“Confidence is a good thing to have, but a little wholesome doubt don’t hurt the masculine gender none.  I guess, if I was put to it, I could count on one hand with no fingers, the number o’ gen’l’men, no matter how plain, have died because ’way down in their hearts they believed they wasn’t reel A-1 Winners. That’s one thing it takes a lot o’ hard usage to convince the sect of.  They may feel they ain’t gettin’ their doos, that they’re misunderstood, an’ bein’ sold below cost.  But that they’re ackchelly shopworn, or what’s called ‘seconds,’ or put on the As Is counter because they’re cracked, or broke, or otherwise slightly disfigured, but still in the ring—­why, that never seems to percolate through their brains, like those coffee-pots they use nowadays, that don’t make no better coffee than the old kind, if you know how to do it good, in the first place.

“On the other hand, ladies is dretful tryin’!  They act like they’re the discoverers of perpetchal emotion, an’ is on the job demonstratin’.  You can’t count on ’em for one minit to the next, which they certaintly was never born to be aromatic cash-registers.  An’ p’raps that’s the reason, bein’ natchelly so poor at figgers, they got to rely to such a extent on corsets.  I’m all for women myself.  I believe they’re the comin’ man, but I must confess, if I’m to speak the truth, it ain’t for the simple, uninfected, childlike mind o’ the male persuasion to foller their figaries, unless he’s some of a trained acrobat.

“Now, the harsh way Miss Claire has toward Mr. Ronald!  You’d think he had give himself dead away to her, an’ was down on his knee-pans humble as a ‘Piscerpalian sayin’ the Literny in Lent, grubbin’ about among the dust she treads on, to touch the hem o’ her garment.  Whereas, in some way unbeknownst to me, an’ prob’ly unbeknownst to him, he’s touched her pride, which is why she’s so up in arms, not meanin’ his—­worse luck!  An’ it would have all worked out right in the end, an’ will yet, if this new party that Radcliffe mentioned ain’t Mr. Buttinsky, an’ she don’t foller the dictates of her art an’ flirt with him too outrageous, or else marry him to spite herself, which is what I mean to pervent if I can, but which, of course, it may be I can’t.”

CHAPTER XIV

“Frank,” said Mrs. Sherman one Sunday morning, some weeks later, stopping her brother on his way to the door, “can you spare me a few moments?  I’ve something very important I want to discuss with you.  I want you to help me with suggestions and advice in a matter that very closely concerns some one in whom I’m greatly interested.”

Mr. Ronald paused.  “Meaning?” he suggested.

“I don’t know that I ought to tell you.  You see, it’s—­it’s confidential.”

“Suggestions and advice are foolish things to give, Catherine.  They are seldom taken, never thanked for.”