Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. Miss Garvice assumed a quality of neutrality, professed herself almost won over by Ann Veronica’s example, and the Scotchman decided that if women had a distinctive sphere it was, at any rate, an enlarging sphere, and no one who believed in the doctrine of evolution could logically deny the vote to women “ultimately,” however much they might be disposed to doubt the advisability of its immediate concession. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. Small, but eminently serviceable. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own.
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