There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. Easy enough to look as if one rides away. The doctor laughed. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. ’ ‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald.
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