It doesn’t matter. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. He hasn't found himself, as they say. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. Sheppard returned no answer. ‘Very wise,’ commented Gerald. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. “Lots of ‘em!” Capes chuckled. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly.
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