"It interferes with her making a home for him. And that's a woman's work—making a home."
"But, Ted, maybe he doesn't want a home—or maybe they have a housekeeper."
Ted shrugged: "Oh, if it suits him to live in a hotel, or at the mercy of a hired housekeeper, it's all right. But in that case, he's missing the best thing a man ever gets—I mean the kind of home a woman's love makes!"
At those words Sheila would have surrendered the argument—so easily was she swayed by a touch upon her heart. But Ted was not through with the subject. His masculine self-respect was aroused against this woman who was succeeding outside the sphere of strictly feminine occupation, and he was determined to show her, in her worst light, to Sheila.
"Has she any children?" he demanded belligerently.
"No—at least, I think not."
"Now you see that I'm right!" he exulted.
But the moment for yielding had passed with Sheila. "I see nothing of the sort," she replied with a flare of temper. "Her having children—or not having them—has no bearing whatever on the matter."
"Oh, yes, it has! You mark my words—she hasn't had any children because she's wanted to spend all her time advancing herself—building up a tawdry little fame for herself! I tell you, Sheila, talent's a bad thing for a woman—a bad thing!"
"But, Ted—I write."