At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. " "That's right, Captain," cried Blueskin.
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