“Come on in. This she would not endure. The second look told me I was wrong. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. It isn’t such fun as it seems. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. ” Sir John acknowledged the introduction without cordiality. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. 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. ‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean.
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