An electric light flashed out from the wall. He was staring at her, openly gaping. 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. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon.
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