I didn’t understand. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. ‘Never mind that now. 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. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes.
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