“Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. ” “You are willing to give up your position, your beautiful houses, your carriages and milliner’s accounts to come back to Bohemianism?” “Why not?” Annabel declared. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations. When the doctor came in—he had just finished his breakfast—O'Higgins rose and presented his card. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone.
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