The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. “Dear husband,” she murmured. I never forgive an injury. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. 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.
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