"Look here! I won't let Cousin Eliza call you names! I reserve that for myself."
She laughed. "You've done it, often enough."
Arthur Weston tickled the sleeping Zip and whistled.
"What do you suppose Laura told me the other day?" Fred said. "She said that 'no woman really knew what life meant unless she had a baby.' She said having a baby was like coming out of prison—because 'self' is a prison. Rather tall talk for little Laura, wasn't it?"
"Any of the great human experiences are keys to our prison-house," he said.
"True enough," she agreed; then, abruptly, her own great experience spoke: "Isn't it queer? I rather dislike Howard."
"It's unreasonable. He's the same old Howard—a mighty decent chap."
"He's not—what I supposed he was."
"Well, that's your fault, not his. You dressed him up in your ideas; when he got into his own clothes, you didn't like him. Howard never pretended to be anything he wasn't."