“Feed the public.” Irene rolled the words between her teeth. “But that’s your job. You’re a publisher, aren’t you, Mr. Morrow? You feed the public.”

“It is my privilege, Miss Foster, to furnish the public with inspiring stories of human bravery. Aviation happens to be at the vanguard of all that’s daring and courageous in American manhood. They are the last remaining pioneers, these men, the last fellows willing to die to expand the frontiers of human capability.”

“Those are some grand sentiments, Mr. Morrow. But what about womanhood? Isn’t a woman capable of courage and daring?”

Morrow turned his shoulders an inch or two in Irene’s direction, as if she’d finally said something worthy of interest. “Do you fly, Miss Foster?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Not yet.”

“But you’d like to.”

“Would you object if I did?”

“Not at all. I admire the courage and skill of our lady pilots every bit as much as that of men. Maybe more.”

“Why more? Because you don’t expect it?”

“No. Because there are no obstacles for a man to climb into a cockpit and learn to fly, except his own natural skill and courage. A woman who flies must battle not only the objections of certain backward elements of society but often the dictates of her own upbringing.”

“Why, Mr. Morrow. Are you a feminist?”

“Of course I am. As every right-thinking man should be, in this modern age.” He smiled at her, a remarkable display of white, square-toothed dentistry. “It’s good business, after all.”

Mrs. Rofrano laughed. “Everything’s business to you, George.”

“It’s what makes the world go round. All a man needs to do is give the public what it wants, Sophie, and what the public wants now is novelty. It wants new heroes to worship. And if you ask my opinion, it’s the age of the woman, right now.” He stabbed his finger into the tablecloth. “The great story of our times isn’t this Volstead business, it’s the emancipation of the female sex.”

“Do you really think so?” Irene said. “Do you really think the female sex is emancipated?”

“I think a woman can do whatever she wants to do, these days, whatever she dares to do. She can vote. Why, she can run for office herself. She can walk into a speakeasy and order herself a cocktail, if she doesn’t mind breaking the law. She can show off her pretty ankles and drive a car and get a college degree and a job. She can race cars and fly airplanes.”

“Hear, hear,” said Mrs. Rofrano cheerfully.