“I thought every one had heard,” said Miss Klegg. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. He was all alone, too. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. Voilà tout. She despises me, I suppose. I’m sorry. But before the Grieg concerto was done, she knew that she was free. The five men students were a mixed company. " "Impossible!" rejoined his mother.
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