d
sexually against a whole sex. The situation was very contradictory. They
had beautified and ornamented themselves in order to attract a whole
sex, and yet they appeared to resent the necessity and instinct to
attract. They submitted with a secret repugnance to the mysterious and
supreme bond which kept the sexes inexorably together. And while
stooping to fascinate, while deliberately seeking attention, they still
had the assured mien of conquerors. Their eyes said that they knew they
were indispensable, that they had a transcendent role to play, that no
concealed baseness of the inimical sex was hidden from them, and that
they meant to exploit their position to the full. These Latin women
exhibited a logic, an elegance, and a frankness beyond the reach of the
Anglo-Saxon. Their eyes said not that they had been disillusioned, but
rather that they had never had illusions. They admitted the facts; they
admitted everything--economic dependence, chicane, the intention to
seize every advantage, ruthless egotism. They had no shame for a
depravity which they shared equally with the inescapable and cherished
enemy And it was the youngest who, beneath the languishing and the
softness and the invitation deceitful and irresistible, gazed outmost
triumphantly to the enemy: "You are the victims. We have tried our
strength and your infirmity." They were heroic. There was a feeling in
the bright air of melancholy and doom as the two hostile forces,
inseparable, inextricably involved together, surveyed the opponent in
the everlasting conflict. George felt its influence upon himself, upon
Lois, upon the whole scene. The eyes of the most feminine women in the
world, denying their smiles and their lure, had discovered to him
something which marked a definite change in his estimate of certain
ultimate earthly values.

Lois said:

"Perhaps a telegram is waiting for you at the hotel."

"Well, I can wait till I get back," he replied stoutly.

He thought, looking at her by his side:

"She is just like these Frenchwomen!" And for some reason he felt proud.

"You needn't," said Lois, "We can telephone from under the grand stand
if you like."

"But I don't know the number."

"We can get that out of the book, of course."

"I don't reckon I can use these French telephones."

"Oh! My poor boy, I'll telephone for you--unless you prefer not to risk
knowing the worst."

Yes, her tone was the tone of a strange woman. And it was she who
t