“I—I didn’t know you felt like that,” Caroline gasped.
“Well, I do,” Nancy said, “and I think that any woman who doesn’t is just confusing issues, and taking refuge in sophistry. I wouldn’t give that”—she snapped an energetic forefinger, “for all your silly, smug little ideas of economic independence and service to the race, and all that tommy-rot. There is only one service 234 a woman can do to her race, and that is to take hold of the problems of love and marriage,—and the problems of life, birth and death that are involved in them—and work them out to the best of her ability. They will work out.”
“You—you’re a sort of a pragmatist, aren’t you?” Caroline gasped.
“Billy loves you, and you love Billy. Billy needs you. He is the most miserable object lately, that ever walked the face of the earth. I’m going to call a taxi-cab, and send you both home in it, and when you get inside of it I want you to put you arms around Billy’s neck, and make up your quarrel.”
“I won’t do that,” said Caroline, “but—but somehow or other you’ve cleared up something for me. Something that was worrying me a good deal.”
“Shall I call the taxi?” Nancy said inexorably.
“Well, yes—if—if you want to,” Caroline said.
The fire was crackling merrily in the drawing-room when she stepped into it again after speeding her departing guests. Collier Pratt 235 was walking up and down impatiently with his hands clasped behind his back.
“You got rid of them at last,” he said. “I was afraid they would decide to remain with us indefinitely.”
“I didn’t have as much trouble as I anticipated,” admitted Nancy cryptically.