“But your sister?” he asked. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. I don’t love you. ” She refused. ” Ann Veronica sat with her chin on her hand, red-lit and saying little, and Miss Miniver discoursed. "My enemy," replied her son. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of women’s position become the material for the most delightful and amazing descriptions.
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