Then Capes shifted his eyes to her microscope and the little trays of unmounted sections beside it. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St.
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