a. "If the 'sacred privilege' and 'noblest vocation'
safeguards won't hold, science must throw up entrenchments."

"I prefer the more romantic and sentimental presentment of the matter,"
said Lady Engleton.

"Naturally. Ah! it is pathetic, the way we have tried to make things
decorative; but it won't hold out much longer. Women are driving their
masters to plain speaking--the ornaments are being dragged down. And
what do we find? Bare and very ugly fact. And if we venture to hint that
this unsatisfactory skeleton may be modified in form, science becomes
stern. She wishes things, in this department, left as they are. Women
are made for purposes of reproduction; let them clearly understand that.
No picking and choosing."

"Men pick and choose, it is true," observed Lady Engleton in a musing
tone, as if thinking aloud.

"Ah, but that's different--a real scientific argument, though a
superficial observer might not credit it. At any rate, it is quite
sufficiently scientific for this particular subject. Our leaders of
thought don't bring out their Sunday-best logic on this question. They
lounge in dressing-gown and slippers. One gets to know the oriental
pattern of that dressing-gown and the worn-down heels of those old
slippers."

"They may be right though, notwithstanding their logic," said Lady
Engleton.

"By good luck, not good guidance. I wonder what her Serene Highness
Science would say if she heard us?"

"That we two ignorant creatures are very presumptuous."

"Yes, people always fall back on that, when they can't refute you."

Lady Engleton smiled.

"I should like to hear the question discussed by really competent
persons. (Well, if luncheon is dead cold it will be his own fault.)"

"Oh, really competent persons will tell us all about the possibilities
of woman: her feelings, desires, capabilities, and limitations, now and
for all time to come. And the wildly funny thing is that women are
ready, with open mouths, to reverently swallow this male verdict on
their inherent nature, as if it were gospel divinely inspired. I may
appear a little inconsistent," Hadria added with a laugh, "but I do
think women are fools!"

They had strolled on along the path till they came to the
schoolmistress's grave, which was green and daisy-covered, as if many
years had passed since her burial. Hadria stood, for a moment, looking
down at it.

"Fools, fools, unutterable, irredeemable fools!" she burst out.

"My dear, my