"I'm feline. So are you. So are most Southern men an' most of
these girls here."

"What's Harry?"

"Harry's canine distinctly. All the men I've to-night seem to be
canine."

"What does canine imply? A certain conscious masculinity as
opposed to subtlety?"

"Reckon so. I never analyzed it--only I just look at people an'
say 'canine' or 'feline' right off. It's right absurd I guess."

"Not at all. I'm interested. I used to have a theory about these
people. I think they're freezing up."

"What?"

"Well, they're growing' like Swedes--Ibsenesque, you know. Very
gradually getting gloomy and melancholy. It's these long winters.
Ever read Ibsen?"

She shook her head.

"Well, you find in his characters a certain brooding rigidity.
They're righteous, narrow, and cheerless, without infinite
possibilities for great sorrow or joy."