“Well,” continued Shotwell, “it’s mostly due to perversion, in my opinion. Women have had too much of a hell of a run for their money during this war. They’ve broken down all the fences and they’re loose and running all over the world.
“If they’d only kept their fool heads! But no. Every germ in the wind lodged in their silly brains! Biff. They want sex equality and a pair of riding breeches! Bang! They kick over the cradle and wreck the pantry.
“Wifehood? Played out! Motherhood? In the discards! Domestic partnership?––each sex to its own sphere? Ha-ha! That was all very well yesterday. But woman as a human incubator and brooder is an 170 obsolete machine. Why the devil should free and untramelled womanhood hatch out young?
“If they choose to, casually, all right. But it’s purely a matter for self-determination. If a girl cares to take off her Sam Brown belt and her puttees long enough to nurse a baby, it’s a matter that concerns her, not humanity at large. Because the social revolution has settled all such details as personal independence and the same standard for both sexes. So, a bas Madame Grundy! A la lanterne with the old régime! No––hang it all, I’m through!”
“Don’t you like Palla any more?” inquired Estridge, still laughing.
Jim gave him a singular look: “Yes.... Do you like Ilse Westgard?”
Estridge said coolly: “I am accepting her as she is. I like her that much.”
“Oh. Is that very much?” sneered the other.
“Enough to marry her if she’d have me,” replied Estridge pleasantly.
“And she won’t do that, I suppose?”