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Contents

Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
A Note on Presentation

Introduction

Part I
“Gender Is a Social Construct”

1. A Framework for Thinking About Sex Differences


2. Sex Differences in Personality
3. Sex Differences in Neurocognitive Functioning
4. Sex Differences in Educational and Vocational Choices
5. Sex Differences in the Brain

Part II
“Race Is a Social Construct”

6. A Framework for Thinking About Race Differences


7. Genetic Distinctiveness Among Ancestral Populations
8. Evolution Since Humans Left Africa
9. The Landscape of Ancestral Population Differences
Part III
“Class Is a Function of Privilege”

10. A Framework for Thinking About Heritability and Class


11. The Ubiquity of Heritability and the Small Role of the Shared
Environment
12. Abilities, Personality, and Success
13. Constraints and Potentials

Part IV
Looking Ahead

14. The Shape of the Revolution


15. Reflections and Speculations

Acknowledgments
Discover More
About the Author
Appendix 1: Statistics for People Who Are Sure They Can’t Learn
Statistics
Appendix 2: Sexual Dimorphism in Humans
Appendix 3: Sex Differences in Brain Volumes and Variance
Notes
References
To Harlan Crow
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I remember once being entreated not to read a certain
newspaper lest it might change my opinion upon free-
trade. “Lest I might be entrapped by its fallacies and
misstatements,” was the form of expression. “You are not,”
my friend said, “a special student of political economy. You
might, therefore, easily be deceived by fallacious
arguments upon the subject. You might, then, if you read
this paper, be led to believe in protection. But you admit
that free-trade is the true doctrine; and you do not wish to
believe what is not true.”
—Charles Sanders Peirce
“The Fixation of Belief,” 1877
A Note on Presentation

Human Diversity is grounded in highly technical literatures involving


genetics, neuroscience, and statistics. It must satisfy two audiences
with completely different priorities: my intended reader and the
experts.
I’ve always thought of my intended reader as someone who
enjoys reading the science section of the New York Times—curious
about scientific matters, but someone who wants the gist of the
science, not the minutiae. I need to keep the narrative moving. But I
am conveying material that often has daunting technical
complexities. Readers also need to be able to compare my claims
with the details of the underlying evidence. I use my three favorite
devices: Boxed text introduces related issues that are interesting but
not essential. Appendixes provide full-scale discussions of important
ancillary issues. Endnotes expand on points in the main text. But
Human Diversity uses these devices, especially the endnotes, even
more extensively than I have in the past. Some of the endnotes are
full-scale essays, complete with tables. Brackets around a callout
number for an endnote indicate that it contains at least a substantial
paragraph of additional exposition.
For this complicated book, I have had to add a fourth device. In
the past, I have usually been able to avoid technical jargon in the
main text. Human Diversity doesn’t give me that option. Too much
material cannot be discussed without using technical terms that will
be new to many readers. I therefore insert periodic interludes in the
text to explain them.
I have also tried to make the book more accessible by my
treatment of charts and tables. Sometimes the information in a
figure or table is complicated enough to warrant giving it a title and
traditional formatting. But often a simple graph of a trendline or a
few summary statistics don’t need the folderol. They can be
integrated into the text so that you can absorb the simple point
that’s being made and move on.
Introduction

If you have picked up Human Diversity looking for bombshells,


you’ll be disappointed. I’m discussing some of the most incendiary
topics in academia, but the subtext of the chapters to come is that
everyone should calm down. The differences among human groups
are interesting, not scary or earthshaking. If that sounds boring, this
isn’t the book for you.
If, on the other hand, you have reached this page convinced that
gender, race, and class are all social constructs and that any claims
to the contrary are pseudoscience, you won’t get past the first few
pages before you can’t stand it anymore. This book isn’t for you
either.

Now that we’re alone, let me tell you what Human Diversity is about
and why I wrote it.
The sciences form a hierarchy. “Physics rests on mathematics,
chemistry on physics, biology on chemistry, and, in principle, the
social sciences on biology,” wrote evolutionary biologist Robert
Trivers.1 If so, this century should be an exhilarating time to be a
social scientist. Until now, we social scientists—for I am a member of
that tribe—have been second-class citizens of the scientific world,
limited to data and methods that cast doubt on our claim to be truly
part of the scientific project. Now, new possibilities are opening up.
Biology is not going to put us out of business. The new
knowledge that geneticists and neuroscientists are providing,
conjoined with the kinds of analyses we do best, will enable us to
take giant strides in understanding how societies, polities, and
economies really function. We are like physicists at the outset of the
nineteenth century, who were poised at a moment in history that
would produce Ampères and Faradays.
We ought to be excited, but we aren’t. Trivers again: “Yet
discipline after discipline—from economics to cultural anthropology—
continues to resist growing connections to the underlying science of
biology, with devastating effects.”2
Why the resistance? Because the social sciences have been in the
grip of an orthodoxy that is scared stiff of biology.

The Orthodoxy
The core doctrine of the orthodoxy in the social sciences is a
particular understanding of human equality. I don’t mean equality in
the sense of America’s traditional ideal—all are equal in the eyes of
God, have equal inherent dignity, and should be treated equally
under the law—but equality in the sense of sameness. Call it the
sameness premise: In a properly run society, people of all human
groupings will have similar life outcomes. Individuals might have
differences in abilities, the orthodoxy (usually) acknowledges, but
groups do not have inborn differences in the distributions of those
abilities, except for undeniable ones such as height, upper body
strength, and skin color. Inside the cranium, all groups are the same.
The sameness premise theoretically applies to any method of
grouping people, but three of them have dominated the discussion
for a long time: gender, race, and socioeconomic class. Rephrased in
terms of those groups, the sameness premise holds that whatever
their gender, race, or the class they are born into, people in every
group should become electrical engineers, nurture toddlers, win
chess tournaments, and write sci-fi novels in roughly equal
proportions. They should have similar distributions of family income,
mental health, and life expectancy. Large group differences in these
life outcomes are prima facie evidence of social, cultural, and
governmental defects that can be corrected by appropriate public
policy.
The intellectual origins of the orthodoxy go back more than three
centuries to the early days of the Enlightenment and the concept of
humans as blank slates. The explicit rejection of a role for biology in
the social sciences occurred from the end of the nineteenth through
the beginning of the twentieth centuries, with the leading roles
played by Émile Durkheim in sociology, Franz Boas in anthropology,
and John Watson in psychology.3
The political expression of the orthodoxy had its origins in the
mid-1960s with the legal triumphs of the civil rights movement and
the rise of feminism. In the beginning, the orthodoxy consisted of
specific allegations and solutions: Racism keeps black unemployment
high. Sexism stunts women’s careers. Affirmative action and
antidiscrimination laws are needed. But the orthodoxy soon began to
incorporate an intellectual movement that gained momentum in the
mid-1960s with the publication of The Social Construction of Reality
by Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann.
The authors were dealing with an ancient problem: Each of us
thinks we know what reality is, but different people have different
perceptions of it. “The sociologist is forced by the very logic of his
discipline to ask, if nothing else, whether the difference between the
two ‘realities’ may not be understood in relation to various
differences between the two societies,” wrote Berger and
Luckmann.4 This beginning, written in plain English, perfectly
sensible, morphed during the 1970s and 1980s into the orthodox
position that just about everything is a social construct, often argued
in postmodern prose that is incomprehensible to all but the elect.5
The sources of human inequalities are artificial, made up, a
reflection of the particular reality that a dominant segment of society
has decided is the one we must all live by.
As I write, three of the main tenets of the orthodoxy may be
summarized as follows:
Gender is a social construct. Physiological sex differences
associated with childbearing have been used to create artificial
gender roles that are unjustified by inborn characteristics of
personality, abilities, or social behavior.
Race is a social construct. The concept of race has arisen from
cosmetic differences in appearance that are not accompanied by
inborn differences in personality, abilities, or social behavior.
Class is a function of privilege. People have historically been
sorted into classes by political, economic, and cultural institutions
that privilege heterosexual white males and oppress everyone else,
with genes and human nature playing a trivial role if any. People can
be re-sorted in a socially just way by changing those institutions.
I have stated these tenets baldly. If you were to go onto a
university campus and chat privately with faculty members whose
research touches on issues of gender, race, or class, you would find
that many of them, perhaps a majority, have a more nuanced view
than this. They accept that biology plays a role. Why then don’t they
mention the evidence for a biological role in their lectures? Their
writings?
A common answer is that they fear that whatever they write will
be misinterpreted and misused. But it’s easy to write technical
articles so that the mainstream media never notice them. The real
threat is not that the public will misuse a scholar’s findings, but that
certain fellow academicians will notice those findings and react
harshly.
Therein lies the real barrier to incorporating biology into social
science. It is possible to survive on a university campus without
subscribing to the orthodoxy. But you have to be inconspicuous,
because the simplistic version of the orthodoxy commands the
campus’s high ground. It is dangerous for a college faculty member
to say openly in articles, lectures, faculty meetings, or even in casual
conversations that biology has a significant role in creating
differences between men and women, among races, or among social
classes. Doing so often carries a price. That price can be protests by
students, denial of tenure-track employment for postdocs, denial of
tenure for assistant professors, or reprimands from the university’s
administrators.
The most common penalties are more subtle. University faculties
are small communities, with all the familiar kinds of social stigma for
misfits. To be openly critical of the orthodoxy guarantees that a
vocal, influential element of your community is going to come after
you, socially and professionally. It guarantees that many others will
be reluctant to be identified with you. It guarantees that you will get
a reputation that varies from being an eccentric at best to a terrible
human being at worst. It’s easier to go along and get along.
The risks that face individual faculty members translate to much
broader damage to academia. We have gone from a shared telos for
the university, exemplified by Harvard’s motto, “Veritas,” to
campuses where professors must be on guard against committing
thought crimes, students clamor for protection against troubling
ideas, codes limiting the free expression of ideas are routine, and
ancient ideals of scholarly excellence and human virtue are derided
and denounced.6 On an individual level, social scientists have valid
rationales to avoid exploring the intersection of biology and society.
Collectively, their decisions have produced a form of de facto and
widespread intellectual corruption.

