everything else--from the very start!"

"Eh?" frowned Edgarton, and started for the door.

"And oh, Father!" called Eve, just as his hand touched the door-knob.
"There's something I want to ask you for Henrietta's sake. It's rather
a delicate question, but after I'm married I suppose I shall have to
save all my delicate questions to--ask John; and John, somehow, has
never seemed to me particularly canny about anything except--geology.
Father!" she asked, "just what is it--that you consider so
particularly obnoxious in--in--young men? Is it their sins?"

"Sins!" jerked her father. "Bah! It's their traits!"

"So?" questioned little Eve Edgarton from her pillows. "So? Such
as--what?"

"Such as the pursuit of woman!" snapped her father. "The love--not of
woman, but of the pursuit of woman! On all sides you see it to-day! On
all sides you hear it--sense it--suffer it! The young man's eternally
jocose sexual appraisement of woman! 'Is she young? Is she pretty?'
And always, eternally, 'Is there any one younger? Is there any one
prettier?' Sins, you ask?" Suddenly now he seemed perfectly willing,
even anxious, to linger and talk. "A sin is nothing, oftener than not,
but a mere accidental, non-considered act! A yellow streak quite as
exterior as the scorch of a sunbeam. And there is no sin existent that
a man may not repent of! And there is no honest repentance, Eve, that
a wise woman cannot make over into a basic foundation for happiness!
But a trait? A congenital tendency? A yellow streak bred in the bone?
Why, Eve! If a man loves, I tell you, not woman, but the pursuit of