” “I suppose I must have thought so. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. Heaven alone knows why. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. 238 < 30 > IN BED John drove her home after school nearly every day. good at that. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. ’ A reluctant laugh escaped him. Voilà tout. We hide it bravely, but so it is.
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