Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. "You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede," said Sister Prudence; "but where in this world did you get that dress?" Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. ” She stated boldly. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. .
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