’ She tossed her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. The youth with his hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not profeminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women evolving into something higher. ” “You, then,” he said, “are ‘Alcide. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. Brendon always comes home with me, and tonight both are away.
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