“And a hell of a generation it’s to be,” cried he, suddenly rousing from the state of bored apathy in which he seemed to pass most of his time. “You’ve got me started on the subject that’s a craze with me. I have only one strong feeling—and that is my contempt for woman—the American woman. I’m not speaking about the masses. They don’t count. They never did. They never will. No one counts until he gets some education and some property. I suppose the women of the masses do as well as could be expected. But how about the women of the classes with education and property? Do you know why the world advances so slowly?—why the upper classes are always tumbling back and everything has to be begun all over again?”
“I’ve a suspicion,” said I. “Because the men are fools about the women.”
“The sex question!” cried Armitage. “That’s the only question worth agitating about. Until it’s settled—or begins to be settled—and settled right, it’s useless to attempt anything else. The men climb up. The women they take on their backs become a heavier and heavier burden—and down they both drop—and the children with them. Selfish, vain, extravagant mothers, crazy about snobbishness, bringing up their children in extravagance, ignorance and snobbishness—that’s America to-day!”
“The men are fools about the women, and they let the women make fools of themselves.”
“The men are fools—but not about the women,” said Armitage. “How much time and thought for your family have you averaged daily in the last ten years?”
“I’ve been busy,” said I. “I’ve had to look out for the bread and butter, you know.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed he, in triumph. “You think you’re fond of your family. No doubt you are. But the bottom truth is you’re indifferent to your family. I can prove it in a sentence: You attend to anything you care about; and you haven’t attended to them.”
I stared at him like a man dazzled by a sudden light—which, in fact, I was.
“Guilty or not guilty?” said he, laughing.
“Guilty,” said I.