THE CONVERT

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Transcriber's note:

 Lists of Macmillan titles from this spot have been moved to the end of the text. Following the moved section, the reader will find a list of corrections made to the text. 

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THE CONVERT

by

ELIZABETH ROBINS

Author of "A Dark Lantern, " "The Magnetic North, " Etc. 

New YorkThe MacMillan Company1913

All rights reserved

Copyright, 1907, by the MacMillan Company. 

Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1907. ReprintedMarch, 1910; March, 1912; August, 1913. Norwood PressJ. S. Cushing Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

THE CONVERT

CHAPTER I

The tall young lady who arrived fifteen minutes before the FreddyTunbridges' dinner-hour, was not taken into the great emptydrawing-room, but, as though she were not to be of the party expectedthat night, straight upstairs she went behind the footman, and then upmore stairs behind a maid. The smart, white-capped domestic paused, andher floating muslin streamers cut short their aërial gyrations subsidingagainst her straight black back as she knocked at the night-nurserydoor. It was opened by a middle-aged head nurse of impressive demeanour. She stood there an instant eyeing the intruder with the kind ofoverbearing hauteur that in these days does duty as the peculiarhall-mark of the upper servant, being seldom encountered in Englandamong even the older generation of the so-called governing class. 

'It's too late to see the baby, miss. He's asleep. '

'Yes, I know; but the others are expecting me, aren't they?'

Question hardly necessary, perhaps, with the air full of cries frombeyond the screen: 'Yes, yes. ' 'We're waiting!' 'Mummy promised'--cutshort by the nurse saying sharply, 'Not so much noise, Miss Sara. ' Butthe presiding genius of the Tunbridge nursery opened the door a littlewider and stood aside. Handsome compensation for her studied coldnesswas offered in the shrill shrieks of joy with which a little girl and avery small boy celebrated the lady's entrance. She, for her part, joinedthe austere nurse in saying, 'Sh! sh!' and in simulating consternationat the spectacle behind the screen, Miss Sara jumping up and down in themiddle of her bed with wild brown hair swirling madly about a laughingbut mutinous face. The visitor, hurrying forward, received the impetuouslittle girl in her arms, while the nurse described her own sentimentsof horror and detestation of such performances, and hinted vaguely atRetribution that might with safety be looked for no later than themorrow. Nobody listened. Miss Levering nodded smiling across Sara'snightgowned figure to the little boy hanging over the side of theneighbouring cot. But he kept remonstrating, 'You always go to herfirst. '

The lady drew a flat, shiny wooden box out of the inside pocket of hercloak. The little girl seized it rapturously. 

'Oh, did you only bring Sara's bock?' wailed the smaller Tunbridge. 'Itold you expecially we wanted _two_ bocks. '

'I've got two pockets and I've got two bocks. Let me give him his, Saradarling. '

But 'Sara darling' dropped her own 'bock' the better to cling round theneck of the giver. 

Naturally Master Cecil sounded the horn of indignation. 

'Hush!' commanded his sister. 'Don't you know his little lordship neverdid that?' And to emphasize this satirical appeal to a higher standardof manners, Sara loosened her tight-locked arms an instant; but stillholding to the visitor with one hand, she picked up the pillow anddeftly hurled it at the neighbouring cot, extinguishing the little boy. Through the general recriminations that ensued, the culprit cried withshrill rapture, 'Lady Gladys never pillow-fought! Lady Gladys was alittle lady and never did _any_thing!' The merry eyes shamelesslyinvited Miss Levering to mock at Dampney's former charges. But thevisitor detached herself from Miss Sara, and wishing apparently toingratiate herself with the offended majesty of the nurse, Miss Leveringsaid gravely over her shoulder, 'Now, lie down, Sara, and be a goodgirl. ' Sara's reply to that was to (what she called) 'diddle up anddown' on her knees and emit shrill squeals of some pleasurable emotionnot defined. This, too, in spite of the fact that Dampney had picked upthe pillow and was advancing upon Miss Sara with an expressioncalculated to shake the stoutest heart. It obviously shook thevisitor's. 'Listen, Sara! If you don't be quiet and let nurse cover youup, she won't want me to stay. ' Miss Levering actually got up off thelittle boy's bed, and stood as though ready to carry the obnoxioussuggestion into instant effect. 

Sara darted under the bedclothes like a rabbit into its burrow. Therigid woman, without words, restored the tousled pillow to the head ofthe bed, extracted Miss Sara from her hiding-place with one hand, smoothed out the rebellious legs with the other, covered the childfirmly over, and tucked the bedclothes in. 

'What's the use of all that? Mother always does it over again. '

'You know very well she's been and done it once already. '

'She's coming again if father doesn't need her. '

'There's a whole big dinner-party needing her, so you needn't think shecan come twice to say good-night to a Jumping-Jack like you. '

'You ought to say a Jumping-Jill, ' amended Sara. 

During this interchange Master Cecil was complaining to the visitor--

'I can't see you with that thing all round your head. '

'Yes, take it off!' his sister agreed; and when the lady had unwound herlace scarf--'Now the coat! And you have to sit on my bed this time. It'smy turn. '

As the visitor divested herself of the long ermine-lined garment, 'Oh, you _are_ pretty to-night!' observed the gallant young gentleman overthe way, seeming not to have heard that these effects don't appeal tolittle boys. 

Sara silently craned her neck. Even the high and mighty Mrs. Dampney, inthe surreptitious way of the superior servant, without seeming to look, was covertly taking in the vision that the cloak had hitherto obscured. The little girl followed with critical eyes the movement of the tallfigure, the graceful fall of the clinging black lace gown embroidered inyellow irises, the easy bend of the small waist in its jewelled belt ofyellow. The growing approval in the little face culminated in anecstatic 'Oh-h-h! let me see what's on your neck! That's new, isn't it?'

'No--very old. '

'I didn't know there were yellow diamonds, ' said Sara. 

'There are; but these are sapphires. '

'And the little stones round?'

'Yes, they're diamonds. '

'The hanging-down thing is _such_ a pretty shape!'

'Yes, the fleur-de-lys is a pretty shape. It's the flower of France, youknow--just as the thistle is the----'

'There, now!' A penetrating whisper came from the other bed. 'She's_gone_. '

'It's you who've been keeping her here, you know. ' Miss Levering benther neat, dark head over the little girl, and the gleaming jewels swungforward. 

'Yes, ' said Cecil, in a tone of grandfatherly disgust; 'yelling like awild Indian. '

'Well, you _cried_, ' said his sister--'just because a feather pillow hityou. ' Her eye never once left the glittering gaud. 

'You see, Cecil is younger than you, ' Miss Levering reminded her. 

'Yes, ' said Sara, with conscious superiority--'a whole year and eightmonths. But even when I was young _I_ had sense. '

Miss Levering laughed. 'You're a horrid little Pharisee--and as wild asa young colt. ' Contrary to received canons, the visitor seemed to findsomething reassuring in the latter reflection, for she kissed the small, self-righteous face. 

'You just ought to have seen Sara this morning!' Cecil chuckled, with agenerous admiration in family achievements. 'We waked up early, and Sarasaid, "Let's go mountaineering. " So we did. All over the rocks andpresserpittses. ' He waved his hand comprehensively at the rugged sceneryof the night-nursery. 

'Of course we had to pile up the chairs and things, ' his sisterexplained. 

'And the coal scuttle. '

'And we made snow mountains out of the pillows. When the chairs wobbled, the coal and the pillows kept falling about; it was quite a realavalanche, ' Sara said conversationally. 

'I should think so, ' agreed the guest. 

'Yes; and it was glorious when Sara excaped to the top of the wardrobe. '

'To the w----' Miss Levering gasped. 

'Yes. We were having the most perfectly fascinating time----' Sara tookup the tale. 

But Cecil suddenly sat bolt upright, his little face quite pink withexcitement at recollection of these Alpine exploits. 

'Yes, Sara had come down off the wardrobe--she'd been sitting on thecarved piece--she says that's the Schreckhorn!--but she'd come down offit, and we was just jumping about all those mountains like twoshamrocks----'

'Like what?'

'--when _she_ came in. '

'Yes, ' agreed Sara. 'Just when we're happiest _she_ always comesinterfiddling. '

'Oh, Sara mine, I rather like you!' said Miss Levering, laying herlaughing face against the tousled hair. 

'Now! Now!' cried Cecil, suddenly beating with his two fists on thecounterpane as though he'd seen as much valuable time wasted as he feltit incumbent upon him to tolerate. 'Go on where you left off. '

'No, it's _my_ visit this time. ' Sara held fast to her friend. 'It's forme to say what we're going to talk about. '

'It's got to be alligators!' said Cecil, waving his arms. 

'It _shan't_ be alligators! I want to know more about Doris. '

'Doris!' Cecil's tone implied that the human intelligence could no lowersink. 

'Yes. I expect you like her better than you do us. '

'Don't you think I ought to like my niece best?'

'No'--from Cecil. 

'You said we belonged to you, too, ' observed Miss Sara. 

'Of course. '

'And all aunts, ' she pursued, 'don't like their nieces so _dreadfully_. '

'Don't they?' inquired Miss Levering, with an elaborate air ofinnocence. 

'You didn't say how-do-you-do to me, ' said Cecil, with the air of onewho makes a useful discovery. 

'_What?_'

'Why, she went to you the minute I threw the pillow. '

'That was just to save me from being dead. It isn't a properhow-do-you-do when she doesn't hug you. '

'I'll hug you when I go. '

But a better plan than that occurred to Cecil. He flung down the coverswith the decision of one called to set about some urgent business. 

'Cecil! I simply won't have you catching cold!'

Before the words were out of Miss Levering's mouth he had tumbled out ofbed and leapt into her lap. He clasped his arms round her neck with anair of rapturous devotion, but what he said was--

'Go on 'bout the alligator. '

'No, no. Go 'way!' protested Sara, pushing him with hands and feet. 

'Sh! You really will have nurse back!'

That horrid thought coerced the prudent Sara to endurance of theinterloping brother. And now of his own accord Cecil had taken his armsfrom round his friend's neck. 

'That's horrid!' he said. 'I don't like that hard thing. Take it off. '

'Let me. ' Sara sat up with alacrity. 'Let me. '

But Miss Levering undid the sapphire necklace herself. 'If you'll bevery careful, Sara, I'll let you hold it. ' It was as if she well knewthe deft little hands she had delivered the ornament to, and knewequally well that in her present mood, absorption in the beauty of itwould keep the woman-child still. 

'There, that's better!' Cecil replaced his arms firmly where thenecklace had been. 

Miss Levering pulled up her long cloak from the bottom of the bed andwrapped the little boy in the warm lining. The comfort of thearrangement was so great, and it implied so little necessity for'hanging on, ' that Cecil loosed his arms and lay curled up against hisfriend. 

She held him close, adapting her lithe slimness to the easy supportingand enfolding of the childish figure. The little girl was absorbed inthe necklace after her strenuous hour; the boy, content for a moment, having gained his point, just to lie at his ease; the woman rested hercheek on his ruffled hair and looked straight before her. 

