his theme; "not even for self-defense. I suppose I'm pretty sure to get caught some time or other."
"Each woman according to her powers and gifts. Varying degrees of desire, of determination, of dexterity. To be just, I might add a fourth d—devotion."
"You've run the gauntlet," said Cope. "You seem to have come through all right."
"Well," Randolph returned deprecatingly, "I can't really claim ever to have enlisted any woman's best endeavors."
"I hope I shall have the same good luck. Of your four d's, it's the dexterity that gives me the most dread."
"Yes, the appeal (not always honest) to chivalry,—though devotion is sometimes a close second. You're manoeuvred into a position where you're made to think you 'must.' I've known chaps to marry on that basis. . . . It's weary waiting until Madame dies and Madonna steps into her place."
"Meanwhile, safety in numbers."
"Yes, even though you're in the very midst of wishing or of wondering—or of a careful concern to cloak either."
"Don't dwell on it! You fill me with apprehensions."
Randolph put up his arm and pointed. A roof through a notch between two sandhills beyond a long range of them, was seen, set high and half hidden by the spreading limbs of pines. "There it is," he said.
