"Not lightly." She shut her eyes against his face. One hand opened in a piteous little gesture of entreaty. If he should, even now, beg her to stay, wanting her, she would turn to water. "It has been difficult to decide." She lifted her eyelids heavily. "You must see that it is a distinct advance."
"A feather in your cap." Charles was sardonic. "And you must have feathers."
At that she rose, faint color coming into her white face.
"Yes, I think I must. I'm sorry you don't like me—in feathers." Her eyelids burned. "You would prefer, I suppose, dingy ostrich plumes that you had bought, years ago—like Mrs. Thomas's."
"Mrs. Thomas may be a fool, but she's a good woman."
"Oh!" Catherine set her lips against the echoing surge of laughter that rolled up. She wouldn't let go again; she wouldn't!
"I mean she finds her feathers in her husband's cap! Thomas is going ahead in great strides. Ask any of the men in college. And why? Because she is back of him, interested. A man has to feel there is some one interested in what he's doing."
"And a woman doesn't?"
"You see! I say something, trying to explain my position, and at once you twist it into a comment on yourself."