Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. ‘None of them means anything to you at all? How odd. "Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. 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.
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