“Certainly not. A convention of maidenly modesty has metamorphosed many a fine woman into an embittered, disillusioned old maid. She could have had her man for the asking—for the taking; and because she neither asked nor took he thought her repression spelled indifference or dislike.
“There are many shy, embarrassed men in this world, you know. They are always unhappy because always married to terrible women.
“Big women, fat women, red-headed, dominating, coarse women, women with thick ankles, sloppy women, dull women, over-dressed women, loud women, but all women who flouted convention and who just naturally helped themselves to the shy, embarrassed, gentle little men they coveted.”
“Praise be, Tamea doesn’t come within the scope of your female index expurgatorius. Isn’t she a glorious creature?”
“Of course she is,” Mellenger agreed petulantly. “She’s more than glorious. She’s devastating, and all the more ruinous to your peace of mind because she is simple, natural, unspoiled, eager and amorous. But you’ve got to put your bright day-dreams behind you and marry Maisie Morrison.”
“But why, Mel?”
“Why, man, you cannot possibly contemplate the prospect of miscegenation?”
“Does Tamea remotely resemble a mulatto, a quadroon or an octoroon?”
“She is half Polynesian.”
“But a pure-bred Polynesian is a Caucasian.”