"Why marry?" asked Bletherley, unregarded.
"You must admit you are asking a great thing when you want a girl . . ." began Parkson.
"Not so. When a girl's chosen a man, and he chooses her, her place is with him. What is the good of hankering. Mutual. Fight together."
"Good!" said Lewisham suddenly emotional. "You talk like a man, Dunkerley. I'm hanged if you don't."
"The place of Woman," insisted Parkson, "is the Home. And if there is no home—! I hold that, if need be, a man should toil seven years—as Jacob did for Rachel—ruling his passions, to make the home fitting and sweet for her . . ."
"Get the hutch for the pet animal," said Dunkerley, "No. I mean to marry a woman. Female sex always has been in the struggle for existence—no great damage so far—always will be. Tremendous idea—that struggle for existence. Only sensible theory you've got hold of, Lewisham. Woman who isn't fighting square side by side with a man—woman who's just kept and fed and petted is . . ." He hesitated.
A lad with a spotted face and a bulldog pipe between his teeth supplied a Biblical word.
"That's shag," said Dunkerley. "I was going to say 'a harem of one.'"
The youngster was puzzled for a moment. "I smoke Perique," he said.