Archaeological Digs
The good news is that some scholars have been exploring the
intersection of biology and society despite the risks—so many that
the orthodoxy is in the process of being overthrown. The heavy
lifting is being done not within the social sciences, but by biologists
and, more specifically, by geneticists and neuroscientists. They have
been accumulating data that will eventually pose the same problem
for defenders of the sameness premise that Aristotelian physicists
faced when Galileo dropped objects from heights. Everyone could
see that they didn’t behave as Aristotle’s theory predicted. No one
could offer a counterargument. When our understanding of the
genome and the brain is sufficiently advanced—and it is approaching
that point faster than most people realize—the orthodox will be in
the same position. Continuing to defend the sameness premise will
make them look silly. It is my belief that we are nearing inflection
points and that the triumph of the revolution will happen quickly.
The key battles are likely to be won within the 2020s. This book is a
progress report.
In the course of writing Human Diversity, it became apparent to
me that progress is at strikingly different points for gender, race, and
class. The analogy of an archaeological dig of a buried city comes to
mind.
The dig for gender is well along. Excavations have been
extensive, the city’s layout has been identified, and thousands of
artifacts have been found. There’s lots yet to be done, but the
outlines of the city and its culture are coming into focus.
The dig for race is in its early stages. Topological analysis has
identified a promising site, initial clearing of the site has been
completed, and the first probes have established that there’s
something down there worth investigating. Scientists are just
beginning excavation.
The dig for class had been largely completed by the end of the
twentieth century, and scholars in this century had until recently
been kept busy analyzing the artifacts. They are now returning to
the site with newly developed tools.
Analogies aren’t precise, but this one explains the organization of
the book. I begin with gender differences and devote five substantial
chapters to them. A lot has been securely learned about gender
differences. Race gets shorter chapters describing how the site was
located, how it has been cleared, and the evidence that there’s
something down there worth investigating. The chapters on class
summarize findings that for the most part have been known for
decades.

Why Me?
I am neither a geneticist nor a neuroscientist. What business do I
have writing this book?
The answer is that specialists are seldom good at writing
overviews of their specialties for a general audience because they
know too much—the forest and trees problem. It’s often easier for
an outsider to communicate the specialists’ main findings to other
outsiders. There are personal reasons as well. I think I’m skilled at
making the findings of technical literatures accessible to a broader
audience, I enjoy doing it, and I have been a fascinated observer of
developments in genetics and neuroscience for years. I’m also at a
point in my career when I’m immune to many of the penalties that a
younger scholar would risk.
That career includes the firestorm that followed the publication of
The Bell Curve more than a quarter of a century ago, an experience
that has been on my mind as I have written Human Diversity. How
can I avoid a repeat? Perhaps it’s impossible. The background level
of animosity and paranoia in today’s academia is much worse than it
was in 1994. But here is the reality: We are in the midst of a
uniquely exciting period of discoveries in genetics and neuroscience
—that’s good news, not bad. My first goal is to describe what is
being learned as clearly as possible, without sensationalism. I hope
you will finish the book understanding that there are no monsters in
the closet, no dread doors that we must fear opening.
My second goal is to stick to the low-hanging fruit. Almost all of
the findings I report are ones that have broad acceptance within
their disciplines. When a finding is still tentative, I label it as such. I
know this won’t deter critics from saying it’s all pseudoscience, but I
hope the experts will be yawning with boredom because they know
all this already. Having done my best to accomplish those two
things, I will hope for the best.

WHY THERE IS SO LITTLE ABOUT EVOLUTIONARY


PSYCHOLOGY IN HUMAN DIVERSITY

Hundreds of millions of years of evolution did more than shape human


physiology. It shaped the human brain as well. A comparatively new
discipline, evolutionary psychology, seeks to understand the links between
evolutionary pressures and the way humans have turned out. Accordingly,
evolutionary psychology is at the heart of explanations for the differences
that distinguish men from women and human populations from each other.
Ordinarily, it would be a central part of my narrative. But the orthodoxy has
been depressingly successful in demonizing evolutionary psychology as
just-so stories. I decided that incorporating its insights would make it too
easy for critics to attack the explanation and ignore the empirical reality.
I discuss some evolutionary material in my accounts of the peopling of
the Earth and the source of greater male variance. That’s it, however,
ignoring the rest of the fascinating story. The note gives you some sources
for learning more.[7]

The 10 Propositions
The propositions that accompany most of the chapters are intended
to exemplify low-hanging fruit. I take on an extremely broad range
of topics, but with the limited purpose of clarifying a handful of
bedrock issues.
I apologize for the wording of the 10 propositions—they are not
as snappy as I would prefer—but there’s a reason for their caution
and caveats. On certain important points, the clamor of genuine
scientific dispute has abated and we don’t have to argue about them
anymore. But to meet that claim requires me to state the
propositions precisely. I am prepared to defend all of them as
“things we don’t have to argue about anymore”—but exactly as I
worded them, not as others may paraphrase them.
Here they are:

1. Sex differences in personality are consistent worldwide and


tend to widen in more gender-egalitarian cultures.
2. On average, females worldwide have advantages in verbal
ability and social cognition while males have advantages in
visuospatial abilities and the extremes of mathematical
ability.
3. On average, women worldwide are more attracted to
vocations centered on people and men to vocations centered
on things.
4. Many sex differences in the brain are coordinate with sex
differences in personality, abilities, and social behavior.
5. Human populations are genetically distinctive in ways that
correspond to self-identified race and ethnicity.
6. Evolutionary selection pressure since humans left Africa has
been extensive and mostly local.
7. Continental population differences in variants associated
with personality, abilities, and social behavior are common.
8. The shared environment usually plays a minor role in
explaining personality, abilities, and social behavior.
9. Class structure is importantly based on differences in
abilities that have a substantial genetic component.
10. Outside interventions are inherently constrained in the
effects they can have on personality, abilities, and social
behavior.

