"We! we! Come, Ruth. You aren't one of them in an hour, are you? Better wait and consult Bob first."
"Oh, Bob will agree with me. I know he will. It's such a progressive idea. And I am one of them. I'm proud to be. I'm going to march in the parade next week."
I came to life at that. "Oh, Ruth, not really—not in Boston!"
"What? Up the center of Washington Street in French heels and a shadow veil?" scoffed Will.
"Up the center of Washington Street in something," announced Ruth, "if that's the line of march. Remember, Will, French heels and shadow veils have been my stock in trade, and not through any choice of mine, either. So don't throw them at me, please."
Will subsided. "Well, well, what next? A raring, tearing little suffragette, in one afternoon, too!"
Ruth went upstairs.
"Poor old Bob," remarked Will to me when we were alone.
