But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. "Auntie?" he cried. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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