“And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. But the people among whom she was now thrown through the social exertions of Miss Miniver and the Widgetts—for Teddy and Hetty came up from Morningside Park and took her to an eighteen-penny dinner in Soho and introduced her to some art students, who were also Socialists, and so opened the way to an evening of meandering talk in a studio—carried with them like an atmosphere this implication, not only that the world was in some stupid and even obvious way WRONG, with which indeed she was quite prepared to agree, but that it needed only a few pioneers to behave as such and be thoroughly and indiscriminately “advanced,” for the new order to achieve itself. And now I break the seals—for you. . . You get the idea. “Okay. “We don’t pretend. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. You DO use vile language!” “Forget about it like this. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. “Yes,” she said at last, “it is firm and affectionate. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another.
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