She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief.
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