“You know—,” said Mr. He unlocked himself from her embrace. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. His progress, however, was checked by loud acclamations, announcing the arrival of the Master of the Mint and his train. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. There was something holding women down, holding women back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of it.
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