As an echo to his thoughts came her next remark. "I have considered, Montague, that it might be well if I were to resign from the Country Club," she said. "I know that almost all the women members are violently opposed to me, and it seems scarcely just to the few friends I have there for me to put them on the defensive and oblige them to make a fight. The Queen P's are hot against me, and they can render it exceedingly unpleasant for the meager opposition, if they are so minded--and I think we may assume that they are. What would you advise?" For a while he was silent--his fingers playing slowly over the arm of his chair. He was disposed to answer no--she should not be forced into resigning, at this late day, by all the sentiment the infernal women could muster. Had she acted promptly on her return it would have been entirely voluntary; now it savored too much of compulsion, and yet without any one bearing the responsibility. On the other hand, if she permitted the Club to _demand_ her resignation, she did not make the actual opposition any more violent, while all those who opposed such radical action--and he knew their number was not small--would naturally be favorable, in a greater or less degree, to her cause. In other words, she would stand to lose none and to gain many. "What would you advise me to do, Montague?" she repeated. "I would advise you not to resign. Hold on--and let them do the resigning for you, if the Governors are so minded." "You mean you would let them request my resignation?" He nodded. "It will make you friends--assuredly it will lose you none. That is where a woman has the advantage over a man. A Club can kick a man out and no one ever questions its justice--but it is different with a woman. She is entitled to something more than mere justice--a certain courtesy and consideration must always be hers, together with a proper regard for her sex. Mere justice to a woman becomes injustice--and injustice always reacts on itself." "You are considering the matter only as it affects me," Stephanie insisted, "while I'm concerned as to the way it affects my friends. What ought I do out of regard for _them_, is the question." "Whatever is best for yourself," he answered. "They are friends, you know." "But I don't know what is best--moreover, for myself I don't care a rap one way or the other. It is nothing to me to belong to their Club, or to chatter small talk and scandal, to lunch and dine and go to the horse-show, and fancy I'm having a glorious time. I'm not a debutante any longer. I've seen enough of life to know the shallows--and Society is the shallowest of them all." "Yes you do care, Stephanie," he said. "You think that you don't, and all that, but everyone cares for them to a greater or less extent. It's only a matter of degree--life is made up of degrees, and social amenities, their obligations and duties are a part of life."