"I will, when I catch him, rely on it," rejoined Wild. But she was not to be tempted. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her soul revolted. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. His eyes were closed. Can’t ask the gent to go abroad and condone a bigamy. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. Nothing at all. The fashions of the day have become antiquated. She says to be home by one AM.
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