THERE WERE MANY late-night discussions in the bedroom after that. Stephen hated wrangling, constant argument, constant controversy, but he was willing to endure much if he could prevent Stella from cheapening herself, and him, too, by promiscuous flirtations. But he couldn’t. It was a futile attempt. It was as instinctive for Stella’s eyes to brighten up, and for her manner to brighten up, too, when a man appeared who might admire her, as for a puppy’s tail to wag when a possibly appreciative human being approaches. Stephen might as well have tried to discipline the puppy’s tail as Stella’s eyes and manner.

Stella’s fondness for attention from men was not deep-seated. If her response had aroused any great depth of feeling or desire, red danger-flags would have appeared to warn her. As it was, her very innocence worked to her disadvantage. She could see no reason for not taking a little harmless fun as it came along, especially if it improved her social prospects. Because it was harmless she persisted in it, until Stephen’s patience was worn out, and his pride and self-respect torn and tattered.

It was not only in regard to her relations with men that Stella turned deaf ears to Stephen. Under the head-turning effect of attentions paid her by such women as Phyllis Stearns and Myrtle Holland (Myrtle Holland took up Stella Dallas as a sort of fad that spring, her friends said) she came to consider all Stephen’s ideas as old-fashioned, and out-of-date.

She could see nothing but advantage in forming alliances with such women as Phyllis and Myrtle. “They’re in everything. They go everywhere.” Nothing but distinction in entering into every activity and amusement that they suggested. “Gracious, how little men know how to get on in society.” Stephen was harping morning, noon, and night, on the dangers of too intimate friendships, and too rapid progress. “If I followed your advice I wouldn’t get anywhere. You’d make out of me just a prim, stupid, little stay-at-home. Myrtle says she’d just die if her husband tried to dictate to her the way you do to me.”

“‘Myrtle says!’ Oh, Stella, you don’t talk over our affairs with your women friends, do you?”

“Oh, no! Of course not. We talk just about the weather!” “But, Stella, surely your sense of good taste would prevent you from telling anyone of our differences of opinion?”

“Our ‘squabbles,’ you mean? Oh, Stephen, a saint couldn’t please you. Finding fault with the things I talk about with my girl friends! Honestly!”

“They’ll only ridicule you afterward. I don’t like those women. I wish you’d avoid them. I don’t think they’re real friends of yours.”