“I think possibly your father was right,” he replied, “when he said you 'boss the show.'”
“Oh, that's what he said, eh? Well, I guess he's about right.”
“But you don't really?”
“Don't what? 'Boss the show'? Well, I boss my own show, at any rate. Don't you?”
“Don't I what, exactly? Boss the show? Well, I don't think we have any 'show,' and I don't believe we have any 'boss.' Dad and I just talk things over, you see.”
“But,” she insisted, “some one in the last analysis must decide. Your menage, no matter how simple, must have a head. It is a law of the universe itself, and it is the law of mankind. You see, I have done some political economy.”
“And yet,” said the young man, “you say you run your own show?”
“Exactly. Every social organism must have a head, but every individual in the organism must live its own free life. That is true democracy. But of course you don't understand democracy, you Canadians.”
“Aha! There you are! You Americans are the most insular of all the great peoples of the world. You know nothing of other people. You know only your own history and not even that correctly, your own geography, and your own political science. You know nothing of Canada. You don't know, for instance, that the purest form of democracy on this American continent lies outside the bounds of the U. S. A.”
“In Canada?” she asked scornfully. “By the way, how many Canadians are there?”