" (Missy couldn't hold down a fluttering thrill, even
though she felt a premonition that certain lofty ideals were about
to be assailed.)
"The kind of girl who likes to dance and play tennis and be a good
sport, and all that."
"But can't a--" Missy blushed; she'd almost said "a pretty girl.
"Can't that kind of girl be--intellectual, too?"
"The saints forbid!" ejaculated Mr. Briggs with fervour.
"But don't you think that everyone ought to try--to enlarge one's
field of vision?"
At that Mr. Briggs threw back his head and laughed a laugh of
unrestrained delight.
"Oh, it's too funny!" he chortled. "That line of talk coming from a
girl who looks like you do!"
Even at that disturbed moment, when she was hearing sacrilege aimed
at her most cherished ideals--perilously swaying ideals, had she but
realized it--Missy caught the pleasing significance of his last
phrase, and blushed again. Still she tried to stand up for those
imperilled ideals, forcing herself to ask:
"But surely you admire women who achieve--women like George Eliot
and Frances Hodgson Burnett and all those?"
"I'd hate to have to take one of them to a dance," said Mr.
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