The long corridor of London imprisoned her. Far away beneath her tumult it was making its appeal, renewing the immortal compact. The irregular façades, dull greys absorbing the light, bright buffs throwing it brilliantly out, dadoed below with a patchwork of shops, and overhead the criss-cross of telephone wires, shut her away from the low-hung soft grey sky. But far away, unfailing, retreating as the long corridor telescoped towards them, an obliterating saffron haze filled the vista, holding her in her place. The end of the journey brought them to grey streets and winding alleys where the masts and rigging that had loomed suddenly in the distance, robbing the expedition of its promise of ending in some strange remoteness with their suggestion of blind busy worlds beyond London, were lost to sight. “This must be the docks,” she said politely. With the curt permission of a sentinel policeman they went through a gateway appearing suddenly before them in a high grey wall. Miriam hurried forward to meet the open scene for one moment alone and found herself on a little quay surrounding a square basin of motionless grey water shut in by wooden galleries, stacked with mouldering casks. But the air was the air that moves softly on still days over wide waters and in the shadowed light of the enclosure, the fringe of green where the water touched the grey stone of the quay gleamed brilliantly in the stillness. She breathed in, in spite of herself, the charm of the scene; an ordered completeness, left to itself in beauty; its lonely beauty to be gathered only by the chance passer-by. “This is a strange romantic place,” said Mr. Shatov conversationally by her side. “There is nothing,” said Miriam unwillingly, feeling her theme weaken as she looked away from it to voice well-known words, “_Nothing_ that reveals more completely the spiritual,” her voice gave over the word which broke into meaninglessness upon the air, “the status of a man as his estimate of women.” “I entirely agree. I was a feminist in my college days. I am still a feminist.” Miriam pondered. The word was new to her. But how could anyone be a feminist and still think women most certainly inferior beings? “Ah,” she cried “you are one of the Huxleys.” “I don’t follow you.” “Oh well. _He_, impertinent schoolboy, graciously suggested that women should be given every possible kind of advantage, educational and otherwise; saying almost in the same breath that they could never reach the highest places in civilisation; that Nature’s Salic Law would never be repealed.” “Well, how is it to be repealed?” “I don’t know I’m sure. I’m not wise enough to give instruction in repealing a law that has never existed. But who is Huxley, that he should take upon himself to say what are the highest places in civilisation?” “Miriam” he said, coming round to stand before her. “We are not going to quarrel over this matter.” She refused to meet his eyes.