Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. “You are absurd,” she declared. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint. “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.
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