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The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. But be very careful not to let him know. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. 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. His hands came up, his face broke apart. ’ ‘That was not what I had in mind. “I think that it is only an idea. “Lord!” she said.
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