On all 10, the empirical record is solid. The debate should move
on to new findings in the many areas where great uncertainty
remains. That doesn’t mean I expect the 10 propositions to be
immutable. On the contrary, I have had to keep in mind that Human
Diversity is appearing in the midst of a rushing stream, reporting on
a rapidly changing state of knowledge. Aspects of it are sure to be
out of date by the time the book appears. My goal is to have been
so cautious in my wording of the propositions that any outdated
aspects of them will have been elaborated or made more precise,
not overturned.

How the Phrase Cognitive Repertoires Is Used Throughout


the Rest of the Book
The 10 propositions repeatedly refer to “characteristics of
personality, abilities, or social behavior.” As I will occasionally put it, I
am talking about the ways in which human beings differ above the
neck (a loose way of putting it, but serviceably accurate).
I use personality and social behavior in their ordinary meanings.
Abilities is a catch-all term that includes not only intellectual abilities
but interpersonal skills and the clusters of qualities that have been
described as emotional intelligence and grit. A good way of thinking
about the universe of abilities is through Howard Gardner’s famous
theory of multiple intelligences.[8]
From now on I will usually abbreviate personality, abilities, and
social behavior to cognitive repertoires. Cognitive means that it
happens in the cranium or is at least mediated there. Repertoires
refers to different ways of doing things that need not be ordered
from “bad” at one extreme to “good” at the other. Some of them can
be so ordered, but few have bad-to-good extremes. If you’re an
employer, where do you want a job applicant to be on the continuum
from “extremely passive” to “extremely aggressive”? It depends on
whether you’re recruiting Navy SEALs or care providers at nursing
homes, and in neither case is the most extreme position the ideal
one. The same is true even of something generally considered to be
an unalloyed good, such as high IQ. Google may be looking for the
highest possible visuospatial skills among its applicants for
programmers, but the qualities that often accompany stratospheric
visuospatial skills would make many of them dreadful choices as
SEALs or care providers.
For most of the human qualities we will be discussing, “bad” and
“good” don’t capture human differences. How many kinds of lovable
are there? How many kinds of funny? How many kinds of annoying?
Using the word repertoires allows for these kinds of apples and
oranges too. So take note: For the rest of the book, cognitive
repertoires = characteristics of personality, abilities, and social
behavior.

As we embark on this survey of scientific discoveries about human


diversity, a personal statement is warranted. To say that groups of
people differ genetically in ways that bear on cognitive repertoires
(as this book does) guarantees accusations that I am misusing
science in the service of bigotry and oppression. Let me therefore
state explicitly that I reject claims that groups of people, be they
sexes or races or classes, can be ranked from superior to inferior. I
reject claims that differences among groups have any relevance to
human worth or dignity. The chapters to come make that clear.
PART I

“GENDER IS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT”

