And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. ’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. They give themselves airs, but so it is. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force.
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