fingers. She saw how this Race instinct has gradually--and oh, so painfully, oh, so foolishly, with failure, and agony, and tragic absurdities of convention, taught women the value of the reticence of modesty. Taught them that they must not be "cheap"! It came to her that it was the business of women like herself--the "new" women, who are going to set Woman free!--it was their business to discard the absurdities, but keep the beauties and dignities; for beauty and dignity are "lures," too. "They _attract_. I suppose that is what Grandmother means by 'charm,'" she reflected; "she said I hadn't any." Her face suddenly scorched; to discover a temperamental deficiency made her wince; it was like discovering a physical blemish. She understood, now, what Arthur Weston meant when he "rowed" about her being in the apartment alone with Howard. She had been "cheap." She had "perched on his fist." He had had no inclination to bag the game.... It was all very loose and incoherent thinking; she caught at one fact, only to find it contradicted by another fact. But in all her mental confusion one anguished wish stood fast: "Oh, if I _only_ hadn't asked him!" In her futile shame, her head fell on her knees and she caught her breath in a sort of sob--then sat upright, listening intently: a motor! _Howard?_ In spite of reason, a leap of hope made her gasp. She rose quickly, and stood, her hand over her lips--waiting.... Then she saw the car, and her heart seemed to drop in her breast; it was only Arthur Weston. He came in, saying, cheerfully, he had heard she was packing, and had come out to bring her back to town. "We can load the tonneau with anything you want to take home," he said; "I suppose you haven't any tea for a wayfarer?" He was very matter-of-fact; he saw the tremor and heard the catch in the breath. There was some tea, she said--but no cream; she would boil some water. He sat down, and she waited on him, getting herself in hand, even to the extent of some pitiful little impertinences. Then, by and by, they carried her things out to the auto. "My landlord is going to send for the piano," she said; "all I have to do is to close the shutters." He went about with her, helping her, teasing her, and scolding her because she was tired. When everything was done, and they were just leaving the house, she paused abruptly, and her hands went up to her eyes. "Poor Flora!" He was standing beside her, gentle and pitying, longing to draw those shaking hands down from her hidden face: "You were always good to her," he said.