From earliest recorded human history, everywhere and in all eras,


women have borne the children and have been the primary
caregivers. Everywhere and in all eras, men have dominated the
positions of political, economic, and cultural power.1 From those two
universal characteristics have flowed a cascade of secondary and
tertiary distinctions in the status of men and women, many of which
have nothing to do with their actual capabilities. In today’s language,
gender has indeed been partly a social construct. Many of those
distinctions were ruthlessly enforced.
The legal constraints on women in the modern West through the
eighteenth century were not much short of de facto slavery. Mary
Astell, often regarded as the first feminist (though she had
precursors), made the point in response to John Locke’s cramped
endorsement of women’s equality in the Second Treatise.2 She
italicized phrases borrowed from Locke’s philosophical case for
freedom: “If all men are born free, how is it that all women are born
slaves? As they must be if the being subjected to the unconstant,
uncertain, unknown, arbitrary will of men, be the perfect condition
of slavery?… And why is slavery so much condemned and strove
against in one case, and so highly applauded and held so necessary
and so sacred in another?”3
If Astell’s language seems extreme, consider: An English woman
at the time Astell wrote and for more than a century thereafter
rarely got any formal education and had no access to university
education, was prohibited from entering the professions, and lost
control of any property she owned when she married. She was
obliged to take the “honor and obey” marriage vow literally, with
harsh penalties for falling short and only the slightest legal
protections if the husband took her punishment into his own hands.
Men were legally prohibited from actually killing their wives, but just
about anything less than that was likely to be overlooked. When the
first wave of feminism in the United States got its start at the Seneca
Falls Convention of 1848, women were rebelling not against mere
inequality, but against near-total legal subservience to men.
Under those conditions, first-wave feminists were too busy to say
much about questions of inborn differences between men and
women. An exception was Kate Austin, who compared the plight of
women to those of Chinese women with bound feet: “We know that
at birth the feet of the little baby girl were straight and beautiful like
her brothers, but a cruel and artificial custom restrained the growth.
Likewise it is just as foolish to assert that woman is mentally inferior
to man, when it is plain to be seen her brain in a majority of cases
receives the same treatment accorded the feet of Chinese girls.”4 As
Helena Swanwick put it, “There does not seem much that can be
profitably said about [the alleged inferiority of women]… until the
incubus of brute force is removed.”5 Men joined in some of the
strongest early statements on nature versus nurture. John Stuart Mill
coauthored “The Subjection of Women” with his feminist wife,
Harriet Taylor.6 George Bernard Shaw wrote, “If we have come to
think that the nursery and the kitchen are the natural sphere of a
woman, we have done so exactly as English children come to think
that a cage is the natural sphere of a parrot—because they have
never seen one anywhere else.”[7]
After the great legal battles of first-wave feminism had been won
during the first two decades of the twentieth century, a new
generation of feminists began to devote more attention to questions
of nature versus nurture. The result was second-wave feminism,
usually dated to the publication of Simone de Beauvoir’s Le
Deuxième Sexe, a massive two-volume work published in 1949. Its
argument sprawled across philosophy, history, sociology, economics,
and psychology. The founding statement of second-wave feminism
opened the second volume: “On ne naît pas femme: on le devient.”
One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.[8]
It was an assertion that required an explanation of how and why
the change from birth to adulthood takes place. The intuitive
explanation of “how” is that little girls are taught to be women—
what is known now as socialization theory. It refers to the ways that
children are exposed to influences that shape their gender identities.
The pressure can come from parental interactions in infancy and
toddlerhood, as girl babies are dressed differently from boy babies
and female toddlers are given dolls to play with while boys are given
trucks. The pressure may take the form of encouragement by
parents, teachers, or playmates to engage in sex-typed play and
discouragement of behaviors that go against type, as in the case of
tomboy girls and effeminate boys. Parents may teach different
lessons about right behavior, emphasizing the importance of being
helpful and cooperative to daughters and the importance of standing
up for themselves and taking the initiative to sons. Children may be
encouraged to model themselves on the parent of their own sex. In
these and many other ways, sometimes subtle or unconscious,
children are constantly getting signals that track with the stereotypes
of males and females.
This brief characterization of socialization theory skips over a
number of intense scholarly debates between learning theorists and
cognitive theorists, but the debaters differ about the mechanisms at
work. All agree on the basic tenet that girls are taught from infancy
to be girls and boys are taught from infancy to be boys.9
Is socialization theory true? It’s natural to think so, if only
because almost everybody can think of something during their
childhood that involved references to what girls are supposed to be
and what boys are supposed to be. Those of us who have had
children of both sexes know that our interactions with our daughters
and our sons have been somewhat different even if we tried hard to
be gender-neutral in encouraging their abilities and ambitions.
But it’s one thing to have such personal experiences and another
to demonstrate empirically that these differences in treatment as
children produce the sex differences in personality, abilities, and
social behavior that we observe in adult women and men. Little boys
and little girls are treated differently, but how differently? “Several
theoretical models suggest mechanisms that are consistent with the
differential treatment of boys and girls,” wrote four Dutch scholars of
childhood socialization. “However, to date there is no consensus in
the literature about the extent to which parents do treat their sons
and daughters differently, in which areas of parenting this mostly
occurs, and whether fathers and mothers differ in the extent of
gender differentiation.”10 [Emphasis in the original.]
The literature about differential socialization now consists of
hundreds of titles. The note gives an overview of what has been
found.[11] The short answer is that while there are lots of reasons to
think that little girls and little boys are treated differently, it’s
surprisingly hard to prove that the differences are more than
superficial.
Apart from its empirical problems, socialization theory standing
alone is unsatisfying. Yes, it provides a framework for exploring the
how of the construction of artificial sex differences, but it is silent on
the why. Why should it be, everywhere and throughout history, that
certain differences between the sexes have been so consistent? Isn’t
it simpler to assume that we’re looking at innate sex differences
produced by millions of years of evolution? In 1987, psychologist
Alice Eagly published Sex Differences in Social Behavior: A Social-
Role Interpretation, introducing a comprehensive theory of sex
differences that embraces evolution, sociology, psychology, and
biology, providing an answer to the why.12 She has continued to
develop the theory in the decades since, often in collaboration with
psychologist Wendy Wood. Reduced to its essentials, the argument
goes like this:
In the beginning was evolution, which led to physical sex
differences. Males were larger, faster, and had greater upper body
strength than females. Only females were capable of gestation and
lactation. Given such differences, certain divisions of labor were
natural. In hunter-gatherer societies, men’s greater upper body
strength led societies to funnel males into social roles involving
physical strength—for example, hunting and protection against
predators—and to funnel women into social roles involving childcare.
Over the millennia, social roles gave rise to gender roles as
people associated the behaviors of males and females with their
dispositions. Women are associated with childcare not just because
of biology but because of a reflexive assumption that women, more
than men, have innate nurturing qualities. It is not just that men’s
physical attributes make them more efficient hunters than women; it
is also reflexively assumed that males have innate advantages—
aggressiveness, perhaps, or initiative—that make them better
hunters. This conflation of social role and gender role persists after
the original physical justification for some social role has
disappeared. These beliefs about stable, inherent properties of men
and women have solidified without a biological foundation for them.
Enter socialization. If society has come to depend on women
caring for children, little girls need to be socialized into the
personality traits and skills that facilitate nurturance. If society has
come to depend on men being providers and leaders, little boys
need to be socialized into the personality traits that facilitate
acquiring resources and status.
Social role theory includes a role for biology. “Men and women
selectively recruit hormones and other neurochemical processes for
appropriate roles, in the context of their gender identities and
others’ expectations for role performance,” Eagly and Wood write.
“Testosterone is especially relevant when, due to personal identities
and social expectancies, people experience social interactions as
dominance contests. Oxytocin is relevant when, due to personal
identities and social expectancies, people define social interactions
as involving bonding and affiliation with close others.”13 Biology
interacts with psychology in two ways. Men and women alike
psychologically internalize their gender roles as “self standards” for
regulating their own behavior. They also regulate their behavior
according to the expectations that others in the community have of
them. “Biology thus works with psychology to facilitate role
performance.”14
The interdisciplinary sweep of social role theory means that it
calls upon a wide variety of empirical observations about social roles
across history and across cultures, evidence from psychology about
internalization of norms, social psychological experiments, the nature
of sex differences in personality, demographic trends, and
economics, among many others. There is no equivalent to the meta-
analyses of socialization studies that permits a short characterization
of the state of knowledge about the validity of social role theory. But
social role theory does what socialization theory does not: It
provides a comprehensive explanation of why sex is a social
construct.
But is sex exclusively a social construct? That the woman in a
heterosexual couple does more housework than the man even when
both have full-time jobs is at least largely a gender difference—the
product of culture. It may have biological roots (perhaps men have
evolved to be more tolerant of a messy living space than women
are). But the issue is whether differential effort in doing the
housework is sustained today by culture or genes. Think of it this
way: How many women who can afford to hire someone to clean
the house do so? A lot.
But simple quickly becomes complicated. Is the difference
between the time men and women spend tending to young children
artificially created by culture or driven by inborn male-female
differences? How about the attraction of girl toddlers to dolls and
boy toddlers to trucks? Male-female differences in college majors?
Male-female differences in attraction to casual sex? Are they sex
differences or gender differences?
The sensible answer would seem to be “probably some of both,”
with arguments about how much of which. At one level, that’s
actually how the academic debate is conducted. The following
chapters have hundreds of references to highly technical articles,
adhering to normal standards of scientific rigor, published in refereed
journals, arguing questions of nature and nurture, with male and
female scholars making contributions on all sides on all topics. The
tone is usually civil, and the conclusions are usually nuanced and
caveated.
But the women and men who are engaged in this endeavor are a
rarefied group of neuroscientists and quantitative social scientists.
Few of them seek publicity (many do their work as unobtrusively as
possible), and they do not set the mood on college campuses. Since
American second-wave feminism took off in the 1960s, the most
visible feminist academics have rejected the possibility that there are
any significant sex differences from the neck up. In my terminology,
they have denied that men and women have any inborn differences
in cognitive repertoires. A person’s gender “is an arbitrary, ever-
changing socially constructed set of attributes that are culture-
specific and culturally generated, beginning with the appearance of
the external genitals at birth,” in the words of one of the most widely
read feminist scientists in women’s studies courses, Ruth Bleier.15
It’s not a position with a lot of nuance. Gender is a social construct.
End of story.
The most famous illustration of what happens to those who
question the orthodoxy is what befell economist Larry Summers. On
January 14, 2005, Summers, then president of Harvard University,
spoke to a conference on diversifying the science and engineering
workforce.16 In his informal remarks, responding to the sponsors’
encouragement to speculate, he offered reasons for thinking that
innate differences in men and women might account for some of the
underrepresentation of women in science and engineering. He spoke
undogmatically and collegially, talking about possibilities, phrasing
his speculations moderately. And all hell broke loose.
An MIT biologist, Nancy Hopkins, told reporters that she “felt I
was going to be sick,” that “my heart was pounding and my breath
was shallow,” and that she had to leave the room because otherwise
“I would’ve either blacked out or thrown up.”17 Within a few days,
Summers had been excoriated by the chairperson of Harvard’s
sociology department, Mary C. Waters, and received a harshly critical
Other documents randomly have
different content
about Leila I thought I’d never mention your children to you again.”
“That’s very foolish,” Mills murmured with a slight frown. He thought
she was about to attack Leila and he had no intention of listening to
criticism of Leila. Alice had made a mess of Leila’s education and he
was not interested in anything she might have to say about her. And
Alice was richly endowed with that heaven-given wisdom as to the
rearing of children which is peculiar to the childless. Mills wished
greatly that Alice would go.
“The matter’s delicate—very delicate, Frank. I hesitate——”
“Please, Alice!” he interrupted impatiently. “Either you’ve got
something to say or you haven’t!”
At the moment she was not his sister, but a woman who had
precipitated herself into a law suit by giving an option on a valuable
piece of property and then selling it to a third party, which was stupid
and he hated stupidity. He thought she was probably going to say
that Leila drank too much, but knowing that Leila had been a pattern
of sobriety for months he was prepared to rebuke her sharply for
bringing him stale gossip.
“It’s about Shep—Shep and Connie!” said Mrs. Thornberry. “You
know how fond I’ve always been of Shep.”
“Yes—yes,” Mills replied, mystified by this opening. “Shep’s doing
well and I can’t see but he and Connie are getting on finely. He’s
quite surprised me by the way he’s taken hold in the trust company.”
“Oh, Shep’s a dear. But—there’s talk——”
“Oh, yes; there’s talk!” Mills caught her up. “There’s always talk
about everyone. I even suppose you and I don’t escape!”
“Well, of course there have been rumors, you know, Frank, that you
are considering marrying again.”
“Oh, they’re trying to marry me, are they?” he demanded, in a tone
that did not wholly discourage her further confidences.
“I can’t imagine your being so silly. But the impression is abroad that
you’re rather interested in that Harden girl. Ridiculous, of course, at
your age! You’d certainly throw your dignity to the winds if you
married a girl of Leila’s age, whose people are said to be quite
common. They say Dr. Harden used to travel over the country selling
patent medicine from a wagon at country fairs and places like that.”
“I question the story. The Doctor’s a very agreeable person, and his
wife’s a fine woman. We have had very pleasant neighborly
relations. And Millicent is an extraordinary girl—mentally the superior
of any girl in town. I’ve been glad of Leila’s intimacy with her; it’s
been for Leila’s good.”
“Oh, I dare say they’re all well enough. Of course the marriage would
be a big card for the Hardens. You’re a shrewd man, Frank, but it’s
just a little too obvious—what you’ve been doing to push those
people into our own circle. But the girl’s handsome—there’s no doubt
of that.”
“Well, those points are settled, then,” her brother remarked, taking
up the ivory paper cutter and slapping his palm with it. Alice was
never niggardly with her revelations and he consoled himself with the
reflection that she had shown her full hand.
“This other matter,” Mrs. Thornberry continued immediately, “is rather
more serious. I came back from California the week after you sailed
and I found a good deal of talk going on about Connie.”
“Connie?” Mills repeated and his fingers tightened upon the ivory
blade.
“Connie’s not behaving herself as a married woman should. She’s
been indulging in a scandalous flirtation—if that’s not too gentle a
name for it—with George Whitford.”
“Pshaw, Alice! Whitford’s always run with Shep’s crowd. He’s a sort
of fireside pet with all the young married women. George is a fine,
manly fellow. I don’t question that he’s been at Shep’s a good deal.
Shep’s always liked him particularly. And Connie’s an attractive
young woman. Why, George probably makes love to all the women,
old and young, he’s thrown with for an hour! You’re borrowing trouble
quite unnecessarily, Alice. It’s too bad you have to hear the gossip
that’s always going around here; you take it much too seriously.”
“It’s not I who take it seriously; it’s common talk! Shep, poor boy, is
so innocent and unsuspecting! George hasn’t a thing to do but fool at
his writing. He and Connie have been seen a trifle too often on long
excursions to other towns when Shep, no doubt, thought she was
golfing. What I’m telling you is gossip, of course; I couldn’t prove
anything. But it’s possible sometimes that just a word will save
trouble. You must acquit me of any wish to be meddlesome. I like
Connie; I’ve always tried to like her for Shep’s sake.”
She was probably not magnifying the extent to which talk about his
son’s wife had gone. His old antagonism to Constance, the
remembrance of his painful scenes with Shep in his efforts to
prevent his marriage, were once more resurgent. Mrs. Thornberry
related the episode of the dramatic club play which had, from her
story, crystalized and stimulated the tales that had previously been
afloat as to Connie’s interest in Whitford. Mills promptly seized upon
this to dismiss the whole thing. Things had certainly come to a fine
pass when participation in amateur theatricals could give rise to
scandal; it merely showed the paucity of substantial material.
He was at pains to conceal his chagrin. His pride took refuge behind
its fortifications; he would not have his sister, of all persons, suspect
that he could be affected by even the mildest insinuation against
anyone invested with the sanctity of the Mills name. He told her of
having met some old friends of hers in London as he accompanied
her to the elevator. But when he regained his room he stood for
some time by the window gazing across the town to the blue hills.
The patriarchial sense was strong in him; he was the head and
master of his house and he would tolerate no scandalous conduct on
the part of his daughter-in-law. But he must move cautiously. The
Whitfords were an old family and he had known George’s father very
well. With disagreeable insistence the remembrance of his adventure
in Laconia came back to him.

