Chichester severely.
"Oh, bless me, yes. They're women all right. I've met 'em. Listened
to 'em talk. Some of 'em were rippers. Why, there was one girl I
really have rather a fash on. Great big girl she is with a deep
voice. She had me all quivery for a while." And his mind ran back
over his "Militant" past and present.
"Just when I had begun to have some hope of her!" Alaric started.
"I didn't know you met her. Do you know Marjory Fairbanks?"
"No," replied Mrs. Chichester, almost sharply: "I mean Margaret."
"Oh! The little devil? Did ye? I never did. Not a hope! I've always
felt she ought to have the inscription on dear old Shakespeare's
grave waving in front of her all the time 'Good friend, for Heaven's
sake forbear.' There's no hope for her, mater. Believe ME."
"I thought that perhaps under our influence--in time--"
"Don't you think it. She will always be a Peter Pan. Never grow up.
She'd play elfish tricks if she had a nursery full of infants."
"But," persisted the old lady, "some GOOD man--one day might change
that."
"Ah! But where is he? Good men who'd take a girl like that in hand
are very scarce, mater--very scarce indeed. Oh, no. Back she goes to
America to-day, and off I go to-morrow to work.
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