She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. All her questions would have as a background the idea of future defence. The youth with his hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not profeminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women evolving into something higher. But this accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same fate as the first, and Jonathan came off victorious.
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