We may split on this rock, Uncle," he blurted. "Think
of my mother--I sort of resent it, because I _am_ a man, that we
idealize virtues and plaster them on women when we know jolly well, if
we lathered them on ourselves, we'd cave in under them. It's up to the
woman! That's what I say. Let her select her own little virtues and see
to it that she squares it with her soul and then men--well, men keep to
the right and keep moving!"

Having flared forth, Cameron laughed at his own fireworks.

"Joan is selfish, Nancy quite the reverse." Martin's brows drew
together. "Don't be an ass, Bud!"

"What's this Joan doing?"

"Thinking she's gifted," snapped Martin.

"How is she to find out if she doesn't try? Is Miss Fletcher paying for
the racket?"

"No. That's the rub. The girl's paying for it herself. Smudging herself
doing it, too. A woman can't escape the smudge."

"Oh! well"--Cameron was tiring of it all--"it's when the smudge sticks
that counts. If it is only skin deep, it doesn't matter."

"But--a woman, Bud--well, skin matters in a woman."

"Who says so? Oh! chuck it, Uncle Dave. Which shall it be--bed for an
hour or a rarebit at Tumbles and then--on to the fight?"

"What time is it?"

"Eleven-thirty."

"Bud, let us have another look at our salvage before we choose; if we
find them sleeping, we'll take the rarebit as a recompense for a night's
sleep."

And together they went out into the night. Two tired men who had done a
stiff day's work--but felt that they must make sure before they sought
rest for themselves.

* * * * *

And Joan and Patricia faced the epidemic as so many of the young
did--nothing really _could_ happen to them, they believed--and Chicago
was not paying so heavy a toll.

"We'll take a little extra care with food and sleep and wet feet," Joan
cautioned, "and I'll put off my visit, Pat, for awhile."

"And, Joan," Patricia said, laughingly, "keep your mouth shut in the
street!"

The four little rooms were sunshiny and warm; Joan sang hour by hour;
worked at her music and "made the home," while Patricia kept to her
rigid hours and designed marvellous things in which other women
revelled.

Since Nancy had gone South and her beloved was absent, Joan felt that
her duty was to Patricia. Without being able to classify her feeling she
clung to Patricia with a nameless anxiety.

She taught the little dog to fetch Patricia's slippers to the
living-room fire;