“I can’t. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. ” “And I,” Ennison said, holding her fingers tightly, and forcing her to look into his eyes, “I will tell you what I have wished for you when we meet six months from to-day. 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. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. In some things, in many things, you must trust to your elders, to those who know more of life than you do.
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