But he could not speak otherwise than vigorously, and at times his words were eloquent.
"We know not how things may improve in the future," (thus he perorated), "but let celibate ladies of the present bear in mind that the chances are enormously against their making a marriage worthy of the name." ("Oh!" from some man at the back.) "Let them remember, too, if they are disposed to altruism, that though most men manage to find a wife, very few indeed, as things are, do not ultimately wish that they had remained single." (A roar of laughter, and many protests.) "This being so, let women who have no family of their own devote themselves, whenever possible, to the generous and high task of training the new female generation, so that they may help to mitigate one of the greatest ills of civilized existence, and prepare for women of the future the possibility of a life truly emancipated." Denzil sat down with a glow of exulting triumph.

His lecture was a success, not a doubt of it.

He saw the chairman rise, and heard slow, languid phrases which contrasted strangely with his own fire and rush.
A vote of thanks was being proposed.

When silence came, he was aware of some fluster in the body of the hall; people were whispering, tittering, turning round to look.

Two persons had stood up with the intention of seconding the vote of gratitude; one was Mr.Chown, the other that lady who had a place in the middle of the assemblage, and who seemed to be so well known.