Genevieve knit her brows. "Why, yes--of course, we've talked about
things----"

"My dear, of course he is _against suffrage_."

"Oh yes, of course. I'm sure he is. Though, you see, I would no more think
of intruding in George's business affairs than he would think of intruding
in my household duties."

"Naturally, Genevieve. And very sweet and dear of you! But I'm sure you
will see how very important this is. Here we are, right at the beginning
of his campaign. Those vulgar women are going to hound him. They've begun
already. As our committee wrote him last week, it is vitally important that
he should declare himself unequivocally at once."

"Oh, yes," murmured Genevieve, "of course. I can see that."

The doors swung open. A thin little man of forty to fifty stood there, a
dry but good-humored man, with many wrinkles about his quizzical blue eyes,
and sandy hair at the sides and back of an otherwise bald head. He was
smartly dressed in a homespun Norfolk suit. He waved a cap of homespun in
greeting.

"Afternoon, ladies! Genevieve, a bachelor's admiration and respect! I hope
that boy George has got sense enough to be proud of you. But they haven't
at that age. They're all for themselves."

"Oh no, Uncle Martin," cried Genevieve, "George is the most generous----"