Wood fared still worse. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. ” “You do not understand me at all,” she declared. And then she fell into a musing about Capes. Instantly she seized the poker and made a desperate effort to get them out again. Oh! you young people!” The young man with the orange tie, in spite of Sisyphus-like efforts on the part of Goopes to get the topic on to a higher plane, displayed great persistence in speculating upon the possible distribution of the affections of highly developed modern types. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. He drew a little sigh of relief. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding.
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