" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. That is an evil place!” She cried. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. ” He spoke loudly. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants.
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