The youth with his hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not profeminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women evolving into something higher. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. He shot at me at the ‘Unusual,’ and the magistrates bound him over to keep the peace. ’ ‘Yes, that is what he said,’ agreed Melusine, pleased to find him of so ready an understanding.
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