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There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. “She is marvellously clever,” he said. Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. While they were still engaged in looking round the doctor returned with a nurse and assistant. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend.
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