His hand flew across the paper. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now.
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