She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. 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. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it.
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