III
Several weeks passed in which Mills exercised a discreet vigilance
in observing Shep and Connie. Whitford was in town; Mills met him
once and again at Shep’s house, but there were others of the
younger element present and there was nothing in Whitford’s
conduct to support Mrs. Thornberry’s story. He asked Carroll
incidentally about the dramatic club play—as if merely curious as to
whether it had been a successful evening, and Carroll’s description
of Whitford’s little drama and of Connie’s part in it was void of any
hint that it concealed a serious attachment between the chief actors.
The usual social routine of the summer stay-at-homes was
progressing in the familiar lazy fashion—country club dances, motor
trips, picnics and the like. On his return Mills had called at once upon
the Hardens. Millicent’s charms had in nowise diminished in his
absence. With everything else satisfactorily determined, there would
be no reason why he should not marry Millicent. His sister’s
disapproval did not weigh with him at all. But first he must see Leila
married, and he still hoped to have Carroll for a son-in-law. Leila had
entered into the summer gaieties with her usual zest, accepting the
escort of one and another available young man with a new amiability.
One evening at the Faraway Country Club Mills saw her dancing
with Thomas; but it was for one dance only, and Thomas seemed to
be distributing his attentions impartially. A few nights later when they
had dined alone at Deer Trail—Leila had suggested that they go
there merely to please him—as they sat on the veranda all his hopes
that her infatuation for Thomas had passed were rudely shattered.
“Well, Dada,” she began, when he was half through his after-dinner
cigar, “it’s nice to be back. It’s a lot more fun being at home in
summer. There is something about the old home town and our own
country. I guess I’m a pretty good little American.”
“I guess you are,” he assented with a chuckle that expressed his
entire satisfaction with her. The veranda was swept fitfully by a
breeze warm sweet with the breath of ripening corn. It was
something to be owner of some part of the earth; it was good to be
alive, master of himself, able to direct and guide the lives of others
less fortunately endowed than he with wisdom and power.
Leila touched his hand and he clasped and held it on the broad arm
of his favorite rocker.
“Dada, what a wonderful time we had on our trip! I was a good little
girl—wasn’t I? You know I was trying so hard to be good!”
“You were an angel,” he exclaimed heartily. “Our trip will always be
one of the happiest memories of my life.”
At once apprehensive, he hoped these approaches concealed
nothing more serious than a request for an increase in her allowance
or perhaps a new car.
“I want to speak about Freddy Thomas,” she said, freeing her hand
and moving her chair the better to command his attention.
“Thomas!” he said as though repeating an unfamiliar name. “I
thought you were all done with him.”
“Dada,” she said very gently, “I love Freddy. All the time I was away I
was testing myself—honestly and truly trying to forget him. I didn’t
hear from him and I didn’t send him even a postcard. But now that
I’m back it’s all just the same. We do love each other; he’s the only
man in the world that can ever make me happy. Please—don’t say
no!”
He got up slowly, and walked the length of the veranda and came
back to find her leaning against one of the pillars.
“Now, Leila,” he began sharply, “we’ve been all over this, and I
thought you realized that a marriage with that man would be a
mistake—a grave blunder. He’s playing upon your sympathy—telling
you, no doubt, what a great mistake he made in his first venture.”
“I’ve seen him only once since I got back and that was the other
night at the club,” she replied patiently. “Freddy’s no cry-baby; you
know you couldn’t find a single thing against him except the divorce,
and that wasn’t his fault. He’s perfectly willing to answer any
questions you want to ask him. Isn’t that fair enough?”
“You expect me to treat with him—listen to his nasty scandal! I’ve
told you it won’t do! There’s never been a divorce in our family—nor
in your mother’s family! I feel strongly about it. The thing has got too
common; it’s taken away all the sanctity of marriage! And that I
should welcome as a husband for a young girl like you a man who
has had another wife—a woman who’s still living—keeping his
name, I understand—I tell you, Leila, it won’t do! It’s my duty to
protect you from such a thing. I have wanted you to take a high
position in this community—such a position as your mother held; and
can you imagine yourself doing it as the second wife of a man who’s
not of our circle, not our kind at all?”
He flung round, took a few quick steps and then returned to the
attack.
“I want this matter to be disposed of now. What would our friends
think of me if I let you do such a thing? They’d think I’d lost my mind!
I tell you it’s not in keeping with our position—with your position as
my daughter—to let you make a marriage that would change the
whole tone of the family. If you’ll think a little more about this I
believe you’ll see just what the step means. I want the best for you. I
don’t believe your happiness depends on your marrying this man. I
may as well tell you bluntly now that I can never reconcile myself to
the idea of your marrying him. I’ve thought it all over in all its
aspects. You’ve never had a care nor a worry in your life. When you
marry I want you to start even—with a man who’s your equal in the
world’s eyes.”
He had delivered this a little oratorically, with a gesture or two, and
one might have thought that he was pleased with his phrases. Leila
in her simple summer gown, with one hand at her side, the other
thrust into the silk sash at her waist, seemed singularly young as she
stood with her back to the pillar. The light from the windows, mingled
with the starlight and moonlight playing upon her face, made it
possible to watch the effect of his words. The effect, if any, was too
obscure for his vision. Her eyes apparently were not seeing him at
all; he might as well have addressed himself to one of the veranda
chairs for any satisfaction he derived from his speech.
It was on his tongue to pile up additional arguments against the
marriage; but this unresisting Leila with her back to the pillar
exasperated him. And all those months that they had traveled about
together, with never a mention of Thomas; when she had even
indulged in mild flirtations with men who became their fellow
travelers for a day, she had carried in her heart this determination to
marry Thomas. And he, Franklin Mills, had stupidly believed that she
was forgetting the man....
He again walked the length of the veranda, and as he retraced his
steps she met him by the door.
“Well, Dada, shall we drive in?” she asked, quite as though nothing
had happened.
“I suppose we may as well start,” he said and looked at his watch to
hide his embarrassment rather than to learn the time.
On the way into town she recurred to incidents of their travels and
manifested great interest in changes he proposed making in his
conservatories to embrace some ideas he had gathered in England;
but she did not refer in any way to Thomas. When they reached
home she kissed him good-night and went at once to her room.
The house was stifling from the torrid day and Mills wished himself
back at the farm. His chief discomfort was not physical, however;
Leila had eluded him, taken refuge in the inconsequential and
irrelevant in her own peculiar, capricious fashion. It was not in his
nature to discuss his affairs or ask counsel, but he wished there
were someone he could talk to.... Millicent might help him in his
perplexity. He went out on the lawn and looked across the hedge at
the Hardens’, hearing voices and laughter. The mirth was like a
mockery.

