owards her so as to give out his
whole idea, yet apparently forgetting for the moment how offensive it
must be to her now that it was articulated in that calm, severe way, in
which no allowance was to be made for hyperbole. Verena did not remind
herself of this; she was too much impressed by his manner and by the
novelty of a man taking that sort of religious tone about such a cause.
It told her on the spot, from one minute to the other and once for all,
that the man who could give her that impression would never come round.
She felt cold, slightly sick, though she replied that now he summed up
his creed in such a distinct, lucid way, it was much more
comfortable--one knew with what one was dealing; a declaration much at
variance with the fact, for Verena had never felt less gratified in her
life. The ugliness of her companion's profession of faith made her
shiver; it would have been difficult to her to imagine anything more
crudely profane. She was determined, however, not to betray any shudder
that could suggest weakness, and the best way she could think of to
disguise her emotion was to remark in a tone which, although not assumed
for that purpose, was really the most effective revenge, inasmuch as it
always produced on Ransom's part (it was not peculiar, among women, to
Verena) an angry helplessness--"Mr. Ransom, I assure you this is an age
of conscience."

"That's a part of your cant. It's an age of unspeakable shams, as
Carlyle says."

"Well," returned Verena, "it's all very comfortable for you to say that
you wish to leave us alone. But you can't leave us alone. We are here,
and we have got to be disposed of. You have got to put us somewhere.
It's a remarkable social system that has no place for _us_!" the girl
went on, with her most charming laugh.

"No place in public. My plan is to keep you at home and have a better
time with you there than ever."

"I'm glad it's to be better; there's room for it. Woe to American
womanhood when you start a movement for being more--what you like to
be--at home!"

"Lord, how you're perverted; you, the very genius!" Basil Ransom
murmured, looking at her with the kindest eyes.

She paid no attention to this, she went on, "And those who have got no
home (there are millions, you know), what are you going to do with
_them_? You must remember that women marry--are given in marriage--less
and less; that isn't their career, as a matter of course, any more. You
can't tell them to