the excitement men make about us."

"It isn't the woman who makes a fool of the man," said Norman. "It's the
man who makes a fool of himself. A match can cause a terrific explosion
if it's in the right place--but not if it isn't."

She nodded. "That's it. We're simply matches--and most of us of the
poor sputtering kind that burns with a bad odor and goes out right away.
A very inferior quality of matches."

"Yes," repeated Norman, "it's the man who does the whole business."

A mocking smile curled her lips. "I knew you weren't in love with
Josephine."

He stared gloomily at his cigar.

"But you're going to marry her?"

"I'm in love with her," he said angrily. "And I'm going to marry her."

She eyed him shrewdly. "Fred--are you in love with some one else?"

He did not answer immediately. When he did it was with a "No" that
seemed the more emphatic for the delay.

"Oh, just one of your little affairs." And she began to poke fun at him.
"I thought you had dropped that sort of thing for good and all. I hope
Josie won't hear of it. She'd not understand. Women never do--unless
they don't care a rap about the man. . . . Is she on the stage? I know