"Never," said Joan. "It's so little trouble as it is." "Quite right," said her hostess. "Now why on earth shouldn't women be comfortable! It's high time men realized that they ain't got the sole prerogative where comfort is concerned." She chuckled. "I suppose," she remarked reflectively, "that people think it's rather odd for a young woman of your age to have short hair. I suppose they think it's rather odd for an old woman like me to bicycle in bloomers; but the odd thing about it is that they, the women I mean, should think it odd at all. It must be that all the centuries of oppression have atrophied their brains a little, poor dears. When they get equal rights with men it'll make all the difference to their outlook; they'll be able to stretch themselves." "Do you think so, Lady Loo?" said Mrs. Ogden. "I should never know what to do with that sort of liberty if I had it, and I'm sure Joan wouldn't." Lady Loo was not so sure, but she said: "Well, then, she must learn." "I think there are many other things she had better learn first," rejoined Mrs. Ogden tartly. Lady Loo smiled. "What, for instance? How to get married?" Mrs. Ogden winced. "Well, after all," she said, "there are worse things for a girl than marriage, but fortunately Joan need not think of that unless she wants to; she's got her----" she paused--" her home." Lady Loo thought. "You mean she's got you, you selfish woman." Aloud she said: "Well, times are changing and mothers will have to change too, I suppose. I hear Joan's clever; isn't she going to _do_ something?" Joan flushed. "I want to," she broke in eagerly. Mrs. Ogden drew her away and Lady Loo laughed to herself complacently. "Oh! the new generation," she murmured. "They're as unlike us as chalk from cheese. That girl don't look capable of doing a quiet little job like keeping a house or having a baby; she's not built for it mentally or physically." At that moment a young man came across the lawn. "Joan!" he called. It was Richard Benson. Joan turned with outstretched hands in her pleasure. "I didn't know you were in England," she said. "I got back from Germany last week. It's ripping your being here to-day." He shook hands politely with Mrs. Ogden and then, as if she did not exist, turned and drew Joan after him. "Now then," he began, "I want to hear all about it." "All about what? There's nothing to tell." "Then there ought to be. Joan, what have you been doing with yourself?" "Nothing," she answered dully, and then, quite suddenly, she proceeded to tell him everything. She was surprised at herself, but still she went on talking; she talked as though floodgates had been loosed, as though she had been on a desert island for the past two years and he were the man who had come to rescue her. He did not interrupt until she fell silent, and then: "It's all wrong," he said. She stood still and faced him. "I don't know why I told you; it can't be helped, so there's no use in talking."