“That’s what I told him,” Peachy went on in a breaking voice.  “But he said you wouldn’t have anything to do or say about it.  He said that Honey-Boy would be trained in these matters by his father, not by his mother.  I said that you would fight them both.  He asked me what chance you would have against your husband and your son.  He — he — he always spoke as if Honey-Boy were more Honey’s child than yours, and as though Angela were more his child than mine.  He said that he had talked this question over with the other men when Angela’s wings first began to grow.  He said that they made up their minds then that her wings must be cut when she became a woman.  I besought him not to do it — I begged, I entreated, I pleaded.  He said that nothing I could say would change him.  I said that you would all stand by me in this, and he asked me what we five could do against them.  He, called us five tottering females.  Oh, it grew dreadful.  I shrieked at him, finally.  As he left, he said, ‘Remember your first day in the Clubhouse, my dear!  That’s my answer.’” She turned to Clara.  “Clara, you are going to bear a child in the spring.  It may be a girl.  Would you let son of mine or any of these women clip her wings?  Will you suffer Peterkin to clip Angela’s wings?”

Clara’s whole aspect had fired.  Flame seemed burst from her gray-green eyes, sparks to shoot to from her tawny head.  “I would strike him dead first.”

Peachy turned to Chiquita.  The color had poured into Chiquita’s face until her full brown eyes glared from a purple mask.  “You, too, Chiquita.  You may bear girl-children.  Oh, will you help me?”

“I’ll help you,” Chiquita said steadily.  She added after a pause, “I cannot believe that they’ll dare, though.”

“Oh, they’ll dare anything,” Peachy said bitterly.  Earth-men are devils.  What shall we do, Julia? she asked wearily.

Julia had arisen.  She stood upright.  Curiously, she did not totter.  And despite her shorn pinions, she seemed more than ever to tower like some Winged Victory of the air.  Her face ace glowed with rage.  As on that fateful day at the Clubhouse, it was as though a fire had been built in an alabaster vase.  But as they looked at her, a rush of tears wiped the flame from her eyes.  She sank back again on the couch.  She put her hands over her face and sobbed.  “At last,” she said strangely.  “At last!  At last!  At last!”

“What shall we do, Julia?” Peachy asked stonily.

“Rebel!” answered Julia.

“But how?”

“Refuse to let them cut Angela’s wings.”

“Oh, I would not dare open the subject with Ralph,” Peachy said in a terror-stricken voice.  “In the mood he’s in, he’d cut her wings tonight.”

“I don’t mean to tell him anything about it,” Julia replied.  “Rebel in secret.  I mean — they overcame us once by strategy.  We must beat them now by superior strategy.”

“You don’t really mean anything secret, do you, Julia?” Lulu remonstrated.  “That wouldn’t be quite fair, would it?”