“Pellissier,” she repeated thoughtfully. They pressed more insistently, forcing her lips open. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said. “Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. ” He took them from her and read them. Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing descriptions. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks.
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