uld
be together all day and all night, without stopping for meal times--"

"You've got the tropics badly, my child," he said, laughing a little
forcedly, as he tried to light a cigarette with trembling fingers and
finally gave it up.

"Why? Do people love each other more in the tropics?" she asked. "You
love me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. But girls are not supposed to talk about it like men
do. Girls have to pretend they don't feel all wobbly and anyhow, because
it's more fun for a man when a girl doesn't hurl herself at him."

"But why pretend? Why not be honest about it?" she said, her voice a
little flat. "You want me to love you, don't you?"

"Course I do. But you're so queer. Most girls let a chap do the
love-making. They dress themselves up--all laces and ribbons and things,
and pretend they're frightened to make a chap all the keener."

She thought it out, sitting up as straight as possible.

"I couldn't, Louis," she said decidedly. "I've read that in books, years
ago. I didn't understand it then, but I do now. And I think it's
horrible. Father had a lot of books about those things and I read them
to him when he was ill. I was looking one up again the other day--that
day you threw the teapot in the sea." And she told him about the
"preliminary canter."

"Well, that's absolutely right," he said coolly. "Women are like that.
They're specialized for sex. Don't you admit that you've no brains?
You've told me so many a time, and your father always said you were an
idiot. And don't you admit that when I kiss you--especially here in the
tropics where everything is a bit accelerated--you feel different--all
wobbly--?"

She nodded, looking startled.

"Well, what does it mean? It simply means you're specialized. Yes you
are, Marcella. Specialized as a woman. All this--this liking to be
kissed, and feeling wobbly. They're Kraill's preliminary canter."

"Oh no--no!" she cried in horror.

"Oh, yes, yes!" he mocked, laughing at her gently.

"But Louis, how horrible!"

"Well, you're always preaching honesty and facing facts," he said
bluntly.

"Yes--" she said thoughtfully. "But--I don't like it. I hate it. I don't
believe Kraill thinks like that, really--I've read three of his courses
of lectures and in all of them he doesn't seem to approve of women being
like that. Just vehicles of existence or bundles of sensation. He seems,
to me, to resent women."

"Yes--after many love adventures," he began.

"B