As she sat there holding him, something came into her face, guiltlessthough it was of any traceable change, without the verifiable movementof a muscle, something none the less that would have minded the beholderuneasily to search the eyes for tears, and, finding no tears there, tofeel no greater sense of reassurance. 

So motionless she sat that presently the child turned up his rosy face, and seeing the brooding look, it was plain he had the sense of beingsomehow left behind. He put up his hand to her cheek, and rubbed itsoftly with his own. 

'I don't like you like that. Tell me about----'

'Like what?' said the lady. 

'Like--I don't know. ' Then, with a sudden inspiration, 'Uncle Ronaldsays you're like the Sphinx. Who are they?'

'Who are who?'

'Why, the Sfinks. Have they got a boy? Is the little Sfink as old as me?Oh, you only laugh, just like Uncle Ronald. He asked us why we likedyou, and we told him. '

'You've never told me. '

'Oh, didn't we? Well, it's because you aren't beady. '

'Beady?'

'Yes. We hate all beady ladies, don't we, Sara?'

'Yes; but it's my turn. ' However, she said it half-heartedly as shestopped drawing the shining jewels lightly through her slim fingers, andbegan gently to swing the fleur-de-lys back and forth like a pendulumthat glanced bewitchingly in the light. 

Miss Levering knew that the next phase would be to try it on, but forthe moment Sara had still half an ear for general conversation. 

'We hate them to have hard things on their shoulders!' Cecil explained. 

'On their shoulders?' Miss Levering asked. 

'Here, just in the way of our heads. '

'Yes, bead-trimming on their dresses, ' explained the little girl. 

'Hard stuff that scratches when they hold you tight. ' Cecil cuddled hisimpudent round face luxuriously on the soft lace-covered shoulder of thevisitor, and laughed up in her face. 

'Aunts are very beady, ' said Sara, absent-mindedly, as she tried theeffect of the glitter against her night-gown. 

'Grandmothers are worse, ' amended Cecil. 'They're beady and bu-gly, too. '

'What's bewgly?'

'Well, it's what my grandmother called them when I pulled some of themoff. Not proper bugles, you know, what you "too! too! too!" make musicwith when you're fighting the enemy. My grandmother thinks bugles arelittle shiny black things only about that long'--he measured less thanan inch on his minute forefinger--'with long holes through so they cansew them on their clothes. '

'On their caps, too, ' said Sara; 'only they're usurally white whenthey're on caps. '

'Here's your mother coming! Now, what will she say to you, Cecil?'

They turned their eyes to the door, strangely unwelcoming for LauraTunbridge's children, and their young faces betrayed no surprise whenthe very different figure of Nurse Dampney emerged from behind the tallchintz screen that protected the cots from any draught through theopening door. Cecil, with an action of settled despair, turned from thespectacle, and buried his face for one last moment of comfort in VidaLevering's shoulder; while Sara, with a baleful glance, muttered--

'I knew it was that old interfiddler. '

'Now, Master Cecil----'

'Yes, nurse. ' Miss Levering carried him back to his cot. 

'Mrs. Tunbridge has sent up, miss, to know if you've come. They'rewaiting dinner. '

'Not really! Is it a quarter past already?'

'More like twenty minutes, miss. '

The lady caught up her necklace, cut short her good-byes, and fleddownstairs, clasping the shining thing round her neck as she went--aswaying figure in soft flying draperies and gleaming, upraised arms. 

She entered the drawing-room with a quiet deliberation greater even thancommon. It was the effect that haste and contrition frequently wroughtin her--one of the things that made folk call her 'too self-contained, 'even 'a trifle supercilious. '

But when other young women, recognizing some not easily definable charmin this new-comer into London life, tried to copy the effect alluded to, it was found to be less imitable than it looked. 

CHAPTER II

There were already a dozen or so persons in the gold-and-whitedrawing-room, yet the moment Vida Levering entered, she knew from thequesting glance Mrs. Freddy sent past her children's visitor, that evennow the party was not complete. 

Other eyes turned that way as the servant announced 'Miss Levering. ' Itis seldom that in this particular stratum of London life anything souncontrolled and uncontrollable as a 'sensation' is permitted to chequerthe even distribution of subdued good humour that reigns so modestly inthe drawing-rooms of the Tunbridge world. If any one is so ill-advisedas to bring to these gatherings anything resembling a sensation, even ifit is of the less challengeable sort of striking personal beauty, thegeneral aim of the company is to pretend either that they see nothingunusual in the conjunction, or that they, for their part, are imperviousto such impacts. Vida Levering's beauty was not strictly of the_éclatant_ type. If it did--as could not be denied--arrest the eye, itsrefusal to let attention go was mitigated by something in the quietness, the disarming softness, with which the hold was maintained. Men makingher acquaintance frequently went through four distinct phases in theirfeeling about her. The first was the common natural one, the instantstirring of the pulses that beauty of any sort produces in personshaving the eye that sees. The second stage was a rousing of the instinctto be 'on guard, ' which feminine beauty not infrequently breeds in thebreasts of men. Not on guard so much against the thing itself, or evenagainst ready submission to it, but against allowing onlookers to bewitness of such submission. Even the very young man knows either byexperience or hearsay, that women have concentrated upon their facultyfor turning this particular weapon to account, all the skill they wouldhave divided among other resources had there been others. Yet the charmis something too delicious even to desire to escape from--the impulsecentres in a determination to _seem_ untouched, immune. 

The third stage in this declension from pleasure through caution toreassurance is induced by something so gentle, so unemphatic in the VidaLevering aspect, so much what the man thinks 'feminine, ' that even thewariest male is reassured. He comes to be almost as easy before thisparticular type of allurement as he would be with the frankly plain'good sort'; only there is all about him the exquisite aroma of a subtlecharm which he may almost persuade himself that he alone perceives, since this softly gracious creature seems so little to insist uponit--seems, indeed, to be herself unaware of its presence. Whereupon theman conceives a new idea of his own perspicacity in detecting a thing atonce so agreeable and so little advertised. He may, with a woman of thiskind, go long upon the third 'tack'--may, indeed, never know it was shewho gently 'shunted' him, still unenlightened, and left himside-tracked, but cherishing to the end of time the soothing convictionthat he 'might an' if he would. ' To the more robust order of man willcome a day of awakening, when he rubs his eyes and retreats hurriedlywith a sense of good faith injured--nay, of hopes positively betrayed. If she were '_that_ sort, ' why not hang out some signal? It wasn'tplaying fair. 

And so without anything so crude as a sensation, but with a retinue ofcovert looks following in her train, she made her way to the younghostess, and was there joined by two men and a middle-aged woman, whoplainly had been a beauty, and though 'gone to fat, ' as the vulgar say, had yet kept her complexion. With an air of genial authority, thepink-cheeked Lady John Ulland proceeded to appropriate the new-comer inthe midst of a general hum of conversation, whose key to the sensitiveear had become a little heightened since the last arrival. The womengrew more insistently vivacious in proportion as the men's minds seemedto wander from matters they had discussed contentedly enough before. 

Mrs. Freddy Tunbridge was a very popular person. It was agreed thatnobody willingly missed one of her parties. There were those who saidthis was not so much because of her and Mr. Freddy, though they wereeminently likeable people; not merely because you met 'everybody' there, and not even because of the excellence of their dinners. Notoriouslythis last fact fails to appeal very powerfully to the majority of women, and it is they, not men, who make the social reputation of the hostess. There was in this particular case a theory, held even by those who didnot care especially about Mrs. Freddy, that hers was an 'amusing, ' aboveall, perhaps, a 'becoming, ' house. People had a pleasant consciousnessof looking uncommon well in her pretty drawing-room. Others said itwasn't the room, it was the lighting, which certainly was mostdiscerningly done--not dim, and yet so far from glaring that quite plainpeople enjoyed there a brief unwonted hour of good looks. Only a limitedamount of electricity was used, and that little was carefully masked andmodulated, while the two great chandeliers each of them held aloft avery forest of wax candles. It was known, too, that the spell was in nodanger of being rudely broken. The same tender but festive radiancewould bathe the hospitable board of the great oak dining-room below. 

And why were they not processing thither?

'Is it my sister who is late?' Miss Levering asked, turning her slimneck in that deliberate way of hers to look about the room. 

'No; your sister is over there, talking to---- Oh--a----' Mrs. Freddy, having looked round to refresh her memory, was fain to slur over thefact that Mrs. Fox-Moore was in the corner by the pierced screen, nottalking to any one, but, on the contrary, staring dark-visaged, gloomy, sibylline, at a leaflet advertising a charity concert, a documentconspicuously left by Mrs. Freddy on a little table. On her way torescue Mrs. Fox-Moore from her desert island of utter loneliness, Mrs. Freddy saw Sir William Haycroft, the newly-made Cabinet Minister, ratherpointedly making his escape from a tall, keen-looking, handsome womanwearing eye-glasses and iron-grey hair dressed commandingly. 

Without a qualm Mrs. Freddy abandoned Mrs. Fox-Moore to prolonged exile, in order to soothe the ruffled minister. 

'I think, ' she said, pausing in front of the great man and delicatelyoffering him an opportunity to make any predilection known--'I think youknow every one here. '

Haycroft muttered in his beard--but his eyes had lit upon the new face. 

'Who's that?' he said; but his tone added, 'Not that it matters. '

'You don't know her? Well, that's a proof of how you've neglected yourfriends since the new Government came in. But you really mean it--thatnobody has introduced you to Miss Levering yet? What _is_ Freddythinking about!'

'Dinner!' replied a voice at her elbow with characteristic laconism, andFreddy Tunbridge pulled out his watch. 

'Oh, give them five minutes more, ' said his wife, indulgently. 

'That's not a daughter of old Sir Hervey?' pursued the other man, hiseyes still on the young woman talking to Lady John and the foreignambassador. 

'Yes; go on, ' said Mrs. Freddy, with as cloudless a brow as though shehad no need to manufacture conversation while the dinner was being keptwaiting. 'Go on! They _all_ do it. '

'Do what?' demanded the great man, suspiciously. 

'"Why haven't they seen her before" comes next. Then the next time youand I meet in the country or find ourselves alone in a crush, you'll besaying, "What's her story? Why hasn't a woman like that married?" Theyall do! You don't believe me? Just wait! Freddy shall take you over, and----' Was Mrs. Freddy beaming at the prospective success of her newfriend, or was her vanity flattered by reflecting upon her ownperspicacity? Unavoidable as it was in a way that Mrs. Graham Townleyshould be taken down to dinner by the new minister--nevertheless theantidote had been cleverly provided for. 'Freddy dear--why, I thought hewas---- Oh, there he is!' Seeing her hungry husband safely anchored infront of the iris gown, instantly she abandoned the idea of disturbinghim. 'After all, ' she said, turning again to Haycroft, who had stood theimage of stolid unimpressionableness--'after all, Freddy's right. Sinceshe's going to sit beside you at dinner, it's a good reason for notmaking you known to each other before. Or perhaps you never experiencethat awful feeling of being talked out by the time you go down, and nothaving a single thing left----' She saw that the great man was not goingto vouchsafe any contribution to her small attempt to keep the ballrolling; so without giving him the chance to mark her failure by asilence, however brief, she chattered on. 'Though with Vida you're notlikely to find yourself in that predicament. Is he, Ronald?' With theinstinct of the well-trained female to draw into her circle any odd manhovering about on the periphery, Mrs. Freddy appealed to herbrother-in-law. Lord Borrodaile turned in her direction his long sallowface--a face that would have been saturnine but for its touch ofwhimsicality and a singularly charming smile. 'My brother-in-law willbear me out, ' Mrs. Freddy went on, quite as though breaking off aheated argument. 

