‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. “I say!” he said, without any movement. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. ” He made quite a long pause, and went on, with a sigh: “You have a voting paper given you—” They emerged into the publicity of the lawn. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips.
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