“Rather,” said Julie, “and beyond words awful to the women.  I cannot imagine what they must have been like, but I think they must have been something like native African women.”

“Why?” queried Peter.

“Oh, because a native woman never reads and hardly goes five miles from her village.  She is a human animal, who bears children and keeps the house of her master, that’s all.  That’s what these women must have done.”

“The Church produced some different types,” said Peter; “but they had no chance elsewhere, perhaps.  Still, I expect they were as happy as we, perhaps happier.”

“And their cows were happier still, I should think,” laughed Julie.  “No, you can’t persuade me.  I wouldn’t have been a woman in those days for the world.”

“And now?” asked Peter.

“Rather!  We have much the best time on the whole.  We can do what we like pretty well.  If we want to be men, we can.  We can put on riding-breeches, even, and run a farm.  But if we like, we can wear glad rags and nice undies, and be more women than ever.”

“And in the end thereof?” Peter couldn’t help asking.

“Oh,” said Julie lightly, “one can settle down and have babies if one wants to.  And sit in a drawing-room and talk scandal as much as one likes.  Not that I shall do either, thank you.  I shall—­oh, I don’t know what I shall do.  Solomon, you are at your worst.  Pick me some of those primroses, and let’s be going.  You never can tell:  we may have to walk home yet.”

Peter plucked a few of the early blooms, and she pushed them into her waist-belt.  Then they went back to the car, and got in again.

“Cold?” he asked, after a little.

“A bit,” she said.  “Tuck me up, and don’t sit in that far corner all the time.  You make me feel chilly to look at you.  I hate sentimental people, but if you tried hard and were nice I could work up quite a lot of sentiment just now.”

He laughed, and tucked her up as required.  Then he lit a cigarette and slipped his arm round her waist.  “Is that better?” he said.

“Much.  But you can’t have had much practice.  Now tell me stories.”

Peter had a mind to tell her several, but he refrained, and they grew silent, “Do you think we shall have another day like this?” he demanded, after a little.

“I don’t see why not,” she said.  “But one never knows, does one?  The chances are we shan’t.  It’s a queer old world.”

“Let’s try, anyway; I’ve loved it,” he said.

“So have I,” said Julie.  “It’s the best day I’ve had for a long time, Peter.  You’re a nice person to go out with, you know, though I mustn’t flatter you too much.  You should develop the gift; it’s not everyone that has it.”

“I’ve no wish to,” he said.

“You are an old bear,” she laughed; “but you don’t mean all you say, or rather you do, for you will say what you mean.  You shouldn’t, Peter.  It’s not done nowadays, and it gives one away.  If you were like me, now, you could say and do anything and nobody would mind.  They’d never know what you meant, and of course all the time you’d mean nothing.”