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“We do not want the men,” said Miss Miniver; “we do not want them, with their sneers and loud laughter. "She is here," cried Jack, darting forward. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. and Mrs. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.

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