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“I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. She began to tremble violently. She’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. But a man’s opposition always inclined her to the suffrage side; she had a curious feeling of loyalty in seeing the more aggressive women through. Ramage came for her at her lodgings, and she met him graciously and kindly as a queen who knows she must needs give sorrow to a faithful liege.
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