” “Did it hurt when we did it?” His voice rose, inflamed with worry. “Look here,” he said, “I brought you here to make love to you. " Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. . "That depends upon you. Lucy followed. 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. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. . She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. .
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