"Yes," said Peggy; "it is true enough of some women. They don't want to be considered, or studied, or understood: they would rather be swamped by the man's personality and give up thinking about themselves altogether."
"But not all women?" persisted Philip, whose conception of the sex was trembling on its base. "Some of them like being considered and studied and understood, Peggy, don't they?"
"Oh, yes, most of us do," admitted Peggy, smiling. "Not that we ever are, poor things!" she added resignedly.
Philip saw an opportunity of getting back to prepared ground again.
"I say, Peggy," he began, "wouldn't you like to be—"
"To be understood? Yes, indeed! Do you want me to practise on, Philip?"
"Yes," said Philip with sudden fire, "I do. And I want to say this—"
Peggy laughed serenely.
"You may study me and consider me as much as you like, Mr. Theophilus," she said; "I shall enjoy it. But you won't ever understand me."
"I would have a thundering good try, all the same," replied Philip doggedly. "I understood you once—when we were children together."