“For your own sake, let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. That would be an unkind twist of fate. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. Courtlaw. "The whole thing in a nutshell!" "Are there no men a woman may trust absolutely?" "Hang it, that isn't it. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him.
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