"Yes, and you take your son's view—and Billy Foot's." He smiled again, and she smiled too, meeting his glance directly. "Oh yes, Billy too—though he may have his temptations! Squarely now, Mr. Belfield, if—for the sake of argument—your son treated Miss Wellgood badly, or even Miss Vintry, it would seem a different thing from treating Sally or me badly, wouldn't it?"
"You do put it pretty squarely," said Belfield, twisting his lips.
"A glass of beer gives you the right to flirt with poor Miss Miles. It's supposed to be champagne with us. When you were about town—don't you remember?"
"I suppose it was. It's not a tradition to be proud of."
"There are compensations—which some of us like. If Sally or I behave badly, who cares? But if Miss Wellgood or Miss Vintry—! Oh, dear me, the heavens would fall in Meriton!"
"By the way, I'm afraid I drive your friend away? Miss Dutton always disappears when I call."
"She generally disappears when people come. Sally's shy of strangers. Well, you know, as I was saying, Andy Hayes hasn't got that tradition. I think if I ever fell in love—I never do, Mr. Belfield—I should fall in love with a man who hadn't that tradition. But they're very hard to find."
"Let's suppose it's one of those thousand things that are going to change," he suggested, with his sceptical smile.
"Do things between men and women change much, in spite of all the talk? You've read history, I haven't."
"Yes, I have to a certain extent. I don't know that I'm inclined to give you the result of my researches. Not very cheerful! And, meanwhile, there's Andy Hayes!"