Brinsley nodded. "Indeed I do. Take the attitude with them of Man the Conqueror. They all like it. Man the Suppliant never gets what he wants."
"But in these days primitive methods aren't possible."
Brinsley skipped a chicken bone expertly across the surface of the water. "Primitive methods are always possible. The trouble is that man has lost his nerve. The cult of chivalry has spoiled him. It has taught him to kneel at his lady's feet, where pre-historically he kept his foot on her neck!"
Geoffrey laughed. "You'd be mobbed in a suffrage meeting."
"Suffrage, my dear fellow, is the green carnation in the garden of femininity. Every woman blooms for her lover. It is the lack of lovers that produces the artificial—hence votes for women. What does the woman being carried off under the arm of conquering man care for yellow banners or speeches from the tops of busses? She is too busy trying to please him."
"It would be a great experiment. I'd like to try it."
Brinsley, uncorking a hot and cold bottle, boldly surmised, "It is the little school-teacher?"
Geoffrey, again flat on the grass, murmured, "Yes."
"And it is neck and neck between you and that young cousin of mine?"
"I am afraid he is a neck ahead."