’ Gerald stood back, and watched her cross the room to the closed French doors. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. But one must disguise oneself.
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