“I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. CHAPTER XVII. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. Contrasted with the confused movement and presences of a Fabian meeting, or the inexplicable enthusiasm behind the suffrage demand, with the speeches that were partly egotistical displays, partly artful manoeuvres, and partly incoherent cries for unsoundly formulated ends, compared with the comings and goings of audiences and supporters that were like the eddy-driven drift of paper in the street, this long, quiet, methodical chamber shone like a star seen through clouds. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside.
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