, I suppose," sighed Bob.

"Well, then, if it's a custom that's unjust and based on prejudice, why
keep on observing it? It used to be the custom for men to wear satin
knickerbockers and lace ruffles over their wrists, but some one was
sensible enough--or irreverent enough--" she tucked in good-naturedly,
"to object--and you're the gainer. There! How's that for an answer?
Doesn't solitaire win?"

"Custom and tradition," replied Bob earnestly, anxiously, "is the work
of the conservative and thoughtful majority, and to custom and tradition
every civilization must look for a solid foundation. Ignore them and we
wouldn't be much of a people."

"Then how shall we ever progress?" eagerly took up Ruth, "if we just
keep blindly following old-fogey laws and fashions? It seems to me that
the only way people ever get ahead is by breaking traditions. Father
broke a few in his generation--he had to to keep up with the game--and
so must I."

"Oh, well," said Bob, almost wearily, "let's not argue, you and I."

"Why not?" inquired Ruth, and I heard her dealing out more cards as she
went on talking gaily. "I love a good argument. It wakes me up
intellectually. My mind's been so lazy. It _needs_ to be waked up. It
feels good, like the first spring plunge in a pond of cold water to a
sleepy old bear who's been rolled up in a ball in some dark hole all
winter. That's what it feels like. I never knew what fun it was to think
and argue till I began taking the English course at Shirley. We argue by
the hour there. It's great fun. But I suppose I'm terribly illogical and
no fun to argue with. That's the way with most women. It isn't our
fault. Men seem to want to make just nice soft pussy-cats out of us,
with ribbons round our necks," she laughed, "and hear us purr. There!
wait a minute. I'm going to get this. Come and see." Then abruptly,
"Why, Bob, do the cards shock _you_?"

[Illustration: "'Men seem to want to make just nice soft pussy-cats out
of us, with ribbons round our necks, and hear us purr'"--_Page 129_]

"No, no--not a bit," he assured her.

"They do," she affirmed. "How funny. They do." There was a pause.
"Well," she said at last (Will was still reading out loud and I could
barely catch her answer). "Well, I suppose they're only pasteboard, just
as the book was only paper and print. I can give them up."

"I don't want you to--not for me. No, don't. Go right ahead. Please,"
urged Bob. But it was too late.

"Of course n