re? Then you're
no more miss than mister. You go to Europe as a respectable married
woman or you stay at home. So they stayed. But they would win in the
end. They always did. As for the husbands, they were amenable.
Whether they really approved of feministics in extenso, or were merely
good-natured and indulgent after the fashion of American husbands, they
were at some pains to conceal. All the bright young married women who
were "doing things," however, were not Lucy Stoners, advanced as they
might be in thought. They were mildly sympathetic, but rather liked
the matronly, and possessive, prefix. And, after all, what did it
matter? There were enough tiresome barriers to scale, Heaven knew.
This was the age of woman, but man, heretofore predominant by right of
brute strength and hallowed custom, was cultivating subtlety, and if he
feminized while they masculinized there would be the devil to pay
before long.

Miss Forbes was a tiny creature, wholly feminine in appearance, and in
spite of her public activities, her really brilliant and initiative
mind, was notoriously dependent upon her big burly husband for guidance
and advice in all practical matters. When they took a holiday the
younger of his children gave him the least trouble, for she had a
nurse: he dared not give his wife her ticket in a crowd lest she lose
it, far less trust her to relieve his burdened mind of any of the
details of travel; nor even to order a meal. Nevertheless, he
invariably, and with complete gravity, introduced her and alluded to
her as Suzan Forbes (she even tabued the Miss), and he sent a cheque to
the League when it was founded. His novels had a quality of delicate
irony, but he avowed that his motto was live and let live.

Miss Forbes was not pretty, but she had an expressive original little
face and her manners were charming. Janet Oglethorpe was a boor beside
her. It was doubtful if she had ever been aggressive in manner or rude
in her life; although she never hesitated to give utterance to the
extremest of her opinions or to maintain them to the bitter end (when
she sometimes sped home to have hysterics on her husband's broad
chest). She was one of Clavering's favorites and the heroine of the
comedy he so far rejected.

She lit a cigarette as the music finished and pinched it into a holder
nearly as long as her face. But even smoking never interfered with her
pleasant, rather deprecatory, smile.

"It must be wonde