On her lapel was an ivory button, bearing the words “Votes for Women. It was—in connection with this man Hill. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. It’s your way of glossing over the ethical position. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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