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Wood,—Winifred fainted in the arms of a female attendant,—and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of distraction. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. 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. That is my real milieu, and one that I am convinced you would not only adorn but delight in. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Vite, I pray you.

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