"A good man's life is worth more than any woman's smile," said Mattie. "The man's life, the woman's life, are Heaven's gifts, to be spent in doing good. We have no right to throw them idly away, or demand their sacrifice. I never liked these stories of wasted affection. They are too pitiful. To give all and get nothing is a cruel fate."
"Oh, you little silly country girl," laughed Doris, "you do not think that beautiful women are queens, and hearts are their rightful kingdom, and they can get as many as they like, and do what they please with them."
"You talk to amuse yourself," said Earle, "that sweet smile and voice fit your cruel words as little as they would suit an executioner's sword."
"What is slaying by treachery in love better than murder?" asked Mattie, eagerly.
"It is a very exciting, piquant, interesting form of murder," retorted her wicked little sister.
"How can any one enjoy giving pain," cried Mattie. "I have read of such women, but to me they seem true demons, however fair. Think of destroying hope, life, genius, morals—for what? For amusement, and yet these sons all had mothers."
"You are in earnest, Mattie," said Earle, admiringly.
"I feel in earnest," said Mattie, passionately.
"Pshaw, there is much spider and fly in men and women," laughed Doris. "Women weave silvery nets in the sun, and the silly men walk straight in. Who's to blame?"
"You talk like a worn-out French cynic," cried Mattie.