Molly Lafond would have become angry if her experience of the afternoon had not already made her uneasy on just this point.
"Do you consider her more attractive than me?" she asked a little resentfully.
"A thousand times No!" assured the silhouette.
"Has she known the boys as long as I? Is she as good friends with them? Can she talk better? Is she brighter?"
"No."
"Then I don't believe I quite see."
"It's just this. The men all like you and admire you, and would do anything for you, but at the same time they look up to you a little. You are better than they are, so, more or less, they are a little—well—a little restricted with you. This woman is their sort. She isn't a bit better than they are. When they are out to have a good time, like at the dance to-night, they want somebody they can have their sort of fun with. You are too good for them."
"That is very theoretical."
"It is very true."
"And supposing, just supposing, it were. You want me to lie down and quit without making a fight. Do you call that being game? What would you think of a man who would run away because the other man was a little stronger? Don't you think I'd fight?"