``Why?''

``Politics,'' replied Martha. ``Really, he is horrid, Jane.''

``To look at?''

``No--not to look at. He's handsome in a way. Not at all common
looking. You might take him for a gentleman, if you didn't know.

Still--he always dresses peculiarly--always wears soft hats. I
think soft hats are SO vulgar--don't you?''

``How hopelessly middle-class you are, Martha,'' mocked Jane.

``Hugo would as soon think of going in the street in a--in a--I
don't know what.''

``Hugo is the finest flower of American gentleman. That is, he's
the quintessence of everything that's nice --and `nasty.' I wish
I were married to him for a week. I love Hugo, but he gives me
the creeps.'' She rose and tramped restlessly about the room.
``You both give me the creeps. Everything conventional gives me
the creeps. If I'm not careful I'll dress myself in a long
shirt, let down my hair and run wild.''

``What nonsense you do talk,'' said Martha composedly.

Jane sat down abruptly. ``So I do!'' she said. ``I'm as poor a
creature as you at bottom. I simply like to beat against the