To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. It was that somebody had cheated you. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her soul revolted.
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