There was a nastiness, a vulgarity in this that was as unworthy of Jane as are all the unlovely emotions of us who are always sweet and refined when we are our true selves—but have a bad habit of only too often not being what we flatter ourselves is our true selves. Jane was growing angry as she, away from Selma, resumed her normal place in the world and her normal point of view. Davy Hull belonged to her; he had no right to be hanging about another, anyway—especially an attractive woman. Her anger was not lessened by Davy's retort. Said he:
"Her dress may have been the same. But her face wasn't—and her mind wasn't. Those things are more difficult to change than a dress."
She was so angry that she did not take warning from this reminder that Davy was by no means merely a tedious retailer of stale commonplaces. She said with fine irony—and with no show of anger: "It is always a shock to a lady to realize how coarse men are—how they don't discriminate."
Davy laughed. "Women get their rank from men," said he coolly.
"In themselves they have none. That's the philosophy of the peculiarity you've noted."
This truth, so galling to a lady, silenced Jane, made her bite her lips with rage. "I beg your pardon," she finally said. "I didn't realize that you were in love with Selma."
"Yes, I am in love with her," was Davy's astounding reply. "She's the noblest and simplest creature I've ever met."
"You don't mean you want to marry her!" exclaimed Jane, so amazed that she for the moment lost sight of her own personal interest in this affair.
Davy looked at her sadly, and a little contemptuously.
"What a poor opinion at bottom you women—your sort of women—have of woman," said he.