One has to train one’s self not to. Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing descriptions. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. Please sit down, Miss —dear me, I haven’t asked you your name yet. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. But you had better know the truth to start with. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room.
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