“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir.
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