truth, which no woman likes. Will you tell me what
girl in your world, who approaches the qualitative standard set by
Valerie West, would go about by day or evening with any man except her
brother? Valerie does. What girl would be fearless enough to ignore the
cast-iron fetters of her caste? Valerie West is a law unto herself--a
law as sweet and good and excellent and as inflexible as any law made by
men to restrain women's liberty, arouse them to unhappy
self-consciousness and infect them with suspicion. Every one of you are
the terrified slaves of custom, and you know it. Most men like it. I
don't. I'm no tea drinker, no cruncher of macaroons, no gabbler at
receptions, no top-hatted haunter of weddings, no social graduate of the
Ecole Turvydrop. And these places--if I want to find companionship in
any girl of your world--must frequent. And I won't. And so there you
are."

His sister came up to him and placed her arms around his neck.

"Such--a--wrong-headed--illogical--boy," she sighed, kissing him
leisurely to punctuate her words. '"If you marry a girl you love you can
have all the roaming and unrestrained companionship you want. Did that
ever occur to you?"

"At that price," he said, laughing, "I'll do without it."

"Wrong head, handsome head! I'm in despair about you. Why in the world
cannot artists conform to the recognised customs of a perfectly pleasant
and respectable world? Don't answer me! You'll make me very unhappy....
Now go and talk to Stephanie. The child won't understand your going
to-night, but make the best of it to her."

"Good Lord, Lily! I haven't a string tied to me. It doesn't matter to
Stephanie what I do--why I go or remain. You're all wrong. Stephanie and
I understand each other."

"I'll see that she understands _you_" said his sister, sorrowfully.

He laughed and kissed her again, impatient. But why he was impatient he
himself did not know. Certainly it was not to find Stephanie, for whom
he started to look--and, on the way, glanced at his watch, determined
not to miss the train that would bring him into town in time to talk to
Valerie West over the telephone.

Passing the lighted and open windows, he saw Querida and Alice absorbed
in a tete-a-tete, ensconced in a corner of the big living room; saw
Gordon playing with Heinz, the dog--named Heinz because of the
celebrated "57 varieties" of dog in his pedigree--saw Miss Aulne at
solitaire, exchanging lively civilities with Sandy Camero