IV
On the following day Bruce and Millicent drove to the Faraway club
for golf. He was unable to detect any signs indicating that Mills’s
return had affected Millicent. She spoke of him as she might have
spoken of any other neighbor. Bruce wasn’t troubled about Mills
when he was with Millicent; it was when he was away from her that
he was preyed upon by apprehensions. He could never marry her:
but Mills should never marry her. This repeated itself in his mind like
a child’s rigamarole. Their game kept them late and it was after six
when they left the club in Bruce’s roadster.
Millicent was beside him; their afternoon together had been
unusually enjoyable. He had every reason to believe that she
preferred his society to that of any other man she knew. He had
taken a route into town that was longer than the one usually
followed, and in passing through a small village an exclamation from
Millicent caused him to stop the car.
“Wasn’t that Leila and Fred at the gas station?” she asked. “Let’s go
back and see.”
Leila saluted them with a wave of the hand. Thomas was speaking to
the keeper of the station.
“Hello, children!” Leila greeted them. “Pause and be sociable. What
have you been up to?”
“Shooting a little golf,” Millicent answered. “Why didn’t you drop the
word that you were going to the club for dinner? You might have had
a little company!”
Bruce strolled over to Thomas, who was still conferring with the
station keeper. He heard the man answer some question as to the
best route to a neighboring town. Thomas seemed a trifle nervous
and glanced impatiently toward Leila and Millicent.
“Hello, Bruce,” he said cheerfully, “how’s everything?”
“Skimming!” said Bruce, and they walked back to the car, where
Thomas greeted Millicent exuberantly. Leila leaned out and
whispered to Bruce:
“We’ll be married in an hour. Don’t tell Millie till you get home!”
“Are you kidding?” Bruce demanded.
“Certainly not!”
“But why do it this way?”
“Oh—it’s simpler and a lot more romantic—that’s all! Tell Millie that
everything is all right! Don’t look so scared! All right, Freddy, let’s go!”
Their car was quickly under way and Millicent and Bruce resumed
their homeward drive.
“Leila didn’t tell me she was going to the club with Freddy,” remarked
Millicent pensively.
“One of those spontaneous things,” Bruce replied carelessly.
When they reached the Hardens’ he walked with her to the door.
“That was odd—meeting Leila and Fred,” said Millicent. “Do you
think they were really going to the club for supper?”
“They were not going there,” Bruce replied. “They’re on their way to
be married.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she said and her eyes filled with tears. The privilege
of seeing tears in Millicent’s eyes was to Bruce an experience much
more important than Leila’s marriage.
“It will be a blow to Mr. Mills,” said Bruce thoughtfully. “Let’s hope he
accepts it gracefully.”
Both turned by a common impulse and their eyes rested upon the
Mills house beyond the hedge....
The town buzzed for a few days after Leila’s elopement, but in her
immediate circle it created no surprise. It was like Leila; she could
always be depended upon to do things differently. Mills, receiving the
news from Leila by telephone, had himself conveyed the
announcement to the newspapers, giving the impression that there
had been no objection to the marriage and that the elopement was
due to his daughter’s wish to avoid a formal wedding. This had the
effect of killing the marriage as material for sensational news. It was
not Mills’s way to permit himself to be flashed before his fellow
citizens as an outraged and storming father. Old friends who tried to
condole with him found their sympathy unwelcome. He personally
saw to the packing of the effects Leila telegraphed for to be sent to
Pittsburg, where she and her husband, bound for a motor trip
through the east, were to pause for a visit with Thomas’s parents.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I
Bruce returned late one afternoon in August from a neighboring town
where Freeman had some houses under construction, found the
office deserted, and was looking over the accumulation of papers on
his desk when a messenger delivered a telegram.
He signed for it and let it lie while he filled his pipe. The potentialities
of an unopened telegram are enormous. This message, Bruce
reflected, might be from one of Freeman’s clients with whom he had
been dealing directly; or it might be from a Tech classmate who had
written a week earlier that he would be motoring through town and
would wire definitely the hour of his arrival. Or it might be the verdict
of the jury of architects who were to pass on the plans for the
Laconia memorial—an honorable mention at best. The decision had
been delayed and he had been trying to forget about it. He turned
the envelope over—assured himself that it didn’t matter greatly
whether he received the award or not; then, unable to prolong the
agony, he tore it open and read:
It affords the committee great pleasure to inform you that
your plans submitted for the Laconia memorial have been
accepted. You may regard our delay in reaching the
decision as complimentary, for the high merit of some half
dozen of the plans proposed made it extremely difficult to
reach a conclusion. We suggest that you visit Laconia as
soon as possible to make the acquaintance of the citizens’
committee with whom you will now take up the matter of
construction. With our warm cordial congratulations and all
good wishes....
He flung his pipe on the floor with a bang, snatched the telephone
and called Freeman’s house. Dale answered, gave a chirrup of
delight and ran to carry the news to Bill on the tennis court. Bruce
decided that Henderson should know next, and had called the
number when Bud strolled into the room.
“Looking for me—most remarkable! I was on this floor looking for a
poor nut who needs a little stimulus as to the merits of the world-
famous Plantag!”
“Fool!” shouted Bruce, glaring at him. “Don’t speak to me of
Plantagenets. Read that telegram; read it and fall upon your knees!
I’ve won a prize, I tell you! You called me a chicken-coop builder, did
you? You said I’d better settle down to building low-priced bungalows
—— Oh, yes, you did!”
He was a boy again, lording it over his chum. He danced about,
tapping Bud on the head and shoulders as if teasing him for a fight.
Bud finally managed to read the message Bruce had thrust into his
hands, and emitted a yell. They fell to pummeling each other joyfully
until Bud sank exhausted into a chair.
“Great Jupiter!” Bud panted. “So this is what you were up to all
spring! We’ll have a celebration! My dear boy, don’t bother about
anything—I’ll arrange it all!”
He busied himself at the telephone while Bruce received a
newspaper reporter who had been sent to interview him. A bunch of
telegrams arrived from Laconia—salutations of old friends, a
congratulatory message from the memorial committee asking when
they might expect him. The members of the committee were all men
and women he had known from childhood, and his heart grew big at
the pride they showed in him. In the reception room he had difficulty
in composing himself sufficiently to answer the reporter’s questions
with the composure the occasion demanded....
“Small and select—that’s my idea!” said Bud in revealing his plans
for the celebration. “We’re going to pull it at Shep Mills’s—Shep
won’t listen to anything else! And the Freemans will be there, and
Millie, and Helen Torrence, and Maybelle’s beating it from the
country club to be sure she doesn’t miss anything. Thank God!
something’s happened to give me an excuse for acquiring a large,
juicy bun.”
“Oh, thunder! You’re going to make an ass of me! I don’t want any
party!”
“No false modesty! We’re all set. I’ll skip around to the Club and nail
Carroll and Whitford and any of the boys who are there. I’ll bet your
plans are rotten, but we’ll pretend they’re mar-ve-li-ous! You’ll
probably bluff your way through life just on your figure!”
“But there’s no reason why the Shep Millses should be burdened
with your show! Why didn’t you ask me about that?”
“Oh, their house is bigger than mine. And Shep stammered his head
off demanding that he have the honor. Don’t worry, old hoss, you’re
in the hands of your friends!”
The party overflowed from the house into the grounds, Bud having
invited everyone he thought likely to contribute to its gaiety. Many did
not know just what it was all about, or thought it was one of Bud’s
jokes. He had summoned a jazz band and cleared the living-room for
dancing.
“Bud was unusually crazy when he telephoned me,” said Millicent. “I
don’t quite know what you’ve done, but it must be a world-shaking
event.”
“All of that! The good wishes you sent after the mail train on a certain
night did the business. I’d have told you of my adventure, only I was
afraid I’d draw a blank.”
“I see. You thought of me as only a fair-weather friend. Square
yourself by telling me everything.”
Their quiet corner of the veranda was soon invaded. Carroll,
Whitford, Connie and Mrs. Torrence joined them, declaring that
Millicent couldn’t be allowed to monopolize the hero of the hour.
“It’s only beginner’s luck; that’s all,” Bruce protested. “The
pleasantest thing about it is that it’s my native burg; that does tickle
me!”
“It’s altogether splendid,” said Carroll. “Having seen you on your
native heath, and knowing how the people over there feel about you,
I know just how proud you ought to be.”
“What’s the name of the place—Petronia?” asked Constance.
“Laconia,” Carroll corrected her. “You will do well to fix it in your
memory now that Bruce is making it famous. I might mention that I
have some cousins there—Bruce went over with me not so long ago
just to give me a good character.”
“How very interesting,” Constance murmured.
“Mr. Mills once lived for a time in Laconia,” Carroll remarked. “That
was years ago. His father had acquired some business interests