Lord Borrodaile sauntered up and offered a long thin hand to Haycroft('the fella who's bringing the country to the dogs, ' as Mrs. Freddy knewright well was his conviction). 

Steering wide of politics, 'I gather, ' he said, with his air of amiableboredom, 'that you were discussing what used in the days of my youth tobe called a lady's "conversational powers. "'

'I forbid you to apply such deadly phrases to my friend, ' Mrs. Freddydenounced him. '_Your_ friend, too!'

'I'll prove my title to the distinction by proclaiming that she has thesubtlest art a woman can possess. '

'Ah, _that's_ more like it!' said Mrs. Freddy, gaily. 'What is thesubtlest art?'

'The art of being silent without being dull. '

If there was any sting in this for the lady nearest him, she gave nosign of making the personal application. 

'Now I expressly forbid your encouraging Vida in silence! Most men liketo be amused. You know perfectly well _you_ do!'

'Ah, yes, ' he said languidly, catching Haycroft's eye and almost makingterms with him upon a common ground of masculine understanding. 'Yes, yes. It is well known what children we are. Pleased with a rattle!'Then, as if fearing he might be going too far, he smiled that disarmingsmile of his, and said good-humouredly, 'I know now why you are called agood hostess. '

'Why?' asked the lady a little anxiously, for his compliments were notalways soothing. 

A motion towards the watch-pocket. 'No one, to look at you, wouldsuppose that your spirit was racked between the clock and the door. '

'Oh, ' she said, relieved, 'if they come in five minutes or so, you'llsee! The dinner won't be a penny the worse. Jules is such a wizard. AllI mind is seeing Freddy fussed. ' She turned with an engaging smile toher minister again. 'Freddy has the most angelic temper except when he'shungry--bless him! Now that he's talking to Vida Levering, Freddy'llforget whether it's before dinner or after. '

'What! what!' said a brisk old gentleman, with a face like a peculiarlywicked monkey. He abandoned Mrs. Townley with enthusiasm in order tosay to his hostess, 'Show me the witch who can work that spell!'

'Oh, dear, I'm afraid, ' said Mrs. Freddy, prettily, 'I'm dreadfullyafraid that means you're starving! Does it make you morose as it doesFreddy?' she asked, with an air of comic terror. 'Then we won't wait. 'She tossed out one arm with a funny little movement that sent her thindraperies floating as though towards the bell. 

'My dear lady!' the old gentleman arrested her. 'I hunger, it is true, but only for knowledge. ' In a silent but rather horrible laugh hewrinkled up his aged nose, which was quite enough wrinkled andsufficiently 'up' already. 'Who _is_ the witch?'

'Why, we were talking about a member of your family. ' She turned againto the new minister. 'Mr. Fox-Moore--Sir--oh! how absurd! I was going tointroduce two pillars of the State to one another. I _must_ be anxiousabout those late people, after all. '

'As a matter of fact you and I never have met, ' said Haycroft, cordiallytaking old Mr. Fox-Moore's hand. 'Beside you permanent officials weephemeræ, the sport of parties----'

'Ah, _that's_ all right!' Mrs. Freddy's head, poised an instant on oneside, seemed to say. 

'Who is it? Who is late?' demanded Mrs. Graham Townley, whose entranceinto the conversation produced the effect of the sudden opening ofwindow and door on a windy day. People shrink a little in the draught, and all light, frivolous things are blown out of the way. English peoplestand this sort of thing very much as they stand the actual draughts intheir cold houses. They feel it to be good for them on the whole. Mrs. Graham Townley was acknowledged to be a person of much character. Thoughher interest in public affairs was bounded only by the limits of theEmpire, she had found time to reform the administration of a greatLondon hospital. Also she was related to a great many people. In theultra smart set she of course had no _raison d'être_, but in the oldersociety it was held meet that these things be. So that when she put herquestion, not only was she not ignored, but each one felt it a seriousthing for anybody to be so late that Mrs. Graham Townley instead ofbutton-holing some one with, 'What, now, should you say is the extent ofthe Pan-Islamic influence in Egypt?' should be reduced to asking, 'Whoare we waiting for?'

'It's certain to be a man, ' said Lady John Ulland, as calmly convincedas one who states a natural law. 

'Why?' asked her niece, the charming girl in rose colour. 

'No woman would dare to come in so late as this. She'd have turned backand telephoned that the horses had run away with her or something of thesort. '

'Dick Farnborough won't turn back. '

'Oh, Mr. Farnborough's the culprit!' said a smartly dressed woman, witha nervous, rather angry air, though the ropes of fine pearls she woremight, some would think, have soothed the most savage breast. 

'Yes, Dick and Captain Beeching!' said Mrs. Freddy; 'and I shall givethem just two minutes more!'

'Aunt Ellen _said_ it couldn't be a woman, ' remarked the girl in pink, as one struck with such perspicacity. 

'Well, I wouldn't ask them again to _my_ house, ' said the discontentedperson with the pearls. 

'Yes, she would, ' Lady John said aside to Borrodaile. 'She has adaughter, and so have most of the London hostesses, and the youngvillains know it. '

'Oh, yes; sometimes they never turn up at all, ' said the pink niece. 

'After accepting!' ejaculated Lady Whyteleafe of the pearls. 

'Oh, yes; sometimes they don't even answer. '

'I never heard of such impudence. '

'I have, twice this year, ' said Mrs. Graham Townley, with that effect ofbreaking by main force into a conversation instead of being drawn intoit. 'Twice in this last year I've sat with an empty place on one side ofme at a dinner-party. On each occasion it was a young member ofparliament who never turned up and never sent an apology. '

'The same man both times?' asked Lord Borrodaile. 

'Yes; different houses, but the same man. '

'He _knew_!' whispered Borrodaile in Lady John's ear. 

'Dick Farnborough has been complaining that since he smashed his motorall existence has become disorganized. I always feel'--the hostessaddressed herself to the minister and the pearls--'don't you, that oneought to stretch a point for people who have to go about in cabs?'

As Haycroft began a disquisition on the changes in social life initiatedby the use of the motor-car, Mrs. Freddy floated away. 

Borrodaile, looking after her, remarked, 'It's humane of mysister-in-law to think of making allowances. Most of us gratify thedormant cruelty in human nature by keeping an eagle eye on the wretchedlate ones when at last they _do_ slink in. Don't you know'--he turned toLady John--'that look of half-resentful interest?'

'Perfectly. Every one wants to see whether these particular culpritswear their rue with a difference. '

'Or whether, ' Borrodaile went on, 'whether, like the majority, theymerely look abject and flustered, and whisper agitated lies. PersonallyI have known it to be the most interesting moment of the evening. '

What brought Mrs. Fox-Moore's plight forcibly home to Mrs. Freddy wasseeing Vida leave her own animated group to join her sister. Mrs. Freddymade her way across the room, stopping a moment to say to Freddy as shepassed--

'_Do_ go and make conversation to Lady Whyteleafe. '

'Which is Lady Whyteleafe?' drawled Freddy. 

'Oh, you _always_ forget her! What _am_ I to do with you? She's thewoman with the pearls. '

'Not that cross-looking----'

'Sh! Yes, darling, that's the one. She's only looking like that becauseyou aren't talking to her;' and Mrs. Freddy overtook Vida just as shereached the Desert Island where Mrs. Fox-Moore stood, looking seawardfor a sail. 

A few moments later, after ringing for dinner, Mrs. Freddy paused aninstant, taking in the fact that Lady Whyteleafe hadn't been made ashappy by Mr. Tunbridge's attentions as his wife had prophesied. No, theangry woman with the pearls, so far from being intent upon Freddy'sremarks, was levelling at Mrs. Freddy the critical eye that says, 'Now Ishall see if I can determine just how miserably conscious you are thatdinner's unpardonably late, everybody starving, and since you've onlyjust rung, that you have at least eight minutes still to fill up beforeyou'll hear that you are "served. "' Lady Whyteleafe leaned against theback of the little periwinkle damask sofa, and waited to see Mrs. Freddy carry off these last minutes of suspense by an affectation ofgreat good spirits. 

But the lady under the social microscope knew a trick worth two of that. She could turn more than one mishap to account. 

'Oh, Freddy! Oh, Lady Whyteleafe! I've just gone and said the mostawful, dreadful, appalling thing! Oh, I should like to creep under thesofa and die!'

'What's up?' demanded Mr. Freddy, with an air of relief at beingreinforced. 

'I've been talking to Vida Levering and that funereal sister of hers. '

'Oh, Mrs. Fox-Moore!' said Lady Whyteleafe, obviously disappointed. 'She's a step-sister, isn't she?'

'Yes, yes. Oh, I wish she'd never stepped over my threshold!'

'Why?' said Mr. Freddy, sticking in his eyeglass. 

'Don't, Freddy. Don't look at her. Oh, I wish I were dead!'

'What _have_ you been doing? She looks as if she wished _she_ weredead. '

'That's nothing. She always looks like that, ' Lady Whyteleafe assuredthe pair. 

'Yes, and she makes it a great favour to come. "I seldom go intosociety, " she writes in her stiff little notes; and you're reminded thatway, without her actually setting it down, that she devotes herself togood works. '

'Perhaps she doesn't know what else to do with all that money, ' said thelady of the pearls. 

'_She_ hasn't got a penny piece. '

'Oh, is it all his? I thought the Leverings were rather well off. '

'Yes, but the money came through the second wife, Vida's mother. Oh, Ihate that Fox-Moore woman!' Mrs. Freddy laughed ruefully. 'And I'm sureher husband is a great deal too good for her. But how _could_ I havedone it!'

'You haven't told us yet. '

'They asked me who was late, and I said Dick Farnborough, and that Ihoped he hadn't forgotten, for I had Hermione Heriot here on purpose tomeet him. And I told Vida about the Heriots trying to marry Hermione tothat old Colonel Redding. '

'Oh, can't they bring it off?' said Lady Whyteleafe. 

'I've been afraid they would. "It's so dreadful, " I said, "to see afresh young girl tied to a worn-out old man. "'

'_Oh!_' remarked Lady Whyteleafe, genuinely shocked. 'And you said thatto----'

Mrs. Freddy nodded with melancholy significance. 'Even when Vida said, "It seems to do well enough sometimes, " _still_ I never never rememberedthe Fox-Moore story! And I went on about it being a miracle when itturned out even tolerably--and, oh, Heaven forgive me! I grew eloquent!'

