She was a big , bustling woman with clear blue eyes and crisp , incisive ways . Hitherto she had held her peace . `` They must talk themselves out before they can get down to business , '' she had reflected sagely . But she thought the time had now come to speak . `` You know , '' she went on , `` we can talk and rage against the men all day if we like . They are not trying to prevent us . But that will do no good . Here 's Mrs. Cotterell invited , and all the neighbouring auxiliaries notified -- and the men wo n't let us have the church . The point is , how are we going to get out of the scrape ? '' A helpless silence descended upon the classroom . The eyes of every woman present turned to Myra Wilson . Everyone could talk , but when it came to action they had a fashion of turning to Myra . She had a reputation for cleverness and originality . She never talked much . So far today she had not said a word . She was sitting on the sill of the window across from Lucy Knox . She swung her hat on her knee , and loose , moist rings of dark hair curled around her dark , alert face . There was a sparkle in her grey eyes that boded ill to the men who were peaceably pursuing their avocations , rashly indifferent to what the women might be saying in the maple-shaded classroom . `` Have you any suggestion to make , Miss Wilson ? '' said Mrs. Robbins , with a return to her official voice and manner .
XXXXX put her long , slender index finger to her chin .
Cotterell Knox Myra Robbins Wilson avocations day face fashion manner