"I'm not daft about voting _myself,_" Mostyn laughed, "and to save my
life I can't be enthusiastic about _women_ doing it."

"I wish we could walk through the woods the rest of the way," the girl
said. "We'll meet another spitfire in a minute, and then I _will_ lose
patience."

They were soon in sight of the four lighted windows of the
schoolhouse. "Packed like sardines," Dolly muttered. "Who knows? They
may mob me. I don't care--those men pushed this thing on me against my
will, and I'm going to fight. Do you know when I'm bothered like this
I can actually feel the roots of my hair wiggling as if it were trying
to stand up, like the bristles on a pig. The women in this
neighborhood have been my best friends till now, and if I can't think
of some way to stir up their sympathy I shall be down and out."

Mostyn looked at her admiringly. She was so beautiful, so appealing in
her youth and brave helplessness. Being what she already was, what
would not opportunity, travel, higher environment bring to her? She
was a diamond in the rough. His heart beat wildly. Lucky chance had
thrown her in his way. He might win her love, if she did not already
care for him. As his wife he could gratify her every desire, and yet--
and yet--The situation had its disagreeable side. How could he think
of becoming the son-in-law of a man like Tom Drake? What would old
Mitchell say? What would his fashionable sister and his entire social
set think? Yes, Dolly was all that could be desired, but she was not
alone in the world, and she was absolutely true to her family. Mostyn
here felt a touch of shame, and shame was a thing he had scarcely been
conscious of in his questionable career. That was one of the