If Jane hadn't had two million dollars all this trouble would not be.

"I can never do it!" I exclaimed with horror, "And the men will hate
it--and me. And if I did do it, I couldn't write it."

I almost sobbed as a vision flashed before me of thus verbally
snap-shotting the scene with dear old Dickie as we stood against the
rail of the ship and watched the waves fling back silvery radiance at
the full moon, and I also wondered how I was to render in serviceable
written data his husky:

"A woman is the flame that lights the spark--"

Also, what would that interview with Polk Hayes look like reproduced
with high lights?

"Now," she answered encouragingly, "don't fear the men, dear. They are
sensible and business-like creatures, and they will soon see how much to
their advantage it is to be married to women who have had an equal
privilege with themselves of showing their preferences. Then only can
they be sure that their unions are from real preferences and not
compromises, on the part of their wives, from lack of other choice. Of
course, a woman's pride will make her refrain from courtship, as does
her brother man, until she is financially independent, and
self-supporting, lest she be put in the position of a mendicant." Jane
has thought the whole thing out from Genesis to Revelation.

Still, that last clause about the mendicant leaves hope for the
benighted man who still wants the cling of the vine. A true vine would
never want--or be able--to hustle enough to flower sordid dollars