“Then I ask your pardon.  I did not dream—­”

“There you go, spoiling it all!  I—­I quite liked you for it.  Don’t you remember, I, too, was a cave-woman, brandishing the whip over your head?

“But I am not done with you yet, Sir Doubleface, even if you have dropped out of the battle.”  Her eyes were sparkling mischievously, and the wee laughter-creases were forming on her cheek.  “I purpose to unmask you.”

“As clay in the hands of the potter,” he responded, meekly.

“Then you must remember several things.  At first, when I was very humble and apologetic, you made it easier for me by saying that you could only condemn my conduct on the ground of being socially unwise.  Remember?”

Corliss nodded.

“Then, just after you branded me as Jesuitical, I turned the conversation to Lucile, saying that I wished to see what I could see.”

Again he nodded.

“And just as I expected, I saw.  For in only a few minutes you began to talk about taint, and contamination, and dabbling in mud,—­and all in relation to me.  There are your two propositions, sir.  You may only stand on one, and I feel sure that you stand on the last one.  Yes, I am right.  You do.  And you were insincere, confess, when you found my conduct unwise only from the social point of view.  I like sincerity.”

“Yes,” he began, “I was unwittingly insincere.  But I did not know it until further analysis, with your help, put me straight.  Say what you will, Frona, my conception of woman is such that she should not court defilement.”

“But cannot we be as gods, knowing good and evil?”

“But we are not gods,” he shook his head, sadly.

“Only the men are?”

“That is new-womanish talk,” he frowned.  “Equal rights, the ballot, and all that.”

“Oh!  Don’t!” she protested.  “You won’t understand me; you can’t.  I am no woman’s rights’ creature; and I stand, not for the new woman, but for the new womanhood.  Because I am sincere; because I desire to be natural, and honest, and true; and because I am consistent with myself, you choose to misunderstand it all and to lay wrong strictures upon me.  I do try to be consistent, and I think I fairly succeed; but you can see neither rhyme nor reason in my consistency.  Perhaps it is because you are unused to consistent, natural women; because, more likely, you are only familiar with the hot-house breeds,—­pretty, helpless, well-rounded, stall-fatted little things, blissfully innocent and criminally ignorant.  They are not natural or strong; nor can they mother the natural and strong.”

She stopped abruptly.  They heard somebody enter the hall, and a heavy, soft-moccasined tread approaching.

“We are friends,” she added hurriedly, and Corliss answered with his eyes.

“Ain’t intrudin’, am I?” Dave Harney grinned broad insinuation and looked about ponderously before coming up to shake hands.