'It's your passion for making speeches, ' said Mr. Freddy. 

At which, accountably to Lady Whyteleafe, Mrs. Freddy blushed andstumbled in this particular 'speech. '

'I know, I know, ' she said, carrying it off with an air of comiccontrition. 'I even said, "There's a modesty in nature that it isn'twise to overstep" (I'd forgotten some people think speech-making comesunder that head). "It's been realized, " I said--yes, rushing on mydoom!--"it's been realized up to now only in the usual one-sidedway--discouraging boys from marrying women old enough to be theirmothers. But dear, blundering, fatuous man"'--she smiled into herhusband's pleasantly mocking face--'"_he_ thinks, " I said, "at _any_ agehe's a fit mate for a fresh young creature in her teens. If they onlyknew--the dreadful old ogres!" Yes, I said that. I piled it on--oh, Istuck at nothing! "The men think an ugly old woman monopolizes all theopportunities humanity offers for repulsiveness. But there's nothing onthe face of the earth as hideous, " I said, "as an ugly old man. Doesn'tit stand to reason? He's bound to go greater lengths than any woman canaspire to. There's more of him to _be_ ugly, isn't there? I appealed tothem--everything about him is bigger, coarser--he's much less human, "says I, "and _much_ more like a dreadful old monkey. " I raised mywretched eyes, and there, not three feet away, was the aged husband ofthe Fox-Moore woman ogling Hermione Heriot! Oh, let me die!' Mrs. Freddyleaned against the blue-grey sofa for a moment and half closed herpretty eyes. The next instant she was running gaily across the room towelcome Richard Farnborough and Captain Beeching. 

 * * * * *

'I always know, ' said Lord Borrodaile, glancing over the banisters as heand Vida went down--'I always know the kind of party it's going to bewhen I see--certain people. Don't you?'

'I know who you mean, ' Vida whispered back, her eyes on Mrs. GrahamTownley's aggressively high-piled hair towering over the bald pate ofthe minister, as, side by side, they disappeared through the dining-roomdoor. 'Why _does_ Laura have her?'

'Well, she's immensely intelligent, they _say_, ' he sighed. 

'That's why I wonder, ' laughed Vida. '_We_ are rather frivolous, I'mafraid. '

'To tell the truth, I wondered, too. I even sounded my sister-in-law. '

'Well?'

'She said it was her Day of Reckoning. "I never ask the woman, " shesaid, "except to a scratch party like this. "'

'"Scratch party"--with you and me here!'

'Ah, we are the leaven. We make the compound possible. '

'Still, I don't think she ought to call it "scratch" when she's got anAmbassador and a Cabinet Minister----'

'Just the party to ask a scratch Cabinet Minister to, ' he insisted, stopping between the two cards inscribed respectively with their names. 'As for the Ambassador, he's an old friend of ours--knows his Londonwell--knows we are the most tolerant society on the face of the earth. '

In spite of her companion's affectation of a smiling quarrelsomeness, Vida unfolded her table-napkin with the air of one looking forward toher _tête-à-tête_ with the man who had brought her down. But LordBorrodaile was a person most women liked talking to, and hardly had shebegun to relish that combination in the man of careless pleasantry andpungent criticism, when Vida caught an agonized glance from her hostess, which said plainly, 'Rescue the man on your right, '--and lo! MissLevering became aware that already, before the poor jaded politician hadswallowed his soup, Mrs. Townley had fallen to catechising him about thenew Bill--a theme talked threadbare by newspaperdom and all politicalEngland. But Mrs. Townley, albeit not exactly old, was one of thoseold-fashioned women who take what used to be called 'an intelligentinterest in politics. ' You may pick her out in any drawing-room from thefact that politicians shun her like the plague. Rich, childless, lonely, with more wits than occupation, practically shelved at a time when herintellectual life is most alert--the Mrs. Townleys of the world do, itmust be admitted, labour under the delusion that men fighting the battleof public life, go out to dine for the express purpose of telling theintelligent female 'all about it. ' She is a staunch believer not so muchin women's influence as in woman's. And there is no doubt in her mindwhich woman's. If among her smart relations who ask her to their housesand go to hers (from that sentiment of the solidarity of the family sopowerful in English life), if amongst these she succeeds from time totime in inducing two or three public officials, or even private members, to prove how good a cook she keeps, she thinks she is exercising aninfluence on the politics of her time. Her form of conversation consistsin plying her victim with questions. Not here one there one, to keep theball rolling, but a steady and pitiless fire of 'Do you think?' and'_Why_ do you?'

Obedient to her hostess's wireless telegram, Miss Levering bent herhead, and said to Mrs. Townley's neighbour--

'I know I ought not to talk to you till after the _entrée_. '

'Pray do!' said Sir William, with a sudden glint in his little eyes; andthen with a burnt-child air of caution, 'Unless----' he began. 

'Oh, you make conditions!' said Miss Levering, laughing. 

'Only one. Promise not'--he lowered his voice--'promise not to say"Bill. "'

'I won't even go so far as to say "William. "'

He laughed as obligingly as though the jest had been a good one. Alittle ashamed, its maker hastened to leave it behind. 

'There's nothing I should quite so much hate talking about aspolitics--saving your presence. '

'Ah!'

'I was thinking of something _much_ more important. '

Even her rallying tone did not wholly reassure the poor man. 

'More important?' he repeated. 

'Yes; I long to know (and I long to be forgiven for asking), what Orderthat is you are wearing, and what you did to get it. '

Haycroft breathed freely. He talked for the next ten minutes about thebauble, making a humorous translation of its Latin 'posy, ' anddescribing in the same vein the service to a foreign state that had wonhim the recognition. He wouldn't have worn the thing to-night except outof compliment to the ambassador from the Power in question. They weregoing on together to the reception at the Foreign Office. As to theOrder, Haycroft seemed to feel he owed it to himself to smile at allsuch toys, but he did not disdain to amuse the pretty lady with the onein question, any more than being humane (and even genial sitting beforeMrs. Freddy's menu), he would have refused to show the whirring wheelsof his watch to a nice child. The two got on so well that the anxiouslook quite faded out of Mrs. Freddy's face, and she devoted herselfgaily to the distinguished foreigner at her side. But Haycroft at aparty was, like so many Englishmen, as the lilies of the field. Theytoil not, neither do they spin. The man Vida had rescued from Mrs. Graham Townley was, when in the society of women, so accustomed toseeing them take on themselves the onus of entertainment, was himself sounused to being at the smallest trouble, that when the 'Order' wasexhausted, had Vida not invented another topic, there would have been anabsolute cessation of all converse till Mrs. Graham Townley had againcaught him up like a big reluctant fish on the hook of interrogation. Ata reproachful aside from Lord Borrodaile, Miss Levering broke off in themiddle of her second subject to substitute, 'But I am monopolizing youdisgracefully, ' and she half turned away from the eminent politicianinto whose slightly flushed face and humid eyes had come something likeanimation. 

'Not at all. Not at all. Go on. '

'No, I've gone far enough. Do you realize that we left "Orders" and"Honours" half an hour ago, and ever since we've been talking scandal?'

'Criticizing life, ' he amended--'a pursuit worthy of two philosophers. '

'I did it--' said the lady, with an air of half-amused discontent withherself; 'you know why I did it. '

He met her eye, and the faint motion that indicated the woman on hisother side. 'Terrible person, ' he whispered. 'She goes out to dine as asoldier goes into action. '

For the next few minutes they made common cause in heaping ridicule on'the political woman. '

'But, after all'--Vida pulled herself up--'it may be only a case ofsour grapes on my part. I'm afraid _my_ conversation is inclined to befrivolous. '

He turned and gave her her reward--the feeling smile that says, '_ThankGod!_' But, strangely, it did not reflect itself in the woman's face. Something quite different there, lurking under the soft gaiety. Wasit consciousness of this being the second time during the eveningthat she had employed the too common vaunt of the woman of that particularworld? Did some ironic echo reach her of that same boast (often asmirthless and as pitiful as the painted smile on the cruder face), the'I'm afraid I'm rather frivolous' of the well-to-do woman, whosefrivolity--invaluable asset!--is beginning to show wear?

'Well, to return to our mutton, ' he said; and, as his companion seemedsuddenly to be overtaken by some unaccountable qualm, 'What a desertlife would be, ' he added encouragingly, 'if we couldn't talk to thediscreet about the indiscreet. '

'I wonder if there wouldn't be still more oases in the desert, ' she saididly, 'if there were a new law made----'

He glanced at her with veiled apprehension in the pause. 

'You being so Liberal, ' she went on with faint mockery, 'you're the veryone to introduce the measure' (he shrank visibly, and seemed about toremind her of her pledge). 'It shall ordain, ' she went on, 'that thosewho have found satisfactory husbands or wives are to rest content withtheir good fortune, and not be so greedy as to insist on having thechildren, too. '

'Oh!' His gravity relaxed. 

'But, on the other hand, all the lonely women, the widows and spinsters, who haven't got anything else, _they_ shall have the children. '

'I won't go so far as that, ' he laughed, boundlessly relieved that theconversation was not taking the strenuous turn he for a moment feared. 'But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll support a measure that shall makean allowance of _one_ child to every single woman the proper andaccepted arrangement. No questions asked, and no disgrace. '

'Disgrace!' she echoed, smiling. 'On the contrary, it should be thewoman's title to honour! She should be given a beautiful Order likeyours for service to the State. '

'Ah, yes! But, what then would we talk about?'

She had turned away definitely this time. 

'Well, ' said Borrodaile, a little mocking, 'what is it?'

'I don't know, ' she answered. 'I don't know _what_ it is that seizeshold of me after I've been chattering like this for an hour or more. '

Borrodaile bent his head, and glanced past Vida to the abandonedminister. 

'Console me by saying a slight weariness. '

'More like loathing. '

'Not of _both_ your neighbours, I hope. '

He lost the low 'Of myself. ' 'But there's one person, ' she said, withsomething like enthusiasm--'one person that I respect and admire. '

'Oh!' He glanced about the board with an air of lazy interest. 'Whichone?'

'I don't know her name. I mean the woman who dares to sit quite silentand eat her dinner without looking like a lost soul. '

'I've been saying you could do that. '

She shook her head. 'No, I've been engaged for the last hour in provingI haven't the courage. It's just come over me, ' she said, her eyes intheir turn making a tour of the table, and coming back to Borrodailewith the look of having caught up a bran-new topic on the way--'it'sjust come over me, what we're all doing. '

'Are we all doing the same thing?'

'All the men are doing one thing. And all the women another. '

His idly curious look travelled up and down, and returned to herunenlightened. 

