“I don’t know even what a Feminist is,” said Jimmie, “but I’m glad I’m not one.”

“A Feminist is one,” explained Jeanne, “who does not think her life should be devoted to one person, but to the world.”

Jimmie shook his head and smiled miserably.

“You are my world,” he said.  “The only world I know.  The only world I want to know.”

He walked to the fireplace and leaned his elbows on the mantel, and buried his head in his hands.  But that his distress might not hurt Jeanne, he turned and, to give her courage, smiled.

“If you are going to devote yourself to the World,” he asked, “and not to any one person, why can’t I sort of trail along?  Why need you leave me and go with—­with some one else?”

“For the work I hope to do,” answered Jeanne, “you and I are not suited.  But Proctor and I are suited.  He says he never met a woman who understands him as I do.”

“Hell!” said Jimmie.  After that he did not speak for some time.  Then he asked roughly: 

“He’s going to marry you, of course?”

Jeanne flushed crimson.

“Of course!” she retorted.  Her blush looked like indignation, and so Jimmie construed it, but it was the blush of embarrassment.  For Maddox considered the ceremony of marriage an ignoble and barbaric bond.  It degraded the woman, he declared, in making her a slave, and the man in that he accepted such a sacrifice.  Jeanne had not argued with him.  Until she were free, to discuss it with him seemed indecent.  But in her own mind there was no doubt.  If she were to be the helpmate of Proctor Maddox in uplifting the world, she would be Mrs. Proctor Maddox; or, much as he was to her, each would uplift the world alone.  But she did not see the necessity of explaining all this to Jimmie, so she said:  “Of course!”

“I will see the lawyers to-morrow,” said Jimmie.  “It will take some time to arrange, and so,” he added hopefully, “you can think it over.”

Jeanne exclaimed miserably: 

“I have thought of nothing else,” she cried, “for six months!”

Jimmie bent above her and laid his hand upon her shoulder.

“I am sorry, so sorry,” he said.  “If I’d any brains I’d have seen how it was long ago.  Now I’ll not waste time.  You’ll be rid of me as quick as the courts can fix it.”

He started for the door, but Jeanne caught his hand.

“Won’t you kiss me, Jimmie?” she said.

Jimmie hesitated unhappily and Jeanne raised her eyes to his.

“Not since we were married, Jimmie,” she said, “has any one kissed me but you.”

So Jimmie bent and kissed her.  She clung to his sleeve.

“Jimmie,” she begged, “you haven’t told me you forgive me.  Unless you forgive me I can’t go on with it.  Tell me you forgive me!”

“Forgive you?” protested Jimmie.  “I love you!”

When Jimmie went to the office of the lawyer, who also was his best friend, and told him that Jennie wanted a separation, that young man kicked the waste-paper basket against the opposite wall.