“But how can you?” asked Constance. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. “Annabel at last,” he shouted. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. 26 His duties were to make certain that she was eating right and not exposing herself to foul odors and cold drafts. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. "I was just thinking of you Jack.
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