"Oh," she said, "mother's written two or three books, and lots of
magazine articles, about women--women's rights and suffrage, and all
that. She's been--well, sort of a leader ever since she graduated from
college, back in--just think!--1870, when most girls used to
have--accomplishments--'French, music, and washing extra,' you know."

She said it all with a quite adorable seriousness and his gravity
matched hers when he replied:

"I would like to meet her very much. Feminism's a subject I'm blankly
ignorant about."

"I don't believe," she said thoughtfully, "that I'd call it feminism in
talking to mother about it, if I were you. Mother's a suffragist,
but"--there came another wave of faint color along with her
smile--"but--well, she's awfully respectable, you know."

She didn't seem to mind his laughing out at that, though she didn't join
him.

"What about the other interesting member of the family," he asked
presently, "your sister? Which is she, a suffragist or a feminist?"

"I suppose," she said, "you'll call Portia a feminist. Anyway, she
smokes cigarettes. Oh, can't I get you some? I forgot!"

He had a case of his own in his pocket, he said, and got one out now
and lighted it.

"Why," she went on, "Portia hasn't time to talk about it much. You see,