" That was true, thought Spurlock. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. John stared palely. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. I’m not such a bad sort. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. He could scarcely blame her.
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