"And I a musician?"--incredulously.

"Oh, it's in your music right enough. The artist in you has it. But
the woman--so far, no. You're too introspective to surrender blindly.
Artiste, analyst, critic first--only _woman_ when those other three are
satisfied."

Nan nodded.

"Yes," she said slowly. "I believe that's true."

"I think it is," he affirmed quietly. "And because men are what they
are, and you are you, it's quite probable you'll fail to achieve the
triumph of your womanhood." He paused, then added: "You're not one of
those who would count the world well lost for love, you know--except on
the impulse of an imaginative moment."

"No, I'm not," she answered reflectively. "I wonder why?"

"Why? Oh, you're a product of the times--the primeval instincts almost
civilised out of you."

Nan sprang to her feet with a laugh.

"I won't stay here to be vivisected one moment longer!" she declared.
"People like you ought to be blindfolded."

"Anything you like--so long as I'm forgiven."