It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air.
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