“Vampires rather, man. Isn't it wonderful that a woman--a lady--can change her natural expression of calm--the repose that stamps the caste of Vere de Vere--to that of a Harpy in a moment? It makes one thoughtful, doesn't it? Which is the real woman, Cyril--the one who smiles pleasantly on you and insists on your taking another hot buttered muffin as you loll in one of her easy-chairs in front of her drawing-room fire, or the one who rushes trembling into your office and stretches out a lean talon-like gloveless hand, glaring at you all the time, with a cry--some shrill, others hoarse--of 'My money!--give me my money!'--which is the real woman?” “They are not two but one,” said Cyril. “Thunder and lightning are as natural as sunshine and zephyr. Revenge is as much a part of a woman's nature as love; constancy does not exclude jealousy. A woman is a rather complex piece of machinery, Dick.” “What! Has Lothario turned philosopher?” cried Mr. Westwood. “Has Mr. Cyril Mowbray become a student of woman in the abstract and an exponent of her nature?” “Mr. Cyril Mowbray isn't quite such a fool as to fancy that he knows anything about the nature of woman beyond what any man who keeps his eyes open may know; only, when he hears a cynic such as Dick Westwood suggest that a woman can't be sincere when she asks you to have another piece of toast--or was it cake?--because he has seen her anxious to get into her own hand her own money that is to keep her out of the workhouse, Mr. Cyril Mowbray ventures to make a remark.” “And a wise remark, too,” said Westwood. “I've noticed that women believe in the men who believe in them. They believe in you”-- “Worse luck!” muttered Cyril. “And they don't believe in me--shall I say, better luck?” “They believed in you sufficiently to place their money in your bank.” “But not sufficiently to be confident that I would refrain from swindling them out of it, should I have the chance. There's the difference between us--the difference in a nutshell. If the bank was yours and the rumour came, unaccountably as all such rumours come, that you were insolvent, the women whose money you held would say, 'Let him keep it and welcome, even if we have to go to the workhouse.' But the moment they hear that there is a chance of my not being able to pay my way, down they swoop upon me as the Harpies swooped down upon Odysseus and his partners. And yet I have been quite as nice to women as you have ever been--in fact, I might almost say I've been rather nicer. After all, they only entrusted their cash to my keeping, whereas to you they entrust”-- “Worse luck--worse luck!” groaned Cyril. “That brings us back to the matter we talked over when we were last together. Poor Lizzie Dangan! You told me that I should confess all to my sister; but, hang it all, I can't do that! I tell you, Dick, I can't bring myself to do it.”