A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. “I remember when you walked me home. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. I would not think so of you, Marthe. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. I should like to have had you forgive me. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. ” Sheila snarled. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. ” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. The inn was a military haunt.
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