“Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. “Mr. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. All she needed to do was to have a body. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. I hope that James will not be long with that whisky and Apollinaris. Courtlaw, is it not,” she remarked, with lifted eyebrows. The world into which she was so boldly venturing was going to be wonderful, but never so wonderful as the world within these paper covers. “But you’re dating Mike now, and I’m dating John.
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