'All the women, ' she said, 'are trying with might and main to amuse themen, and all the men are more or less permitting the women to succeed. '

'I'm sorry, ' he said, laughing, 'to hear of your being so over-worked. '

'Oh, _you_ make it easy. And yet'--she caught the gratitude away fromher voice--'I suppose I should have said something like that, even ifI'd been talking to my other neighbour. '

Borrodaile's look went again from one couple to another, for, as usualin England, the talk was all _tête-à-tête_. The result of his inspectionseemed not to lend itself to her mood. 

'I can't speak for others, but for myself, I'm always conscious ofwanting to be agreeable when I'm with you. I'm sorry'--he was speakingin the usual half-genial, half-jeering tone--'very sorry, if I succeedso ill. '

'I've already admitted that with _me_ you succeed to admiration. But youonly try because it's easy. '

'Oh!' he laughed. 

'You rather like talking to me, you know. Now, can you lay your hand onyour heart----'

'And deny it? Never!'

'Can you lay your hand on your heart, and say you've tried as hard toentertain your other neighbour as I have to keep mine going?'

'Ah, well, we men aren't as good at it. After all, it's rather thewoman's "part, " isn't it?'

'The art of pleasing? I suppose it is--but it's rather a Geisha view oflife, don't you think?'

'Not at all; rightly viewed, it's a woman's privilege--her naturalfunction. '

'Then the brutes are nobler than we. '

Wondering, he glanced at her. The face was wholly reassuring, but hesaid, with a faint uneasiness--

'If it weren't you, I'd say that sounds a little bitter. '

'Oh, no, ' she laughed. 'I was only thinking about the lion's mane andthe male bird's crest, and what the natural history bores say they'refor. '

CHAPTER III

The darkness and the quiet of Vida Levering's bedroom were rudelydispelled at a punctual eight each morning by the entrance of a gauntmiddle-aged female. 

It was this person's unvarying custom to fling back the heavy curtains, as though it gratified some strong recurrent need in her, to hear brassrings run squealing along a bar; as if she counted that day lost whichwas not well begun--by shooting the blinds up with a clatter and a bang!

The harsh ceremonial served as a sort of setting of the pace, or ametaphorical shaking of a bony fist in the face of the day, as much asto say, 'If I admit you here you'll have to toe the mark!'

It might be taken as proof of sound nerves that the lady in the bedoffered no remonstrance at being jarred awake in this ungentle fashion. 

Fourteen years before, when Vida Levering was only eighteen, she hadtried to make something like a conventional maid out of the faithfulNorthumbrian. Rachel Wark had entered Lady Levering's service justbefore Vida's birth, and had helped to nurse her mistress through amortal illness ten years later. After Sir Hervey Levering lost his wife, Wark became in time housekeeper and general factotum to the family. Thisarrangement held without a break until, as before hinted, Miss Vida, full of the hopeful idealism of early youth, had tried and ignominiouslyfailed in her attempt to teach the woman gentler manners. 

For Wark's characteristic retort had been to pack her box and go tospend sixteen months among her kinsfolk, where energy was accounted avirtue, and smooth ways held in suspicion. At the end of that time, seeming to judge the lesson she wished to impart had been sufficientlydigested, Wark wrote to Miss Vida proposing to come back. For somemonths she waited for the answer. It came at last from Biarritz, whereit appeared the young lady was spending the winter with her father. After an exchange of letters Wark joined them there. In the twelveyears since her return to the family, she had by degrees adapted herselfto the task of looking after her young lady. The adaptation was not allon one side. Many of Vida's friends wondered that she could put up witha lady's maid who could do so few of the things commonly expected ofthat accomplished class. 

'I don't want dressmaking going on in the house, ' contentedly Vida toldoff her maid's negative qualifications, 'and I hate having anybody do myhair for me. Wark packs quite beautifully, and then I _do_ like some oneabout me--that I like. '

In the early days what she had 'liked' most about the woman was thatWark had known and been attached to Lady Levering. There was no one elsewith whom Vida could talk about her mother. 

By the time death overtook Sir Hervey two winters ago in Rome, Wark hadbecome so essential a part of Vida's little entourage, that one of theexcuses offered by that lady for not going to live with her half-sisterin London had been--'Wark doesn't always get on with other servants. 'For several years Miss Levering's friends had been speaking of her asone fallen a victim to that passion for Italy that makes it an abidingplace dearer than home to so many English-born. But the half-sister, Mrs. Fox-Moore, had not been misled either by that theory or by thedifficulty as to pleasing Wark with the Queen Anne's Gate servants. 'It's not that Vida loves Italy so much as that, for some reason, shedoesn't love England at all. ' Nevertheless, Mrs. Fox-Moore after somemonths had persuaded her to 'bring Wark and try us. '

The experiment, now over a year old, seemed to have turned out well. IfVida really did not love her native land, she seemed to enjoy wellenough what she called smiling 'the St. Martin's Summer' of her successin London society. 

 * * * * *

She turned over in her bed on this particular May morning, stretchingout her long figure, and then letting it sink luxuriously back intorelaxed quiescence with a conscious joy in prolonging those last tenminutes when sleep is slowly, softly, one after another, withdrawing herthousand veils. 

Vaguely, as she lay there with face half buried in her pillow, vaguelyshe was aware that Wark was making even more noise than common. 

When the woman had bustled in and bustled out several times, anddeposited the shoes with a 'dump, ' she reappeared with the delicateporcelain tray that bore the early tea. On the little table close towhere the dark head lay half hidden, Wark set the fragile burdendown--did it with an emphasis that made cup and saucer shiver and runfor support towards the round-bellied pot. 

Vida opened her heavy-lidded eyes. 'Really, Wark, you know, nobody onearth would let you wake them in the morning except me. ' She sat up andpulled the pillow higher. 'Give me the tray here, ' she said sleepily. 

Wark obeyed. She had said nothing to Vida's reproof. She stood now bythe bedside without a trace of either contrition or resentment in thewooden face that seemed, in recompense for never having been young, tobe able successfully to defy the 'antique pencil. ' Time had made but oneor two faint ineffectual scratches there, as one who tries, and thenabandons, an unpromising surface. The lack of record in the face lent itsomething almost cryptic. If there were no laughter-wrought lines aboutthe eyes, neither was there mark of grief or self-repression near themouth. She would, you felt, defy Time as successfully as she defiedlesser foes. Even the lank, straw-coloured hair hardly showed thestreaks of yellow-white that offered their unemphatic clue to Wark'sage. 

The sensitive face of the woman in the bed--even now with something ofthe peace of sleep still shadowing its brilliancy--gave by contrast animpression of vividness and eager sympathies. The mistress, too, lookedyounger than her years. She did not seem to wonder at the dull presencethat seemed to be held there, prisoner-like, behind the brass bars atthe foot of the bed. Wark sometimes gave herself this five minutes'_tête-à-tête_ with her mistress before the business of the day began andall their intercourse was swamped in clothes. 

'I meant to pin a paper on the door to say I wasn't to be called tillten, ' said the lady, as though keeping up the little pretence of notbeing pleased. 

'Didn't you sleep well, 'm?' The maid managed wholly to denude thequestion of its usual grace of solicitude. 

'Yes; but it was so late when I began. We didn't get back till nearlythree. '

'I didn't get much sleep, either. ' It was an unheard-of admission fromWark. 

'Oh!' said Vida, lazily sipping her tea. 'Bad conscience?'

'No, ' she said slowly, 'no. '

As the woman raised her light eyes, Miss Levering saw, to herastonishment, that the lids were red. Wark, too, seemed uncomfortablyaware of something unusual in her face, for she turned it away, andbusied herself in smoothing down the near corner of the bath blanket. 

'What kept _you_ awake?' Miss Levering asked. 

'Well, I suppose I'd better tell you while the other people aren'tround. I want a day or two to go into the country. '

'Into the country?' No such request had been heard for a round dozen ofyears. 

'I've got some business to see to. '

'At home? In Northumberland?'

'No. '

The tone seemed so little to promise anything in the nature of aconfidence that Miss Levering merely said--

'Oh, very well. When do you want to go?'

'I could go to-morrow if----' She stopped, and looked down at the hem ofher long white apron. 

Something unwonted in the wooden face prompted Miss Levering to say--

'What do you want to do in the country?'

'To see about a place that's been offered me. '

'A _place_, Wark!'

'Yes; post of housekeeper. That's what I really am, you know. '

Miss Levering looked at her, and set down the half-finished cup withoutopening her lips. If the speech had come from any other than Wark, itwould have been easy to believe it merely the prelude to complaint of afellow-servant or plea for a rise in wages. But if Wark objected to afellow-servant, her own view of the matter had always been that theother one should go. Her mistress knew quite well that in the mouth ofthe woman standing there with red eyes at the foot of the bed, such anannouncement as had just been made, meant more. And the consciousnessseemed to bring with it a sense of acute discomfort not unmixed withanger. For there was a threat of something worse than an infliction ofmere inconvenience. It was a species of desertion. It was almosttreachery. They had lived together all the younger woman's life, exceptfor those two years that followed on the girl's attempt to make aconventional servant out of a creature who couldn't be that, but who hadit in her to be more. 

They had been too long together for Wark not to divinesomething--through all the lady's self-possession--of her sense of beingabandoned. 

'It's having to tell you that that kept me awake. '

The wave of dull colour that mounted up to the bushy, straw-colouredeyebrows seemed on the way to have overflowed into her eyes. They grewredder than before, and slowly they filled. 

'You don't like living here in this house. ' Vida caught at the oldcomplication. 

'I've got used to it, ' the woman said baldly. Then, after a littlepause, during which she made a barely audible rasping to clear herthroat, 'I don't like leaving you, miss. I always remember how, thattime before--the only time I was ever away from you since you was ababy--how different I found you when I came back. '

'Different, Wark?'

'Yes, miss. It seemed like you'd turned into somebody else. '

'Most people change--develope--in those years just before twenty. '

'Not like you did, miss. You gave me a deal of trouble when you waslittle, but it nearly broke my heart to come back and find you soquieted down and wise-like. '

A flash of tears glimmered in the mistress's eyes, though her lips weresmiling. 

'Of course, ' the maid went on, 'though you never told me about it, Iknow you had things to bear while I was away, or else you wouldn't havegone away from your home that time--a mere child--and tried to teach fora living. '

'It _was_ absurd of me! But whosever fault it was, it wasn't yours. '

'Yes, miss, in a way it was. I owed it to your mother not to have leftyou. I've never told you how I blamed myself when I heard--and I didn'twonder at you. It _was_ hard when your mother was hardly cold to seeyour father----'

'Yes; now that's enough, Wark. You know we never speak of that. '

'No, we've never spoken about it. And, of course, you won't need me anymore like you did then. But it's looking back and remembering--it's thatthat's making it so hard to leave you now. But----'

'Well?'

'My friends have been talking to me. '

'About----'

'Yes, this post. ' Then, almost angrily, 'I didn't try for it. It's comeafter me. My cousin knows the man. '

'The man who wants you to go to him as housekeeper?' Vida wrinkled herbrows. Wark hadn't said 'gentleman, ' who alone in her employer'sexperience had any need of a housekeeper. 'You mean you don't know himyourself?'

