gutenberg. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. I forget. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “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. ’ ‘Eh?’ Gerald grinned at Hilary’s blank expression, and was gratified when the girl turned a brilliant smile upon himself. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation.
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