“I didn’t think you were a bit slushy.”

“I’m not slushy,” indignantly.  “I hate slushy people.  Where did you get that word?”

“Roger.  He hates ’em too.”

“Your Roger doesn’t like women, does he?”

“No.  He’s very wise, Roger is.  But sometimes I think he’s prejudiced.  I’d like you to know Roger, I really would.”

She gazed straight before her for a moment deliberating and then: 

“I hope you don’t mind if I say so, but I think your Roger must be a good deal of a fossil.”

“A fossil.  Now see here, Una—­I can’t have you talking about Roger like that.”

“He is.  I’m sure of it.  All theorists are.”

“He’s not.  He’s the broadest fellow you ever knew.”

“Nobody’s broad who ignores the existence of woman,” she returned hotly.  “It’s sinful—­that sort of philosophy.  It’s against nature.  We’re here—­millions of us, working as hard as men do, earning our own way in the world, active, live intelligences, writing books, nursing in hospitals, cleaning the plague-spots out of the cities, influencing in a thousand ways the uplift of that coarser brute man and besides all this practicing a thousand acts of self-abnegation in the home.  Keeping man’s house, cooking his food, bearing his ch—­”

She stopped abruptly and bit her lip.

“Bearing his—­what?” asked Jerry.

“Burdens,” she blurted out.  “Burdens—­all sorts of burdens,” she finished weakly.

“I suppose there are things that women can do,” said Jerry after a moment.  “Of course, I don’t know much about it.  But—­”

“Well, it’s time you did,” she broke in again.  “It may be beautiful here—­inside these walls—­an unbroken idyl of peace and contentment, but it isn’t life.  It’s just existence, that’s all.  If I were a man, I’d want to do a man’s work in the world.  I wouldn’t want to miss an hour of it, childhood, boyhood or manhood.  I’d want to meet my temptations and conquer them.  It’s selfish, the way you live, unreal, cowardly.”

“See here, Una—­”

“I mean it.  You’ve got me started and I can’t help it.  If I say anything that hurts, you’ll have to put me out.  But I’m going to tell you what I think.”

“You’re rather bewildering.  But I’m not a coward.  I don’t want you to say that.  If you were a man, I’d give you a thrashing,” he said quietly.

Their glances must have flashed fire.  Jerry’s face was red, I’m sure, and his fingers were twitching to get hold of something, but the girl didn’t flinch.  Jerry told me afterward that he found his anger softening strangely as he looked at her and in a moment they were both smiling.  The girl spoke first.

“I’ve gone too far, Jerry.  Forgive me.”

“Of course,” he said awkwardly.  “I suppose you’ve got a right to your opinions.  But it isn’t very pleasant to be told that one’s life is a failure.”