I don’t suggest any philanthropy. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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