ill suit me well enough.'

Peak vouchsafed no reply, but, when they had proceeded a little
distance, he exclaimed harshly:

'I hate emancipated women!'

His companion stopped and laughed loudly.

'Yes, I hate emancipated women,' the other repeated, with deliberation.
'Women ought neither to be enlightened nor dogmatic. They ought to be
sexual.'

'That's unusual brutality on your part.'

'Well, you know what I mean.'

'I know what you think you mean,' said Earwaker. 'But the woman who is
neither enlightened nor dogmatic is only too common in society. They
are fools, and troublesome fools.'

Peak again kept silence.

'The emancipated woman,' pursued his friend, 'needn't be a Miss Moxey,
nor yet a Mrs. Morton.'

'Miss Moxey is intolerable,' said Peak. 'I can't quite say why I
dislike her so, but she grows more antipathetic to me the better I know
her. She has not a single feminine charm--not one. I often feel very
sorry for her, but dislike her all the same.'

'Sorry for her,' mused Earwaker. 'Yes, so do I. I can't like her
either. She is certainly an incomplete woman. But her mind is of no low
order. I had rather talk with her than with one of the imbecile
prettinesses. I half believe you have a sneaking sympathy with the men
who can't stand education in a wife.'

'It's possible. In some moods.'

'In no mood can I conceive such a prejudice. I have no great attraction
to women of any kind, but the uneducated woman I detest.'

'Well, so do I,' muttered Peak. 'Do you know what?' he added, abruptly.
'I shall be off to the Pacific. Yes, I shall go this next winter. My
mind is made up.'

'I shan't try to dissuade you, old fellow, though I had rather have you
in sight. Come and see Malkin. I'll drop you a note with an
appointment.'

'Do.'

They soon reached the station, and exchanged but few more words before
Earwaker's leaving the train at Farringdon Street. Peak pursued his
journey towards the south-east of London.

On reaching home, the journalist flung aside his foolish coat of
ceremony, indued a comfortable jacket, lit a pipe with long stem, and
began to glance over an evening newspaper. He had not long reposed in
his arm-chair when the familiar appeal thundered from without. Malkin
once more shook his hand effusively.

'Had my journey to Fulham for nothing. Didn't matter; I ran over to
Putney and looked up my old landlady. The rooms are occupied by a
married couple, but I think we shall succeed i