“Yes, Evelina,” she answered in an adamant tone of voice, “and when I have the complete record of what, I know, will be your triumphant vindication of the truth that it is possible and advisable for women to assert their divine right to choose a mate for their sacred vocation of bearing the race, I shall proceed, as I have told you, to choose five other suitable young women to follow your example, and furnish them the money, up to the sum of a hundred thousand dollars, after having been convinced by your experience.  Be careful to make the most minute records, of even the most emotional phases of the question, in this book for their guidance.  Of course, they will never know the source of the data, and I will help you elucidate and arrange the book, after it is all accomplished.”

If Jane hadn’t had two million dollars all this trouble would not be.

“I can never do it!” I exclaimed with horror, “And the men will hate it—­and me.  And if I did do it, I couldn’t write it.”

I almost sobbed as a vision flashed before me of thus verbally snap-shotting the scene with dear old Dickie as we stood against the rail of the ship and watched the waves fling back silvery radiance at the full moon, and I also wondered how I was to render in serviceable written data his husky: 

“A woman is the flame that lights the spark—­”

Also, what would that interview with Polk Hayes look like reproduced with high lights?

“Now,” she answered encouragingly, “don’t fear the men, dear.  They are sensible and business-like creatures, and they will soon see how much to their advantage it is to be married to women who have had an equal privilege with themselves of showing their preferences.  Then only can they be sure that their unions are from real preferences and not compromises, on the part of their wives, from lack of other choice.  Of course, a woman’s pride will make her refrain from courtship, as does her brother man, until she is financially independent, and self-supporting, lest she be put in the position of a mendicant.”  Jane has thought the whole thing out from Genesis to Revelation.

Still, that last clause about the mendicant leaves hope for the benighted man who still wants the cling of the vine.  A true vine would never want—­or be able—­to hustle enough to flower sordid dollars instead of curls and blushes.

“A woman would have to be—­to be a good deal of a woman, not any less one, to put such a thing across, Jane,” I said, with a preflash of some of the things that might happen in such a cruel crusade of reformation and deprivation of rights.

“That is the reason I have chosen you to collect the data, Evelina,” answered Jane, with another of those glorious tonic looks, issuing from my backbone in her back.  “The ultimate woman must be superb in body, brain, and heart.  You are that now more nearly than any one I have ever seen.  You are the woman!”

I was silenced with awe.