” Miss Stanley turned to her. A vast indifference settled down upon him. You are a sisterless man; you have never heard the ordinary talk that goes on at a girls’ boarding-school. John picked it up and put it in her hands. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. The youth with his hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not profeminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women evolving into something higher. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. My poor Hoddy! I had to talk harshly, or break down and have hysterics.
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