'Not yet, 'm. I know he's a market gardener, and he wants his houselooked after. '

'What if he does? A market gardener won't be able to pay the wagesI----'

'The wages aren't much to begin with--but he's getting along--except forthe housekeeping. That's in a bad way. '

'What if it is? I never heard such nonsense. You don't want to leave me, Wark, for a market gardener you've never so much as seen;' and MissLevering covered her discomfort by a little smiling. 

'My cousin's seen him many a time. She likes him. '

'Let your cousin go, then, and keep his house for him. '

'My cousin has her own house to keep, and she's got a young baby. '

'Oh, the woman who brought her child here once?'

'Yes, 'm, the child you gave the coral beads to. My cousin has writtenand talked about it ever since. '

'About the beads?'

'About the market gardener. And the way his house is--Ever since we cameback to England she's been going on at me about it. I told her all alongI couldn't leave you, but she's always said (since that day you walkedabout with the baby and gave him the beads to play with, and wouldn'tlet her make him cry by taking them away)--ever since then my cousinhas said you'd understand. '

'What would I understand?'

Wark laid her hand on the nearest of the shining bars of brass, andslowly she polished it with her open palm. She obviously found itdifficult to go on with her defence. 

'I wanted my cousin to come and explain to you. '

Here was Wark in a new light indeed! If she really wanted any creatureon the earth to speak for her. As she stood there in stolidembarrassment polishing the shiny bar, Miss Levering clutched the trayto steady it, and with the other hand she pulled the pillow higher. Onehad to sit bolt upright, it seemed, and give this matter one's entireattention. 

'I don't want to talk to your cousin about your affairs. We are oldfriends, Wark. Tell me yourself. '

She forced her eyes to meet her mistress's. 'He told my cousin: "Justyou find me a good housekeeper, " he said, "and if I like her, " he said, "she won't be my housekeeper long. "'

'Wark! _You!_ You aren't thinking of marrying?'

'If he's what my cousin says----'

'A man you've never seen? Oh, my _dear_ Wark! Well, I shall hope andpray he won't think your housekeeping good enough. '

'He will! From what my cousin says, he's had a run of worthless huzzies. I don't expect he'll find much fault with _my_ housekeeping after whathe's been through. '

Vida looked wondering at the triumphant face of the woman. 

'And so you're ready to leave me after all these years?'

'No, miss, I'm not to say "ready, " but I think I'll have to go. '

'My poor old Wark'--the lady leaned over the tray--'I could almost thinkyou are in love with this man you've only heard about!'

'No, miss, I'm not to say in love. '

'I believe you are! For what other reason would you have for leavingme?'

The woman looked as if she could show cause had she a mind. But she saidnothing. 

'You know, ' Vida pursued--'you know quite well you don't need to marryfor a home. '

'No, 'm; I'm quite comfortable, of course, with you. But time goes on. Idon't get younger. '

'None of us do that, Wark. '

'That's just the trouble, miss. It ain't only _me_. '

Vida looked at her, more perplexed than ever by the curious regard inthe hard-featured countenance. For there was something very like dumbreproach in Wark's face. 

'Still, ' said Miss Levering, 'you know, even if none of us do getyounger, we are not any of us (to judge by appearances) on the brink ofthe grave. Even if I should be smashed up in a motor accident--I knowyou're always expecting that--even if I were killed to-morrow, stillyou'd find I hadn't forgotten you, Wark. '

'It isn't that, miss. It isn't death I'm afraid of. '

There was a pause--the longest that yet had come. 

'What _are_ you afraid of?' Miss Levering asked. 

'It's--you see, I've been looking these twelve years to see youmarried. '

'Me? What's that got to do with----'

'Yes, miss. You see, I've counted a good while on looking after childrenagain some day. But if you won't get married----'

Vida flung her hair back with a burst of not very merry laughter. 

'If I won't, you must! But _why_ in the world? I'd no idea you were soromantic. Why must there be a wedding in the family, Wark?'

'So there can be children, miss, ' said the woman, stolidly. 

'Well, there is a child. There's Doris. '

'Poor Miss Doris!' The woman shook her head. 'But she's got a goodnurse. I say it, though she calls advice interfering. And Miss Doris hasgot a mother' (plain that Wark was again in the market garden). 'Yes, _she's_ got a mother! and a sort of a father, and she's got a governess, and a servant to carry her about. I sometimes think what Miss Dorisneeds most is a little letting alone. Leastways, she don't need _me_. No, nor _you_, miss. '

'And you've given me up?' the mistress probed. 

Wark raised her red eyes. 'Of course, miss, if I'm wrong----' Herknuckly hand slid down from the brass bar, and she came round to theside of the bed with an unmistakable eagerness in her face. 'If you'regoing to get married, I don't see as I _could_ leave ye. '

The lady's lips twitched with an instant's silent laughter, but therewas something else than laughter in her eyes. 

'Oh, I _can_ buy you off, can I? If I give you my word--if to save youfrom need to try the great experiment, I'll sacrifice _my_self----'

'I wouldn't like to see you make a sacrifice, miss, ' Wark said, withperfect gravity. 'But'--as though reconsidering--'you wouldn't feel itso much, I dare say, after the child was there. '

They looked at one another. 

'If it's children you yearn for, my poor Wark, you've waited too long, I'm afraid. '

'Oh, no, miss. ' She spoke with a fatuous confidence. 

'Why, you must be fifty. '

'Fifty-three, miss. But'--she met her mistress's eyeunflinching--'Bunting--he's the market gardener--he's been marriedbefore. He's got three girls and two boys. '

'Heavens!' Vida fell back against the pillow. 'What a handful!'

'Oh, no, 'm. My cousin says they're nice children. ' It would have beenfunny if it hadn't somehow been pathetic to see how instantly she was onthe defensive. '"Healthy and hearty, " my cousin says, all but the littleone. She hardly thinks they'll raise _him_. '

'Well, I wish your market gardener had confined himself to raisingonions and cabbages. If he hadn't those children I don't believe you'ddream of----'

'Well, of course not, miss. But it seems like those children need someone to look after them more than--more than----'

'Than I do? That ought to be true. '

'One of 'em is little more than a baby. ' The wooden woman offered it asan apology. 

'Take the tray, ' said Vida. 

From the look on her face you would say she knew she had lost thefaithfullest of servants, and that five little children somewhere in amarket garden had won, if not a mother, at least a doughty champion. 

CHAPTER IV

No matter how late either Vida Levering or her half-sister had gone tobed the night before, they breakfasted, as they did so many otherthings, at the hour held to be most advantageous for Doris. 

Mr. Fox-Moore was sometimes there and often not. On those mornings whenhis health or his exertions the night previous did not prevent hisappearance, there was little conversation at the Fox-Moore breakfasttable, except such as was initiated by the only child of the marriage, afragile girl of ten. Little Doris, owing to some obscure threat ofhip-disease, made much of her progress about the house in a footman'sarms. But hardly, so borne, would she reach the threshold of thebreakfast room before her thin little voice might be heard calling out, '_Fa_-ther! _Fa_-ther!'

Those who held they had every ground for disliking the old man wouldhave been surprised to watch him during the half hour that ensued, ministering to the rather querulous little creature, adapting his toneand view to her comprehension, with an art that plainly took itsinspiration from affection. If Doris were not well enough to come down, Mr. Fox-Moore read his letters and glanced at 'the' paper, directing hisfew remarks to his sister-in-law, whom he sometimes treated in such away as would have given a stranger the impression, in spite of thelady's lack of response, that there was some secret understandingbetween the two. 

A great many years before, Donald Fox-Moore had tumbled into aGovernment office, the affairs of which he had ultimately got into suchexcellent running order, that, with a few hours' supervision from thechief each week, his clerks were easily able to maintain the highreputation of that particular department of the public service. What Mr. Fox-Moore did with the rest of his time was little known. A good deal ofit was spent with a much younger bachelor brother near Brighton. Atleast, this was the family legend. In spite of his undoubted affectionfor his child, little of his leisure was wasted at home. When peoplelooked at the sallow, smileless face of his wife they didn't blame him. 

Sometimes, when a general sense of tension and anxiety betrayed hispresence somewhere in the great dreary house, and the master yet forboreto descend for the early meal, he would rejoice the heart of his littledaughter by having her brought to his room to make tea and share hisbreakfast. 

On these occasions a sense of such unexpected surcease from careprevailed in the dining-room as called for some celebration of theholiday spirit. It found expression in the inclination of the two womento linger over their coffee, embracing the only sure opportunity the dayoffered for confidential exchange. 

One of these occasions was the morning of Wark's warning, which, however, Vida determined to say nothing about till she was obliged. Shehad just handed up her cup for replenishing when the door opened, and, to the surprise of the ladies, the master of the house appeared on thethreshold. 

'Is--is anything the matter?' faltered his wife, half rising. 

'Matter? Must something be the matter that I venture into my ownbreakfast-room of a morning?'

'No, no. Only I thought, as Doris didn't come, you were breakfastingupstairs, too. ' No notice being taken of this, she at once set aboutheating water, for no one expected Mr. Fox-Moore to drink tea made inthe kitchen. 

'I thought, ' said he, twitching an open newspaper off the table andfolding it up--'I thought I asked to be allowed the privilege of openingmy paper for myself. '

'Your _Times_ hasn't been touched, ' said his wife, anxiously occupiedwith the spirit-lamp. 

He stopped in the act of thrusting the paper in his pocket and shook it. 

'What do you call this?'

'That is my _Times_, ' she said. 

'_Your_ _Times_?'

'I ordered an extra copy, because you dislike so to have yours looked attill you've finished with it. '

'Dreadful hardship _that_ is!' he said, glancing round, and seeing hisown particular paper neatly folded and lying still on the side table. 

'It was no great hardship when you read it before night. When you don't, it's rather long to wait. '

'To wait for what?'

'For the news of the day. '

'Don't you get the news of the day in the _Morning Post_?'

'I don't get such full Parliamentary reports nor the foreigncorrespondence. '

'Good Lord! what next?'

'I think you must blame me, ' said Vida, speaking for the first time. 'I'm afraid you'll find it's only since I've been here that Janet hasbroken loose and taken in an extra copy. '

'Oh, it's on your account, is it?' he grumbled, but the edge had goneout of his ill-humour. 'I suppose you _have_ to keep up with politics oryou couldn't keep the ball rolling as you did last night?'

'Yes, ' said Vida, with an innocent air. 'It is well known whatsuperhuman efforts we have to make before we can qualify ourselves totalk to men. '

'Hm!' grumbled Fox-Moore. 'I never saw _you_ at a loss. '

'You did last night. '

'No, I didn't. I saw you getting on like a house afire with Haycroft andthe beguiling Borrodaile. It's a pity all the decent men are married. '

Mrs. Fox-Moore allowed her own coffee to get cold while she hovered overthe sacred rite of scientific tea-making. Mr. Fox-Moore, talking to Vidaabout the Foreign Office reception, to which they had all gone on afterthe Tunbridges' dinner, kept watching with a kind of half-absent-mindedscorn his wife's fussily punctilious pains to prepare the brew 'hisway. ' When all was ready and the tea steaming on its way to him in thehands of its harassed maker, he curtly declined it, got up, and left theroom. A moment after, the shutting of the front door announced thebeginning of yet another of the master's absences. 