there and the place aspired to become a large city.”
“I don’t believe I ever heard Mr. Mills speak of it; I thought he was
always rooted here,” said Constance.
The party broke up at midnight, and Bruce drove Millicent home
through the clear summer night. When he had unlocked the door for
her she followed him out upon the steps.
“I’m afraid I haven’t said all I’d like to say about your success. It’s a
big achievement. I want you to know that I realize all that. I’m glad—
and proud. Many happy returns of the day!”
She gave him both her hands and this more than her words crowned
the day for him. He had never been so happy. He really had hold of
life; he could do things, he could do much finer things than the
Laconia memorial! On his way to the gate he saw beyond the hedge
a shadowy figure moving across the Mills lawn. When he reached
the street he glanced back, identified Mills, and on an impulse
entered the grounds. Mills was pacing back and forth, his head
bowed, his hands thrust into his pockets. He started when he
discerned Bruce, who walked up to him quickly.
“Oh—that you, Storrs? Glad to see you! It’s a sultry night and I’m
staying out as long as possible.”
“I stopped to tell you a little piece of news. The Laconia memorial
jury has made its report; my plans are accepted.”
“How fine! Why—I’m delighted to hear this. I hope everything’s as
you wanted it.”
“Yes, sir; the fund was increased and the thing can be done now
without skimping. I put in the fountain—I’m greatly obliged to you for
that suggestion. You ought to have the credit for it.”
“Oh, no, no!” Mills exclaimed hastily. “You’d probably have thought of
it yourself—merely a bit of supplementary decoration. You’ll be busy
now—supervising the construction?”
“Yes; I want to look after all the details. It will keep me busy for the
next year. Carroll is going over to Laconia with me tomorrow.”
“Good! It will be quite an event—going back to your old home to
receive the laurel! I hope your work will stand for centuries!”
“Thank you, sir; good-night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I
Brief notes from Leila announced the happy course of her
honeymoon in the New England hills. She wrote to her father as
though there had been nothing extraordinary in her flight. Mills’s
mortification that his daughter should have married over his protest
was ameliorated by the satisfaction derived from dealing
magnanimously with her. The Mills dignity required that she have a
home in keeping with the family status, and he would provide for this
a sum equal to the amount he had given Shep to establish himself.
He avoided Shep and Connie—the latter misguidedly bent upon
trying to reconcile him to the idea that Leila had not done so badly.
He suspected that Connie, in her heart, was laughing at him,
rejoicing that Leila had beaten him.
He saw Millicent occasionally; but for all her tact and an evident wish
to be kind, he suspected that her friendliness merely expressed her
sympathy, and sympathy from any quarter was unbearable. He felt
age clutching at him; he questioned whether Millicent could ever
care for him; his dream of marrying again had been sheer folly. The
summer wore on monotonously. Mills showed himself at the country
club occasionally, usually at the behest of some of his old friends,
and several times he entertained at Deer Trail.
Shep and Connie were to dine with him in the town house one
evening, and when he had dressed he went, as he often did, into
Leila’s room. He sat down and idly drew the books from a rack on
the table. One of them was a slender volume of George Whitford’s
poems, printed privately and inscribed, “To Leila, from her friend, the
author.” Mills had not heard of the publication and he turned over the
leaves with more curiosity than he usually manifested in volumes of
verse. Whitford’s lyrics were chiefly in a romantic and sentimental
vein. One of them, the longest in the book, was called “The Flower of
the World,” and above the title Leila had scrawled “Connie.”
The lines were an ardent tribute to a lady whom the poet declared to
be his soul’s ideal. Certain phrases underscored by Leila’s impious
pencil were, when taken collectively, a very fair description of
Constance. Mills carried the book to the library for a more deliberate
perusal. If Leila knew that Constance was the subject of the verses,
others must know it. What his sister had said about Whitford’s
devotion to Constance was corroborated by the verses; and there
had been that joint appearance of Constance and Whitford in the
dramatic club play—another damning circumstance. Mills’s ire was
aroused. He was standing in the middle of the room searching for
other passages that might be interpreted as the author’s tribute to
Constance when Shep entered.
“Good evening, father,” he said. “We’re a little early—I thought we
might take a minute to speak of those B. and F. bonds. You know
——”
He paused as his father, without preliminary greeting, advanced
toward him with an angry gleam in his eyes.
“Look at that! Have you seen this thing?”
“Why, yes, I’ve seen it,” Shepherd answered, glancing at the page.
“It’s a little book of George’s; he gave copies to all his friends—said
nobody would ever buy it!”
“Gave copies to all his friends, did he? Do you see what Leila’s
written here and those marked lines? Do you realize what it means—
that it’s written to your wife?”
“That’s ridiculous, father,” Shep stammered. “It’s not written to
Connie any more than to any other young woman—a sort of ideal of
George’s, I suppose. Connie’s name written there is just a piece of
Leila’s nonsense.”
“How many people do you suppose thought the same thing? Don’t
you know that there’s been a good deal of unpleasant talk about
Connie and Whitford? There was that play they appeared in—written
by Whitford! I’ve heard about that! It caused a lot of talk, and you’ve
stood by, blind and deaf, and haven’t done a thing to stop it!”
“I can’t have you make such statements about Connie! There was
nothing wrong with that play—absolutely nothing! It was one of the
finest things the club ever had. As for George having Connie in mind
when he wrote that poem—why, that’s ridiculous! George is my
friend as much as Connie’s. Why, I haven’t a better friend in the
world than George Whitford!”
“You’re blind; you’re stupid!” Mills stormed. “How many people do
you suppose have laughed over that—laughed at you as a fool to let
a man make love to your wife in that open fashion? I tell you the
thing’s got to stop!”
“But, father,” said Shep, lowering his voice, “you wouldn’t insult
Connie. She’s downstairs and might easily hear you. You know,
father, Connie isn’t exactly well! Connie’s going—Connie’s going—to
have a baby! We’re very, very happy—about it——”
Shep, stammering as he blurted this out, had endeavored to invest
the announcement with the dignity it demanded.
“So there’s a child coming!” There was no mistaking the sneer in
Mills’s voice. “Your wife has a lover and she is to have a child!”
“You shan’t say such a thing!” cried Shep, his voice tremulous with
wrath and horror. “You’re crazy! It’s unworthy of you!”
“Oh, I’m sane enough. You ought to have seen this and stopped it
long ago. Now that you see it, I’d like to know what you’re going to
do about it!”
“But I don’t see it! There’s nothing to see! I tell you I’ll not listen to
such an infamous charge against Connie!”
“I’ll say what I please about Connie!” Mills shouted. “You children—
you and Leila—what have I got from you but disappointment and
shame? Leila runs away and marries a scoundrel out of the divorce
court and now your wife—a woman I tried to save you from—has
smirched us all with dishonor. I didn’t want you to marry her; I
begged you not to do it. But I yielded in the hope of making you
happy. I wanted you and Leila to take the place you’re entitled to in
this town. Everything was done for you! Look up there,” he went on
hoarsely, pointing to the portraits above the book shelves, “look at
those men and women—your forebears—people who laid the
foundations of this town, and they look down on you and what do
they see? Failure! Disgrace! Nothing but failure! And you stand here
and pretend—pretend——”
Mills’s arm fell to his side and the sentence died on his lips.
Constance stood in the door; there were angry tears in her eyes and
her face was white as she advanced a little way into the room and
paused before Mills.
“I did not know how foul—how base you could be! You needn’t fear
him, Shep! Only a coward would have bawled such a thing for the
servants to hear—possibly the neighbors. You’ve called upon your
ancestors, Mr. Mills, to witness your shame and disgrace at having
admitted me into your sacred family circle! Shep, have you ever
noticed the resemblance—it’s really quite remarkable—of young Mr.
Storrs to your grandfather Mills? It’s most curious—rather
impressive, in fact!”
She was gazing at the portrait of Franklin Mills III, with a
contemptuous smile on her lips.
“Connie, Connie——” Shep faltered.
“Storrs! What do you mean by that?” demanded Mills. His mouth
hung open; with his head thrust forward he gazed at the portrait as if
he had never seen it before.
“Nothing, of course,” she went on slowly, giving every effect to her
words. “But when you spent some time in that town with the singular
name—Laconia, wasn’t it?—you were young and probably quite
fascinating—Storrs came from there—an interesting—a wholly
admirable young man!”
“Connie—I don’t get what you’re driving at!” Shep exclaimed, his
eyes fastened upon his grandfather’s portrait.
“Constance is merely trying to be insolent,” Mills said, but his hand
shook as he took a cigarette from a box and lighted it. When he
looked up he was disconcerted to find Shep regarding him with a
blank stare. Constance, already at the door, said quietly:
“Come, Shep. I think we must be going.”
The silence of the house was broken in a moment by the closing of
the front door.

