’ So pat, thought Gerald. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. ” He replied. " "To-morrow will be too late," said Sheppard, moodily. Their conversation hung. 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.
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