“You should look into a cannery some day, for sights—­by which I mean that you shouldn’t do anything of the sort!...  Oh, get us to some quieter street there, Frederick!...  But it was my fault for agreeing to go with you.  I knew, as you couldn’t, that a going factory’s no place for a girl delicately brought up.  Those women don’t mind.  That is, as a rule ...”

Carlisle responded to this sensible treatment with what lightsomeness she could muster; but the odd truth was that she hardly listened to Hugo.  Heaven knew that she needed the strong sane arguments, heaven knew that he could state them all unanswerably.  And yet, just as she was aware that her woman’s feelings about the bunching-room would have no weight with Hugo, so she was curiously aware that Hugo’s arguments produced no effect at all upon her.  If she had relied upon him as a demolishing club against Vivian, the over-sympathetic, it appeared that his strength was not equal to the peculiar demand.  And all at once she seemed to have gotten to know her lover very well; there were no more surprises in him.  She suddenly perceived a strange and hitherto unsuspected likeness between Hugo and mamma, in that you could not talk over things with either of them....

“Remember, Cally,” he said, summing up, “this is the first factory you’ve ever seen in your life.  You’ve nothing at all to judge by, in a business matter of this sort—­”

Something in his tone flicked her briefly out of her resolve not to argue; but she spoke lightly enough.

“Yes, I judge by the way it made me feel.  I judge everything that way.”

“That’s natural, of course,” said he, with a slight smile, “but after all it’s rather a woman’s way of judging things than a sociologist’s.  Isn’t it?”

“But I am a woman.”

The car shook off the dust of the business district, mounted a long hill, bowled into streets fairer than Canal.  Hugo’s sense of a grievance deepened.  Granted that she had nearly fainted, as a consequence of her own foolish perversity, it was surely now due to him that she should begin to be her sweet natural self again.

He had had quite enough of this irrational invasion of his afternoon; and so, having said just a word or two in reply to her last remark, he banished the matter from the conversation.

“Now,” said he, “to fresh woods and pastures new, and a song of the open road!...  Which way shall we go?”

Cally hesitated.

“I’m sorry, Hugo—­but I think I should like to go home, if you don’t mind.”

“Home?”

“I really don’t feel quite like a drive now.  I’m very sorry—­”

Canning gazed down at her in dismay.

“I knew you didn’t feel quite yourself yet.  You couldn’t deceive me ...  But don’t let’s go home! Why, this air is the very thing you need, Carlisle.  It will set you up in no time.”

But no, she seemed to think that was not what she needed, nor were her doubts removed by several further arguments from him.