"But I had to cave," Fred said, "about having Flora here when I stay all night. The Childs family felt they would be compromised if people in Laketon knew that Billy-boy's niece flocked by herself in Lakeville. The Childses are personages in Laketon! Aunt Bessie is the treasurer of the antis, and runs a gambling-den on Thursday afternoons--she calls it her Bridge Club. And Billy-boy has a Baconian Club, Saturday nights. My, how useful they are! As my unconventionality would injure their value to society, I said I would hold Flora's hand. How much use do you suppose Flora would be if thieves broke in to steal?" "She would be another scream. And you'll like to have her wash the dishes for you." "Flora is too much in love to wash dishes well," Fred said. "Besides, I don't mind washing 'em, and _I_ do it well. The idea that women who _think_ can't do things like that is silly. We do housework, or any other work, infinitely better than slaves." "'Slaves' being your mothers and grandmothers?" Frederica nodded, prying up a piece of moss and snapping the twig off short. "Oh, Fred, you are very funny!" "Glad I amuse you. Pitch me that little stick under your foot." He handed it to her, and she began to dig industriously into the cracks and crevices of the old gray rock. "The idea of calling Mrs. Holmes a slave is delightful," he said. "She is a slave to her environment! Do you think she would have dared to do the things I do?" "She wouldn't have wanted to." "You evade. Well, I suppose you belong to another generation." Arthur Weston winced. "Don't you think it's queer," she ruminated, "that a man like Howard Maitland is satisfied to fool around with shells?" Whenever she spoke of Howard, a dancing sense of happiness rose like a wave in her breast. "Why doesn't he get into politics, and do something!" she said. Her voice was disapproving, but her eyes smiled. "Perhaps he likes to keep his hands clean." "Oh," she said, vehemently, "that's what I hate about men. The good ones, the decent ones, are so afraid of getting a speck of dirt on themselves! That's where women--not Grandmother's kind--are going to save the world. _They_ won't mind being smirched to save the race!" "Frederica," her listener said, calmly, "when that time comes, may God have mercy on the race. Your grandmother (I speak generically) thought she saved the race by keeping clean." "And letting men be--" she paused to find a sufficiently vehement word. "It's the double standard that has landed us where we are; it has made men vile and kept women weak. We'll go to smash unless we have one standard." "Which one?" he asked; "yours or ours?" "You know perfectly well," she said, for once affronted. "I only asked for information. There's no denying that there are members of your sex who rather incline to our poor way of doing things. Oh, not that we are not a bad lot; only, to be our equals, it isn't necessary to sit in the gutter with us. Continue to be our sup--"