"Oh!" she blazed. Then subsided. "You and Daddy are cave-men."
She refused, after that, to talk to him. So with Carew sulking on the back seat, they reached the end of their journey without further conversation.
After dinner, they got the news by radio—from New York and Texas, from Seattle to Florida. East and west, north and south, everybody was listening in.
"Some contrast," Winslow said, "to the days when we stood in front of newspaper offices to read the slow telegrams."
It was when things began to go against him that Carew said to his daughter, "I suppose you're happy."
Hildegarde flushed. "I couldn't be happy to have you disappointed, Daddy."
Winslow looked at her. "You're not on our side?"
Her head went up. "If I could have voted, I should have had to vote the other way."
"Why?"
She tried to treat it lightly, "Because—"
"Because and because and because is no reason." A dark fire burned in Louis' eyes. "If I had my way, women shouldn't vote. It's not their business."
Unexpectedly Mrs. Hulburt agreed. "Life's too short to bother with politics. I'm glad to leave it to the men."
"Good for you, Ethel," was Carew's emphatic commendation. "I hope you'll convert Hildegarde to your doctrine."
Hildegarde was assailed by an unreasonable sense of jealousy. She liked Mrs. Hulburt, but she didn't
