It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Passing thought. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. They WERE weird. ‘Let me tell you,’ went on the nun severely, ‘it would have been better for you if you had taken the veil. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. The Widow and her Child.
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