"Men are always more charitable to women than women are to each other,
anyway--women are cats, mostly!" he said, as he rolled a cigarette.

"There you go again!" she cried,--"pretending that you know. I tell
you women are women's best friends. What help have you given to me to
run straight, for all your hot air about thinking so much of me?
You've stuck around my flat until I had to put you out--you've never
sheltered or protected me in any way. Men are broad-minded toward
women's characters because they do not care whether women are good or
not--they would rather that they were not. I do not mean all
men,--William was different, and there are plenty like him--but I mean
men like you who run around with soldiers' wives and slam the women
who are our friends, and who are really concerned about us. You are
twenty years older than I am. You're always blowing about how much you
know about women--also the world. Why didn't you advise me not to make
a fool of myself?"

Sergeant Brown leaned over and patted her hand. "There now, Trixie,"
he said, "don't get excited; you're the best girl in town, only you're
too high-strung. Haven't I always stood by you? Did I ever turn you
down, even when these high-brow ladies gave you the glassy eye? Why
are you going back on a friend now? You had lots to say about the
Daughter of the Empire who came to see you the last time."

"She wasn't nice to me," said Mrs. Tweed; "but she meant well, anyway.
But I'm getting ashamed of myself now--for I see I am not playing the
game. Things have gone wrong through no fault of ours. The whole world
has gone wrong, and it's up to us to bring it right if we can. These
women are doing their share--they've given up everything. But what