II
Shep and Constance drove in silence the few blocks that lay
between Mills’s house and their own. Constance explained their
return to the maid by saying that she hadn’t felt well and ordered a
cold supper served in the breakfast room. Shep strolled aimlessly
about while she went upstairs and reappeared in a house gown.
When they had eaten they went into the living-room, where she
turned the leaves of a book while he pretended to read the evening
newspaper. After a time she walked over to him and touched his
arm, let her hand rest lightly on his head.
“Yes, Connie,” he said.
“There’s something I want to say to you, Shep.”
“Yes, Connie.”
He got up and she slipped into his chair.
“It’s a lie, Shep. What your father said is a lie!”
“Yes; of course,” he said, but he did not look at her.
“You’ve got to believe me; I’ll die if you don’t tell me you believe in
me!” and her voice broke in a sob.
He walked away from her, then went back, staring at her dully.
“I’ve been foolish, Shep. George and I have been good friends;
we’ve enjoyed talking books and music. I like the things he likes, but
that’s all. You’ve got to believe me, Shep; you’ve got to believe me!”
There was deep passion in the reiterated appeal.
When he did not reply she rose, clasped his cheeks in her hands so
that he could not avoid her eyes.
“Look at me, Shep. I swear before God I am telling you the truth!”
“Yes, Connie.” He freed himself, walked to the end of the room, went
back to her, regarding her intently. “Connie—what did you mean by
what you said to father about Bruce Storrs?”
“Oh, nothing! Your aunt Alice spoke of the resemblance one night at
the country club, where she saw Bruce with Millicent. It’s rather
striking when you think of it. And then at Bruce’s jollification the other
night Arthur said your father once spent some time at Laconia. I
thought possibly he had relatives there.”
“No; never, I think.”
“That’s what your aunt Alice said; but the portrait does suggest
Bruce Storrs.”
“Or a hundred other men,” Shep replied with a shrug. “You must be
tired, Connie—you’d better go to bed.”
“I don’t believe we’ve quite finished, Shep. I can’t leave you like this!
Your father is a beast! A low, foul beast!”
“I suppose he is,” he said indifferently.
“Is that all you have to say to me—Shep?”
She regarded him with growing terror in her eyes. He had said he
believed her, but it was in a tone of unbelief.
“I suppose a wife has a right to the protection of her husband,” she
said challengingly.
“You heard what I said to father, didn’t you? I told him it was a lie. I’ll
never enter his house again. That ought to satisfy you,” he said with
an air of dismissing the matter finally.
“And this is all you have to say, Shep?”
“It’s enough, isn’t it? I don’t care to discuss the matter further.”
“Then this is the end—is that what you mean?”
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