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here. I felt suddenly I understood you--as an intelligent person. If
you'll forgive my saying that, and implying what goes with it. There's
something--puppyish in a man's usual attitude to women. That is what
I've had on my conscience.... I don't think we're altogether to blame
if we don't take some of your lot seriously. Some of your sex, I mean.
But we smirk a little, I'm afraid, habitually when we talk to you. We
smirk, and we're a bit--furtive."
He paused, with his eyes studying her gravely. "You, anyhow, don't
deserve it," he said.
Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at
the further door. When she saw Ann Veronica she stood for a moment as if
entranced, and then advanced with outstretched hands. "Veronique!" she
cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann
Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and
kissed her with profound emotion. "To think that you were going to do
it--and never said a word! You are a little thin, but except for that
you look--you look better than ever. Was it VERY horrible? I tried to
get into the police-court, but the crowd was ever so much too big, push
as I would....
"I mean to go to prison directly the session is over," said Miss Klegg.
"Wild horses--not if they have all the mounted police in London--shan't
keep me out."
Capes lit things wonderfully for Ann Veronica all that afternoon, he was
so friendly, so palpably interested in her, and glad to have her back
with him. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception.
Miss Garvice assumed a quality of neutrality, professed herself almost
won over by Ann Veronica's example, and the Scotchman decided that if
women had a distinctive sphere it was, at any rate, an enlarging sphere,
and no one who believed in the doctrine of evolution could logically
deny the vote to women "ultimately," however much they might be disposed
to doubt the advisability of its immediate concession. It was a refusal
of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. The youth with his
hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that
he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the
Strangers' Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann
Veronica, if not pro-feminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a
vein of speculation upon the Scotchman's idea--that there were still
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