"If we are alike, how can there be a difference?" asked the wise youth, pettishly.
"Can't you see? I can. Look at my chin, and at your own. Gaze into my eyes, see the firmness of my lips. There's a dash of the man in me, Ferdy, and much of the woman about you."
Baird dropped into an armchair and kicked his long legs in the air with a light laugh. "I suppose you say that, because I'm like you."
"You aren't like me. I wish you were."
"Come, now--your face and mine. Where's the difference?"
"In the points I have named," she replied, quickly. "I am not talking of the physical, Ferdy. I know you are brave enough, dear, and can hold your own with anyone, where fighting is concerned."
"I should jolly well think I could," muttered Baird, bending his arm and feeling his muscle. "I've never been licked in a fight yet."
"But," went on Clarice, with emphasis, "it's your nature I talk of. You are so weak--so very, very weak."
"I'm not," snapped Ferdy, flushing. "I always have my own way."
"Ah, that's obstinacy, not strength. Because a person said no, you would say yes, and vice-versa. But you are the prey of your own passions, Ferdy. You deny yourself nothing."