" "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. “Well, I don’t think you told him as much as that, did you?” Lady Lescelles asked. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. “I remember when you walked me home. “Well,” she achieved at last. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her.
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