"The facts are not concealed," returned Reay--"They are public property. That no one has the courage to denounce such women--women who openly flaunt their immoralities in our midst--is a bad sign of the times. Women are doing a great deal of mischief just now. Look at them fussing about Female Suffrage! Female Suffrage, quotha! Let them govern their homes properly, wisely, reasonably, and faithfully, and they will govern the nation!" "That's true!" And Helmsley nodded gravely. "That's very true!" "A woman who really loves a man," went on Angus, mechanically fingering the skeins of lace thread which lay on the table at Mary's side, ready for use--"governs him, unconsciously to herself, by the twin powers of sex and instinct. She was intended for his help-mate, to guide him in the right way by her finer forces. If she neglects to cultivate these finer forces--if she tramples on her own natural heritage, and seeks to 'best' him with his own weapons--she fails--she must fail--she deserves to fail! But as true wife and true mother, she is supreme!" "But the ladies are not content with such a limited sphere," began Helmsley, with a little smile. "Limited? Good God!--where does the limit come in?" demanded Reay. "It is because they are not sufficiently educated to understand their own privileges that women complain of limitations. An unthinking, unreasoning, unintelligent wife and mother is of course no higher than any other female of the animal species--but I do not uphold this class. I claim that the woman who _thinks_, and gives her intelligence full play--the woman who is physically sound and morally pure--the woman who devoutly studies the noblest side of life, and tries to bring herself into unison with the Divine intention of human progress towards the utmost good--she, as wife and mother, is the angel of the world. She _is_ the world!--she makes it, she rejuvenates it, she gives it strength! Why should she condescend to mix with the passing political squabbles of her slaves and children?--for men are no more than her slaves and children. Love is her weapon--one true touch of that, and the wildest heart that ever beat in a man's breast is tamed." There was a silence. Suddenly Mary pushed aside her work, and going to the door opened it. "It's so warm to-day, don't you think?" she asked, passing her hand a little wearily across her forehead. "One would think it was almost June." "You are tired, Miss Mary!" said Reay, somewhat anxiously. "No--I'm not tired--but"--here all at once her eyes filled with tears. "I've got a bit of a headache," she murmured, forcing a smile--"I think I'll go to my room and rest for half an hour. Good-bye, Mr. Reay!" "Good-bye--for the moment!" he answered--and taking her hand he pressed it gently. "I hope the headache will soon pass."