'How can you stand it?' said Vida, under her breath. 

'Oh, I don't mind his going away, ' said the other, dully. 

'No; but his coming back!'

'One of the things I'm grateful to Donald for'--she spoke as if therewere plenty more--'he is very good to you, Vida. ' And in her tone therewas criticism of the beneficiary. 

'You mean, he's not as rude to me as he is to you?'

'He is even forbearing. And you--you rather frighten me sometimes. '

'I see that. '

'It would be very terrible for _me_ if he took it into his head not tolike you. '

'If he took it into his head to forbid your having me here, you mean. '

'But even when you aren't polite he just laughs. Still, he's not apatient man. '

'Do you think you have to tell me that?'

'No, dear, only to remind you not to try him too far. For my sake, Vida, don't ever do that. '

She put out her yellow, parchment-like hand, and her sister closed hersover it an instant. 

'Here's the hot milk, ' said Vida. 'Now we'll have some more coffee. '

'Are you coming with me to-day?' Mrs. Fox-Moore asked quite cheerfullyfor her as the servant shut the door. 

'Oh, is this Friday? N--no. ' The younger woman looked at the chill greyworld through the window, and followed up the hesitating negative with aquite definite, 'I couldn't stand slums to-day. ' The two exchanged thelook that means, 'Here we are again up against this recurringdifference. ' But there was no ill-humour in either face as their eyesmet. 

Between these two daughters of one father existed that sort of hauntingfamily resemblance often seen between two closely related persons, despite one being attractive and the other in some way repellent. Theobserver traces the same lines in each face, the same intensification of'the family look' in the smile, and yet knows that the slight disparityin age fails to account for a difference wide as the poles. 

And not alone difference of taste, of environment and experience, notthese alone make up the sum of their unlikeness. You had only to lookfrom the fresh simplicity of white muslin blouse and olive-colouredcloth in the one case, to the ungainly expensiveness of the black silkgown of the married woman, in order to get from the first a sense ofdainty morning freshness, and from Mrs. Fox-Moore not alone a lugubrious_memento mori_ sort of impression, but that more disquieting reminder ofthe ugly and over-elaborate thing life is to many an estimable soul. Janet Fox-Moore had the art of rubbing this dark fact in till, so tospeak, the black came off. She seemed to achieve it partly by dint ofwearing (instead of any relief of lace or even of linen at her throat) ahard band of that passementerie secretly so despised of the littleTunbridges. This device did not so much 'finish off' the neck of Mrs. Fox-Moore's gowns, as allow the funereal dulness of them to overflow onto her brown neck. It even cast an added shadow on her sallow cheek. Thefigure of the older woman, gaunt and thin enough, announced the furtherconstriction of the corset. By way of revenge the sharp shoulder-bladespoked the corset out till it defined a ridge in the black silk back. Infront, too, the slab-like figure declined co-operation with the corset, and withdrew, leaving a hiatus that the silk bodice clothed though itdid not conceal. You could not have told whether the other woman worethat ancient invention for a figure insufficient or over-exuberant. Asyou followed her movements, easy with the ease of a child, while shewalked or stooped or caught up the fragile Doris, or raised her arm totake a book from the shelf, you got an impression of a physique inperfect because unconscious harmony with its environment. If, on thecontrary, you watched but so much as the nervous, uncertain hand of theother woman, you would know here was one who had spent her years inalternately grasping the nettle and letting it go--reaping only stingsin life's fair fields. Easy for any one seeing her in these days (thoughshe wasn't thirty-six) to share Mrs. Freddy's incredulous astonishmentat hearing from Haycroft the night before that Janet Levering had been'the beauty of her family. ' Mrs. Freddy's answer had been, 'Oh, don'tmake fun of her!' and Haycroft had had to assure her of his seriousness, while the little hostess still stared uncertain. 

'The _lines_ of her face are rather good, ' she admitted. 'Oh, but thoseyellow and pink eyes, and her general muddiness!'

'Yes, yes, ' Sir William had agreed. 'She's changed so that I would neverhave known her, but her colouring used to be her strong point. I assureyou she was magnificent--oh, much more striking than the youngersister!'

The bloodless-looking woman who sat uneasily at her own board clutchingat a thin fragment of cold dry toast that hung cheerlessly awry in thesilver rack, like the last brown leaf to a frosty tree, while shecrunched the toast, spoke dryly of the poor; of how 'interesting many ofthem are;' how when you take the trouble to understand them, you nolonger lump them all together in a featureless misery, you realize howsignificant and varied are their lives. 

'Not half as significant and varied as their smells, ' said herunchastened sister. 

'Oh, you sometimes talk as if you had no heart!'

'The trouble is, I have no stomach. When you've lured me into one ofthose dingy alleys and that all-pervading greasy smell of poverty comesflooding into my face--well, simply all my most uncharitable feelingsrise up in revolt. I want to hold my nose and hide my eyes, and call forthe motor-car. Running away isn't fast enough, ' she said, with energyand a sudden spark in her golden-brown eye. 

Mrs. Fox-Moore poised the fat silver jug over her own belated cup, andwaited for the thick cream to come out in a slow and grudging gobbetwith a heavy plump into the coffee. As she waited, she gently rebukedthat fastidiousness in her companion that shrank from contact with theunsavoury and the unfortunate. 

'It isn't only my fastidiousness, as you call it, that is offended, 'Vida retorted. 'I am penetrated by the hopelessness of what we're doing. It salves my conscience, or _yours_----' Hurriedly she added, '----that's not what you mean to do it for, I _know_, dear--and you'rean angel and I'm a mere cumberer of the earth. But when I'm only just"cumbering, " I feel less a fraud than when I'm pretending to do good. '

'You needn't pretend. '

'I can't do anything else. To go among your poor makes me feel in myheart that I'm simply flaunting my better fortune. '

'I never saw you flaunting it. '

'Well, I assure you it's when you've got me to go with you on one ofyour Whitechapel raids that I feel most strongly how outrageous it isthat, in addition to all my other advantages, I should buy self-approvalby doing some tuppenny-ha'penny service to a toiling, starvingfellow-creature. '

Mrs. Fox-Moore set down her coffee-cup. 'You mustn't suppose----' shebegan. 

'No, no, ' Vida cut her short. 'I don't doubt _your_ motives. I know toowell how ready you are to sacrifice yourself. But it does fill me with akind of rage to see some of those smug Settlement workers, the peoplethat plume themselves on leaving luxurious homes. They don't say howhideously bored they were in them. They are perfectly enchanted at theexcitement and importance they get out of going to live among the poor, who don't want them----'

'Oh, my dear Vida!'

'Not a little bit! Well, the _wily_ paupers do, perhaps, for what theycan get out of our sort. '

Mrs. Fox-Moore cast down her eyes as though convicted by therecollection of some concrete example. 

'We're only scratching at the surface, ' Vida, said--'such an uglysurface, too! And the more we scratch, the uglier things come to light. '

'You make too much of that disappointment at Christmas. '

'I wasn't even thinking of the hundredth time you've beendisillusioned. ' Vida threw down her table napkin, and stood up. 'I wasthinking of people like our young parson cousin. '

'George----'

Vida made a shrug of half-impatient, half-humorous assent. 'Leaves theBishop's Palace and comes to London. He, too, wants "to live for thepoor. " Never for an instant one of them. Always the patron--the personsomething may be got out of--or, at all events, hoped from. '

She seemed to be about to leave the room, but as her sister answeredwith some feeling, 'No, no, they love and respect him!' Vida paused, andbrought up by the fire that the sudden cold made comforting. 

'George is a different man since he's found his vocation, ' Mrs. Fox-Moore insisted. 'You read it in his face. '

'Oh, if all you mean is that _he's_ happier, why not? He's able to lookon himself as a benefactor. He's tasting the intoxication of the Kingamong Beggars. '

'You are grossly unfair, Vida. '

'So he thinks when I challenge him: "What good, what earthly good, isall this unless an anodyne--for you--is good?"'

'It seems to me a very real good that George Nuneaton and his kindshould go into the dark places and brighten hopeless lives with a littleChristian kindness--sometimes with a little timely counsel. '

'Yes, yes, ' said the voice by the fire; 'and a little good music--don'tforget the good music. '

'An object-lesson in practical religion, isn't that something?'

'Practical! Good Heaven! A handful of complacent, expensively educatedyoung people playing at reform. The poor wanting work, wanting decenthousing--wanting _bread_--and offered a little cultivatedcompanionship. '

'Vida, what have you been reading?'

'Reading? I've been visiting George at his Settlement. I've beenintruding myself on the privacy of the poor once a week with you--andI'm done with it! Personally I don't get enough out of it to reconcileme to their getting so little. '

'You're burning, ' observed the toneless voice from the head of thetable. 

'Yes, I believe I was a little hot, ' Vida laughed as she drew hersmoking skirt away from the fire. But she still stood close to thecheerful blaze, one foot on the fender, the green cloth skirt drawn up, leaving the more delicate fabric of her silk petticoat to meet the fieryordeal. 'If it annoys you to hear me say that's my view of charity, why, don't make me talk about it;' but the face she turned for an instantover her shoulder was far gentler than her words. 'And don't infuture'--she was again looking down into the fire, and she spoke slowlyas one who delivers a reluctant ultimatum--'don't ask me to help, exceptwith money. _That_ doesn't cost so much. '

'I am disappointed. ' Nothing further, but the sound of a chair movedback, eloquent somehow of a discouragement deeper than words conveyed. 

Vida turned swiftly, and, coming back to her sister, laid an arm abouther shoulder. 

'I'm a perfect monster! But you know, my dear, you rather goaded me intosaying all this by looking such a martyr when I've tried to get out ofgoing----'

'Very well, I won't ask you again. ' But the toneless rejoinder wasinnocent of rancour. Janet Fox-Moore gave the impression of being toochilled, too drained of the generous life-forces, even for anger. 

'Besides, ' said Vida, hurriedly, 'I'd nearly forgotten; there's thefinal practising at eleven. '

'_I'd_ forgotten your charity concert was so near!' As Mrs. Fox-Mooregathered up her letters, she gave way for the first time to a wintrylittle smile. 

'The concert's mine, I admit, but the charity's the bishop's. Whatabsurd things we women fill up the holes in our lives with!' Vida said, as she followed her sister into the hall. 'Do you know the real reasonI'm getting up this foolish concert?'

'Because you like singing, and do it so well that--yes, without yourlooks and the indescribable "rest, " you'd be a success. I told you that, when I begged you to come and try London. '

'The reason I'm slaving over the concert--it isn't all musicalenthusiasm. It amuses me to organize it. All the ticklish, difficult, "bothering" part of getting up a monster thing of this sort, reconcilingmalcontents, enlisting the great operatic stars and not losing the greatsocial lights--it all interests me like a game. I'm afraid the truth isI like managing things. '

'Perhaps Mrs. Freddy's not so far wrong. '

'Does Mrs. Freddy accuse me of being a "managing woman, " horridthought?'

