d a home all her life,
and she'd have made a lovely one, too, for children! And she's been kept
from it by all this fool's talk about womanliness."

"Help! What under the sun are you..." began Penfield.

"Why, look here, she's not and never was, the kind any man wants to
marry. She wouldn't have liked a real husband, either... poor, dear,
thin-blooded old child! But she wanted a _home_ just the same. Everybody
does! And if she had been taught how to earn a decent living, if she
hadn't been fooled out of her five senses by that idiotic cant about a
man's doing everything for you, or else going without... why she'd be
working now, a happy, useful woman, bringing up two or three adopted
children in a decent home she'd made for them with her own efforts...
instead of making her loving heart ridiculous over a cat...."

She dashed her hand over her eyes angrily, and stood silent for a
moment, trying to control her quivering chin before she went into the
house.

The young man touched her shoulder with reverent fingers. "Betty," he
said in a rather unsteady voice, "its _true_, all that bally-rot about
women being better than men. You _are_!"

With which very modern compliment, he turned and left her.

CHAPTER V. BY KATHLEEN NORRIS

Her first evening with her augmented family Genevieve Remington never
forgot. It is not at all likely that George ever forgot it, either;
but to George it was only one in the series of disturbing events that
followed his unqualified repudiation of the suffrage cause.

To Genevieve's tender heart it meant the wreckage, not the preservation
of the home; that lovely home to whose occupancy she had so hopefully
looked. She was too young a wife to recognize in herself the evanescent
emotions of the bride. The blight had fallen upon her for all time. What
had been fire was ashes; it was all over. The roseate dream had been
followed by a cruel, and a lasting, awakening.

Some day Genevieve would laugh at the memory of this tragic evening, as
she laughed at George's stern ultimatums, and at Junior's decision to
be an engineer, and at Jinny's tiny cut thumb. But she had no sense of
humor now. As she ran to the corner, and poured the whole distressful
story into her husband's ears, she felt the walls of her castle in Spain
crashing about her ears.

George, of course, was wonderful; he had been that all his life. He only
smiled, at first, at her news.

"You poor little sweetheart!" he said