"Does a distaste for falling in love necessarily go back to selfishness?" he asked. "Is n't it sometimes merely a matter of temperament?" "And temperament," she asked, "is what?" That was altogether too abstract a problem for Monte to discuss. Yet he had his own ideas. "It's the way you're made," he suggested. "I doubt it, Monte," she answered. "I think it's rather the way you make yourself; because I imagine that, to start with, we are all made a good deal alike. It's just what you 'd rather do." "And you'd rather paint?" She considered a moment. It was as if she were trying at this time to be very honest with herself. "I'd rather be free to paint or not," she declared. "While Aunty was alive, to paint seemed to be the only way to be free. It gave me the excuse for coming here, for getting away a few hours a day. Now--well, just to be free seems enough. I don't suppose a man knows how a woman hungers for that--for just sheer, elemental freedom." He did not. He supposed that freedom was what women enjoyed from birth--like queens. He supposed they even had especial opportunities in that direction, and that most men were in the nature of being their humble servitors. "It is n't that I want to do anything especially proper or improper," she hastened to assure him. "I have n't either the cravings or the ambitions of the new woman. That, again, is where I 'm selfish. I'd like to be"--she spoke hesitatingly--"I'd like to be just like you, Monte." "Like me?" he exclaimed in surprise. "Free to do just what I want to do--nothing particularly good, nothing particularly bad; free to go here or go there; free to live my own life; free to be free." "Well," he asked, "what's to prevent?" "Teddy Hamilton--and the others," she answered. "In a way, they take the place of Aunty. They won't let me alone. They won't believe me when I tell them I don't want them around. They seem to assume that, just because I'm not married-- Oh, they are stupid, Monte!" Henri, who had been stealing in with course after course, refilled the glasses. He smiled discreetly as he saw her earnest face. "What you need," suggested Monte, "is a sort of chaperon or secretary." She shook her head. "Would you like one yourself?" she demanded. "It would be a good deal of a nuisance," he admitted; "but, after all--" "I won't have it!" she burst out. "It would spoil everything. It would be like building one's own jail and employing one's own jailer. I could n't stand that. I 'd rather be annoyed as I am than be annoyed by a chaperon." She was silent a moment, and then she exclaimed: "Why, I'd almost rather marry Teddy! I'd feel freer--honestly, I think I 'd feel freer with a husband than a chaperon." "Oh, see here!" protested Monte. "You must n't do that." "I don't propose to," she answered quietly. "Then," he said, "the only thing left is to go away where Teddy and the others can't find you." "Where?" she asked with interest.