"You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. And, if you hear any odd noise in the parlour, don't mind it. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Moments are ages now. 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. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. She spoke slowly.
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