shady trees. And men will stroll up and down there when they feel the need of feminine company; when, for instance, they want to talk about their souls or their characters or any of the things that only women will stand. . . . The women will lean over and look at the men and smile and talk to them as they fancy. And each woman will have this; she will have a little silken ladder she can let down if she chooses—if she wants to talk closer. . . ."
"The men would still be competing."
"There perhaps—yes. But they'd have to abide by the women's decisions."
I raised one or two difficulties, and for a while we played with this idea.
"Ewart," I said, "this is like Dolls' Island. . . ." "Suppose," I reflected, "an unsuccessful man laid siege to a balcony and wouldn't let his rival come near it?"
"Move him on," said Ewart, "by a special regulation. As one does organ-grinders. No difficulty about that. And you could forbid it—make it against the etiquette. No life is decent without etiquette. . . . And people obey etiquette sooner than laws. . . ."
"Hm," I said, and was struck by an idea that is remote in the world of a young man. "How about children?" I asked; "in the City? Girls are all very well. But boys for example—grow up."
"Ah!" said Ewart. "Yes. I forgot. They mustn't grow up inside. . . . They'd turn out the boys when they were seven. The father must come with a little pony and a little gun and manly wear, and take the boy away. Then one could come afterwards to one's mother's balcony. . . . It must be fine to have a mother. The father and the son. . . ."
"This is all very pretty in its way," I said at last,
