Jests are not for seasons like this. I must take you to the Suffrage people, and the Tolstoyans, and the Fabians. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. “I love you, Anna, and I want you for my wife. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. ‘And this is not all,’ went on the lady, evidently determined to disclose all her wrongs. E.
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