till turning the leaves of the book
he held, "that this pleases you?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, amuses you? Instructs you, if you like that better?"

"No, I mean to say simply--since you insist--that he speaks the truth,
and there are some--even among women--who must know the truth and
abide by it."

"Well, thank Heaven," said the man, pulling at his cigar, "that most
women are more emotional than intelligent--as Nature meant them to
be."

Mrs. Shattuck examined her daintily polished nails, rubbed them
carefully on the palm of her hand, as women have a trick of doing, and
then polished them on her lace handkerchief, before she said, "Yes, it
is a pity that we are not all like that,--a very great pity--for our
own sakes. Yet, unluckily, some of us _will_ think."

"But the thinking woman is so rarely logical, so unable to take life
impersonally, that Schopenhauer does her no good. He only fills her
mind with errors, mistrust, unhappiness."

"You men always argue that way with women--as if life were not the
same for us as for you. Pass me the book. I wager that I can open it
at random, and that you cannot deny the truth of the first sentence I
read."

He passed her the book.

She took it, laid it open carelessly on her knees, bending the covers
far back that it might stay open, and she gave her finger tips a final
rub with her handkerchief before she looked at the page. She paused a
bit after she glanced at it, then picked up the book and read:
"'_L'homme est par Nature porte a l'inconstance dans l'amour, la femme
a la fidelite. L'amour de l'homme baisse d'une facon sensible a partir
de l'instant ou il a obtenu satisfaction: il semble que toute autre
femme ait plus d'attrait que celle qu'il possede._'"

She laid the book down, but she did not look at him.

"Rubbish," was his remark.

"Yes, I know. You men always find it so easy to say 'rubbish' to all
natural truths which you prefer not to discuss."

"Well, my dear Naomi, it seems to me that if you are to advocate
Schopenhauer, you must go the whole length with him. The fault is in
Nature, and you must accept it as inevitable, and not kick against
it."

"I don't kick against Nature--as you put it--I kick against
civilization, which makes laws regardless of Nature, which
deliberately shuts its eyes to all natural truths in regard to the
relations of men to women,--and is therefore forced to continually
wink to avoid confessing its folly."

"Civilization