"And get that blackguard crew about you again, all those--. Lita! Listen to me. Listen. You've got to." "Got to?" She rounded on him in a quick flare of anger. "I wonder who you think you're talking to? I'm not Gladys Toy." The unexpectedness of the challenge struck him dumb. For challenge it was, unmistakably. He felt a rush of mingled strength and fear--fear at this inconceivable thing, and the strength her self-betrayal gave him. He returned with equal violence: "No--you're not. You're something so utterly different..." "Oh," she burst in, "don't tell me I'm too sacred, and all that. I'm fed up with the sanctities--that's the trouble with me. Just own up you like 'em artificially fattened. Why, that woman's ankles are half a yard round. Can't you _see_ it? Or is that really the way you admire 'em? I thought you wanted to be with me... I thought that was why you were here... Do you suppose I'd have come all this way just to be taught to love fresh air and family life? The hypocrisy--!" Her little face was flashing on him furiously, red lips parted on a glitter of bright teeth. "She must have a sausage-machine, to cram her into that tube she had on tonight. No human maid could do it... 'Utterly different'? I should hope so! I'd like to see _her_ get a job with Klawhammer--unless he means to do a 'Barnum,' and wants a Fat Woman... I ..." "_Lita_!" "You're _stupid_ ... you're stupider than anything on God's earth!" "Lita--" He put his hand over hers. Let the whole world crash, after this... Pauline sat in her upstairs sitting-room, full of that sense of repose which comes of duties performed and rewards laid up. How could it be otherwise, at the close of a day so rich in moral satisfactions? She scanned it again, from the vantage of her midnight vigil in the sleeping house, and saw that all was well in the little world she had created. Yes; all was well, from the fire-drill which had given a rather languishing dinner its requisite wind-up of excitement to the arrangements for the Cardinal's reception, Amalasuntha's skilful turning of that Birth Control obstacle, and the fact that Jim was philosophically remaining in the south in spite of his father's unexpected return. The only shadow on the horizon was Michelangelo's--Dexter would certainly be angry about that. But she was not going to let Michelangelo darken her holiday, when everything else in life was so smooth and sunshiny. She remembered her resolve to write to Jim, and took up her pen with a smile.