"But why, Ted? Why? Her work doesn't interfere with her loving her husband!" "It interferes with her making a home for him. And _that's_ a woman's work--making a home." "But, Ted, maybe he doesn't want a home--or maybe they have a housekeeper." Ted shrugged: "Oh, if it suits him to live in a hotel, or at the mercy of a hired housekeeper, it's all right. But in that case, he's missing the best thing a man ever gets--I mean the kind of home a woman's _love_ makes!" At those words Sheila would have surrendered the argument--so easily was she swayed by a touch upon her heart. But Ted was not through with the subject. His masculine self-respect was aroused against this woman who was succeeding outside the sphere of strictly feminine occupation, and he was determined to show her, in her worst light, to Sheila. "Has she any children?" he demanded belligerently. "No--at least, I think not." "Now you see that I'm right!" he exulted. But the moment for yielding had passed with Sheila. "I see nothing of the sort," she replied with a flare of temper. "Her having children--or not having them--has no bearing whatever on the matter." "Oh, yes, it has! You mark my words--she hasn't had any children because she's wanted to spend all her time advancing herself--building up a tawdry little fame for herself! I tell you, Sheila, talent's a bad thing for a woman--a bad thing!" "But, Ted--_I_ write." He stared at her in naïve surprise. Then his face softened into indulgent laughter. "Why, kitty, so you do! I'd forgotten that you scribble. But you don't take it seriously. I don't mind your playing at it, so long as you don't get the notion that it's the biggest thing in life." And he laughed again and pinched her cheek--reassuringly. She didn't laugh in answer, however. She only gazed at him with an odd intentness, as if she were seeing him for the first time. Then, gravely, she inquired: "What would you think the biggest thing in life, Ted--if you were a woman--a woman like Alice North?" He drew her down to his knee and whispered into her ear. She was very still for an instant, her whole body subdued, spellbound, by that whispered word. Then, with a movement singularly untender, she withdrew from his arms and stood erect--free--before him. The rich scarlet still flooded her cheek--now like a flag of reluctant womanhood--but he searched her eyes in vain for the glow that should have matched it. "Well--you'll think so some day!" he insisted gently. CHAPTER VIII Sheila was not naturally secretive, and it was a measure of the antagonism which Ted had aroused in her that she said nothing to him of her projected visit to Alice North.