It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. But a man’s opposition always inclined her to the suffrage side; she had a curious feeling of loyalty in seeing the more aggressive women through. "What did you ring for, Sir?" she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment. It’s a damned hard thing to do. A discreet husband would leave the dispensation of his bounty, where women are concerned, to his wife. "Still," went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they are bought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. She was very greatly exercised by the two systems of values—the two series of explanations that her comparative anatomy on the one hand and her sense of beauty on the other, set going in her thoughts.
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