I put you, and when I invite you to
come on a spree you're going to be glad--"

Her face tightened with rage. She leaped at him, shook him by the
shoulder, and her voice came in a shriek:

"Now that's enough. I'm through. You did mean to insinuate I was out
with men. I wasn't--but that was just accident. I'd have been glad to,
if there'd been one I could have loved even a little. I'd have gone
anywhere with him--done anything! And now we're through. I stood you as
long as it was my job to do it. _God!_ what jobs we women have in this
chivalrous world that honors women so much!--but now that you can take
care of yourself, I'll do the same."

"What d' yuh mean?"

"I mean this."

She darted at the bed, yanked from beneath it her suit-case, and into it
began to throw her toilet articles.

Mr. Schwirtz sat upon the bed and laughed enormously.

"You women cer'nly are a sketch!" he caroled. "Going back to mamma, are
you? Sure! That's what the first Mrs. Schwirtz was always doing. Let's
see. Once she got as far as the depot before she came back and admitted
that she was a chump. I doubt if you get that far. You'll stop on the
step. You're too tightwad to hire a taxi, even to try to scare me and
make it unpleasant for me."

Una stopped packing, stood listening. Now, her voice unmelodramatic
again, she replied:

"You're right about several things. I probably was thoughtless about
leaving you alone evenings--though it is _not_ true that I ever left you
without provision for supper. And of course you've often left me alone
back there in the hotel while you were off with other women--"

"Now who's insinuating?" He performed another characteristic peroration.
She did not listen, but stood with warning hand up, a small but
plucky-looking traffic policeman, till he ceased, then went on:

"But I can't really blame you. Even in this day when people like my
friend Mamie Magen think that feminism has won everything, I suppose
there must still be a majority of men like you--men who've never even
heard of feminism, who think that their women are breed cattle. I judge
that from the conversations I overhear in restaurants and street-cars,
and these pretty vaudeville jokes about marriage that you love so, and
from movie pictures of wives beating husbands, and from the fact that
women even yet haven't the vote. I suppose that you don't really know
many men besides the mucky cattle-drover sort, and I can't blame you for
thinking li