She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. " "Footsteps are approaching," cried Thames. ” “But why——” Sir John stopped short.
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