“I’d like to, but—­”

“We’ve just been discussing a theme that I know you’re really vitally interested in.”

“I?” I could see by the sudden lift of her brows that Una was now on her guard.

“Yes.  You believe in women working, in woman’s independence, in the New-Thought idea of unconventional morality, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Simply that women are or should be perfectly capable of looking out for themselves, as much so as men?”

“That depends a great deal upon the woman, I should say,” replied Una, smiling tolerantly.

“I was just about to put a hypothetical question.  Do you mind listening?  A young girl, for instance, pretty, romantic, a trifle venturesome, weary of the banalities of existence, leaves all the tiresome cares of the city and with the wanderlust upon her goes faring forth in search of adventure.  A purely hypothetical case, but a typical one.  As she wanders through the woods, she comes upon a high stone wall, something like this one of Jerry’s, and suddenly remembers that within this wall there lives a young man, beautiful beyond the dreams of the gods.  I have said that she is romantic, also venturesome—­”

“Her address, please,” muttered Lloyd quickly.

“Do be quiet, Chan—­” Marcia went on.  “Venturesome, modern, moral—­”

“It can’t be done,” muttered the brute again.

“Chan, do be serious.  Curiosity overwhelms the girl.  Nobody is about.  So, putting her fears behind her, she climbs the wall and enters.”

The daring impertinence of this recital had stricken Jerry suddenly dumb, but the veins at his temples were swelling with the hot blood that had risen to his face.  Una, after a moment of uncertainty, became strangely composed.

“It is a beautiful spot.  No one is in sight,” Marcia went on amusedly.  “The girl ventures further, and finds the beautiful young man catching trout.  She talks to him.  I think he is amused at her temerity, also perhaps a little flattered at her marks of confidence—­”

“Marcia!” It was Jerry’s voice, deep, booming, and I had hardly recognized it.  But there was a note in it that caused a hush to fall over the room.  The girl looked up as though puzzled.

“You interrupt, Jerry—­”

“Neither Una nor I are interested in what you’re saying,” he cried hoarsely, while the rest of the company stared at him.

“I am, Jerry,” said Una’s voice very coolly.  Except for Marcia, perhaps, she was the least ruffled person in the room.  “I want very much to hear the rest of the story,” she added.  “It has possibilities.”

Marcia laughed.

“Possibilities, yes.  There isn’t much left to tell except that the girl spent the afternoon and the evening in the cabin with the beautiful young man and then went over the wall the way she came.  Now what I wanted to know, Una dear, is whether you think that morality, conventional or unconventional, can stand a test like that.”