She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Await me in the coach. But at the word “home” she turned again. “This has all the clean freshness of spring and youth,” said Capes; “it is love with the down on; it is like the glitter of dew in the sunlight to be lovers such as we are, with no more than one warm kiss between us. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. Her shoulders began to ache. A woman is supposed to know when a man is in love with her. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way.
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