Lulu, would you let your child
do--do--that to my child?"

Lulu's face had changed--almost horribly. Her eyes glittered between
narrowed lids. Her lips had pulled away from each other, baring her
teeth. "You tell Ralph he's mistaken about my son," she ground out.

"That's what I told him," Peachy went on in a breaking voice. "But he
said you wouldn't have anything to do or say about it. He said that
Honey-Boy would be trained in these matters by his father, not by his
mother. I said that you would fight them both. He asked me what chance
you would have against your husband and your son. He--he--he always
spoke as if Honey-Boy were more Honey's child than yours, and as though
Angela were more his child than mine. He said that he had talked this
question over with the other men when Angela's wings first began to
grow. He said that they made up their minds then that her wings must be
cut when she became a woman. I besought him not to do it--I begged, I
entreated, I pleaded. He said that nothing I could say would change him.
I said that you would all stand by me in this, and he asked me what we
five could do against them. He, called us five tottering females. Oh,
it grew dreadful. I shrieked at him, finally. As he left, he said,
'Remember your first day in the Clubhouse, my dear! That's my answer.'"
She turned to Clara. "Clara, you are going to bear a child in the
spring. It may be a girl. Would you let son of mine or any of these
women clip her wings? Will you suffer Peterkin to clip Angela's wings?"

Clara's whole aspect had fired. Flame seemed burst from her gray-green
eyes, sparks to shoot to from her tawny head. "I would strike him dead
first."

Peachy turned to Chiquita. The color had poured into Chiquita's
face until her full brown eyes glared from a purple mask. "You, too,
Chiquita. You may bear girl-children. Oh, will you help me?"

"I'll help you," Chiquita said steadily. She added after a pause, "I
cannot believe that they'll dare, though."

"Oh, they'll dare anything," Peachy said bitterly. Earth-men are devils.
What shall we do, Julia? she asked wearily.

Julia had arisen. She stood upright. Curiously, she did not totter. And
despite her shorn pinions, she seemed more than ever to tower like some
Winged Victory of the air. Her face ace glowed with rage. As on that
fateful day at the Clubhouse, it was as though a fire had been built in
an alabaster vase. But as they looked at her, a rush of tears wiped t