"We don't love men, Dorothy," she cried, "we love a man, the right man."

"But," persisted Dorothy, "why do we do it? They're not pretty and
they're not very interesting," she emphasised the "very," "and only a
few of them are clever. Sometimes in the Tube coming home I see a girl
and a man holding hands. What is it that makes them want to hold
hands?"

"It's natural to fall in love," said Mrs. West gently.

"But that's not falling in love," protested Dorothy scornfully. "If I
fell in love with a man I shouldn't want to hold his hand in a train.
I should hate him if he expected it."

"It's a question of class," said Mrs. West a little primly.

"Oh! mother, what an awful snob you are," cried Dorothy, jumping up and
going round and giving her mother a hug. "Let's go into the
drawing-room and be comfy and have a chat."

When they were seated, Mrs. West in an armchair and Dorothy on a stool
at her feet, the girl continued her interrogations. "Now suppose," she
continued, "I were to fall in love with a man who was ugly,
ill-mannered, badly dressed, with very little to say for himself. Why
should I do it?" Dorothy looked challengingly up at her mother.

"But you wouldn't, dear," said Mrs. West with gentle conviction.

"Oh, mother, you're awfully trying you know," she cried in mock
despair. "You've got to suppose that I have, or could. Why should I
do it?" Mrs. West gazed at her daughter a little anxiously, then shook
her head.

"Now I can quite understand," went on Dorothy, half to herself, "why a
man should fall in love with me. I'm pretty and bright, wear nice
things, particularly underneath----"

"Dorothy!" broke in Mrs. West in a tone of shocked protest.

She laughed. "Oh, mother, you're a dreadful prude. Why do you think
girls wear pretty shoes and stockings, and low cut blouses as thin as a
cobweb?"

"Hush! Dorothy, you mustn't say such things." There was pain in Mrs.
West's voice.

"I wish we could face facts," said Dorothy with a sigh. "You see,
mother dear," she continued, "when you're in a government office, with
heaps of other girls and men about, you get to know things, see things,
and sometimes you get to hate things."

"I have always regretted," began Mrs. West sadly.

"You mustn't do that, mother dear," cried Dorothy; "it has been an
education. But what I want to know is, what is it in a man that
attracts a girl?"

"Goodness, honour and----" began Mrs. West.

"No, it isn'