She turned a resolute face southward. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. ‘Tie a horse behind the carriage?’ he echoed incredulously. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. Wood trembled. She had found two copies of the magazine and carefully cut out both photos. One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage.
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