"Living her life. Her life," he said.
"Anything—dirty about it?" Cameron asked.
"No. So far as I can find out, she's just taking what she calls her own."
"Well, why shouldn't she, Uncle Dave? By all that's holy why shouldn't a woman have her own as well as a fellow? Just because she was born to petticoats doesn't mean that she's born to all the jobs men don't want."
"There are certain things the world exacts of a woman, Bud."
"What, for instance, Uncle Dave?"
Martin considered. He was a just man, but he was prejudiced.
"Self-sacrifice, for one thing!"
"Who says so? Who benefits most by her self-sacrifice?" Cameron flushed as he rambled on. "We may split on this rock, Uncle," he blurted. "Think of my mother—I sort of resent it, because I am a man, that we idealize virtues and plaster them on women when we know jolly well, if we lathered them on ourselves, we'd cave in under them. It's up to the woman! That's what I say. Let her select her own little virtues and see to it that she squares it with her soul and then men—well, men keep to the right and keep moving!"
Having flared forth, Cameron laughed at his own fireworks.