“Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing descriptions. It ought not to be much. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door.
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