'She was talking about you in her enthusiastic way when she was here theother day. "Vida could administer a state, " she said. Yes, _I_ laughed, too, but Mrs. Freddy shook her head quite seriously, and said, "To thinkof a being like Vida--not even a citizen. "'

'I'm not a citizen?' exclaimed the lady, laughing down at her sisterover the banisters. 'Does she think because I've lived abroad I'veforfeited my rights of----'

'No, all she means is---- Oh, you know the bee she's got in her bonnet. She means, as she'll tell you, that "you have no more voice in theaffairs of England than if you were a Hottentot. "'

'I can't say I've ever minded that. But it has an odd sound, hasn'tit--to hear one isn't a citizen. '

'Mrs. Freddy forgets----'

'I know! I know what you're going to say, ' said the other, light-heartedly. 'Mrs. Freddy forgets our unique ennobling influence;'and the tall young woman laughed as she ran up the last half of the longflight of stairs. At the top she halted a moment, and called down toMrs. Fox-Moore, who was examining the cards left the day before, 'Speaking of our powerful influence over our men-folk--Mr. Freddywasn't present, was he, when she aired her views?'

'No. '

'I thought not. Her influence over Mr. Freddy is maintained by thestrictest silence on matters he isn't keen about. '

CHAPTER V

Seeing Ulland House for the first time on a fine afternoon in early Mayagainst the jubilant green of its woodland hillside, the beholder, alittle dazzled in that first instant by the warmth of colour burning inthe ancient brick, might adapt the old dean's line and call thecoral-tinted structure rambling down the hillside, 'A rose-red dwellinghalf as old as Time. '

Its original architecture had been modified by the generations as theypassed. One lord of Ulland had expressed his fancy on the eastern facadein gable and sculptured gargoyle; another his fear or his defiance inthe squat and sturdy tower with its cautious slits in lieu of windows. Yet another Ulland had brought home from eighteenth-century Italy a loveof colonnades and terraced gardens; and one still later had cut down tothe level of the sward the high ground-floor windows, so that wherebefore had been two doors or three, were now a dozen giving egress tothe gardens. 

The legend so often encountered in the history of old English houses wasnot neglected here--that it had been a Crusader of this family who hadhimself brought home from the Holy Land the Lebanon cedar that spreadwide its level branches on the west, cutting the sunset into even bars. Tradition also said it was a counsellor of Elizabeth who had set thedial on the lawn. Even the latest lord had found a way to leave hisimpress upon the time. He introduced 'Clock golf' at Ulland. From theupper windows on the south and west the roving eye was caught by thegreat staring face of this new timepiece on the turf--its Roman numeralsshowing keen and white upon the vivid green. On the other side of thecedar, that incorrigible Hedonist, the crumbling dial, told you in Latinthat he only marked the shining hours. But the brand new clock on thelawn bore neither watchword nor device--seemed even to have dropped itshands as though in modesty withheld from pointing to hours so littleworthy of record. 

Two or three men, on this fine Saturday, had come down from London forthe week-end to disport themselves on the Ulland links, half a milebeyond the park. After a couple of raw days, the afternoon had turnedout quite unseasonably warm, and though the golfers had come backearlier than usual, not because of the heat but because one of theirnumber had a train to catch, they agreed it was distinctly reviving tofind tea served out of doors. 

Already Lady John was in her place on the pillared colonnade, behind theurn. Already, too, one of her pair of pretty nieces was at hand to playthe skilful lieutenant. Hermione Heriot, tactful, charming, twenty-five, was equally ready to hand bread and butter, or, sitting quietly, toperform the greater service--that of presenting the fresh-coloured, discreetly-smiling vision called 'the typical English girl. ' Miss Heriotfulfilled to a nicety the requirements of those who are sensiblyreassured by the spectacle of careful conventionality allied to femininecharm--a pleasant conversability that may be trusted to soothe andcounted on never to startle. Hermione would almost as soon have stood onher head in Piccadilly as have said anything original, though to herprivate consternation such perilous stuff had been known to harbour anuneasy instant in her bosom. She carried such inconvenient cargo ascarefully hidden as a conspirator would a bomb under his cloak. It hadgrown to be as necessary to her to agree with the views and fashions ofthe majority as it was disquieting to her to see these contravened, oreven for a single hour ignored. From the crown of her carefully dressedhead to the tips of her pointed toes she was engaged in testifying herassent to the prevailing note. Despite all this to recommend her, shewas not Lady John's favourite niece. No doubt about Jean Dunbartonholding that honour; and, to Hermione's credit, her own love for hercousin enabled her to accept the situation with a creditable equability. Jean Dunbarton was due now at any moment, she having already sent overher luggage with her maid the short two miles from the Bishop's Palace, where the girl had dined and slept the night before. 

The rest of the Ulland House party were arriving by the next train. AsMiss Levering was understood to be one of those expected it will be seenthat a justified faith in the excellence of the Ulland links had notmade Lady John unmindful of the wisdom of including among 'theweek-enders' a nice assortment of pretty women for the amusement of hergolfers in the off hours. 

Of this other young lady swinging her golf club as she came across thelawn with the men--sole petticoat among them--it could not be pretendedthat any hostess, let alone one so worldly-wise as Lady John Ulland, would look to have the above-hinted high and delicate office performedby so upright and downright--not to say so bony--a young woman, withface so like a horse, and the stride of a grenadier. Under her shortleather-bound skirt the great brown-booted feet seemed shamelessly tocourt attention--as it were out of malice to catch your eye, whiledeliberately they trampled on the tenderest traditions clinging stillabout the Weaker Sex. 

Lady John held in her hand the top of the jade and silver tea-caddy. Hermione, as well as her aunt, knew that this top held four teaspoonsfulof tea. Lady John filled it once, filled it twice, and turned thecontents out each time into the gaping pot. Then, absent-mindedly, shepaused, eyeing the approaching party, --that genial silver-haired despot, her husband, walking with Lord Borrodaile, the gawky girl between them, except when she paused to practise a drive. The fourth person, a short, compactly knit man, was lounging along several paces behind, but everynow and then energetically shouting out his share in the conversation. The ground of Lady John's interest in the group seemed to consist in ahalf-mechanical counting of noses. Her eyes came back to the tea-tableand she made a third addition to the jade and silver measure. 

'We shall be only six for the first brew, ' prompted the girl at herside. 

'Paul Filey is mooning somewhere about the garden. '

'Oh!'

'Why do you say it like that?'

Hermione's eyes rested a moment on the golfer who was bringing up therear. He was younger than his rather set figure had at a distanceproclaimed him. 

'I was only thinking Dick Farnborough can't abide Paul, ' said the girl. 

'A typical product of the public school is hardly likely to appreciatean undisciplined creature with a streak of genius in him like PaulFiley. '

'Oh, I rather love him myself, ' said the girl, lightly, 'only as Sophiasays he does talk rather rot at times. '

With her hand on the tea-urn, releasing a stream of boiling water intothe pot, Lady John glanced over the small thickset angel that poisedhimself on one podgy foot upon the lid of the urn. 

'Sophia's too free with her tongue. It's a mistake. It frightens peopleoff. '

'Men, you mean?'

'Especially men. '

'I often think, ' said the young woman, 'that men--all except Paul--wouldbe more shocked at Sophia--if--she wasn't who she is. '

'No doubt, ' agreed her aunt. 'Still I sympathize with her parents. Idon't see how they'll ever marry her. She might just as well be MissJones--that girl--for all she makes of herself. '

'Yes; I've often thought so, too, ' agreed Hermione, apparently consciousthat the very most was made of _her_. 

'She hasn't even been taught to walk. ' Lady John was still watching thegirl's approach. 

'Yet she looks best out of doors, ' said Hermione, firmly. 

'Oh, yes! She comes into the drawing-room as if she were crossing aploughed field!'

'All the same, ' said Hermione, under her breath, 'when she _is_ indoorsI'd rather see her walking than sitting. '

'You mean the way she crosses her legs?'

'Yes. '

'But that, too--it seems like so many other things, a question only ofdegree. Nobody objects to seeing a pair of neat ankles crossed--it looksrather nice and early Victorian. Nowadays lots of girls cross theirknees--and nobody says anything. But Sophia crosses her--well, her_thighs_. '

And the two women laughed understandingly. 

A stranger might imagine that the reason for Lady Sophia's presence inthe party was that she, by common consent, played a capital game ofgolf--'for a woman. ' That fact, however, was rather against her. Forpeople who can play the beguiling game, _want_ to play it--and want toplay it not merely now and then out of public spirit to make up afoursome, but constantly and for pure selfish love of it. Woman may, ifshe likes, take it as a compliment to her sex that this proclivity--heldto be wholly natural in a man--is called 'rather unfeminine' in awoman. But it was a defect like the rest, forgiven the Lady Sophia forher father's sake. Lord Borrodaile, held to be one of the mostdelightful of men, was much in request for parties of this description. One reason for his daughter's being there was that it glossed the factthat Lady Borrodaile was not--was, indeed, seldom present, and one maysay never missed, in the houses frequented by her husband. 

But as he and his friends not only did not belong to, but looked downupon, the ultra smart set, where the larger freedoms are practised inlieu of the lesser decencies, Lord Borrodaile lived his life as farremoved from any touch of scandal and irregularity as the most puritanicof the bourgeoisie. Part and parcel of his fastidiousness, somesaid--others, that from his Eton days he had always been a lazy beggar. As though to show that he did not shrink from reasonable responsibilitytowards his female impedimenta, any inquiry as to the absence of LadyBorrodaile was met by reference to Sophia. In short, where otherattractive husbands brought a boring wife, Lord Borrodaile brought anundecorative daughter. While to the onlooker nearly every aspect of thisparticular young woman would seem destined to offend a beauty-loving, critical taste like that of Borrodaile, he was probably served, as othermortals are, by that philosophy of the senses which brings in time adeafness and a blindness to the unloveliness that we needs must livebeside. Lord Borrodaile was far too intelligent not to see, too, thatwhen people had got over Lady Sophia's uncompromising exterior, theyfound things in her to admire as well as to stand a little in awe of. Unlike one another as the Borrodailes were, in one respect theypresented to the world an undivided front. From their point of view, just as laws existed to keep other people in order, so was 'fashion' anaffair for the middle classes. The Borrodailes might dress as dowdily asthey pleased, might speak as uncompromisingly as they felt inclined. Were they not Borrodailes of Borrodaile? Though open expression of thisspirit grows less common, they would not have denied that it is stillthe prevailing temper of the older aristocracy. And so it has hithertobeen true that among its women you find that sort of freedom which isthe prerogative of those called the highest and of those called thelowest. It is the women of all the grades between these two extremes whohave dared not to be themselves, who ape the manners, echo thecatchwords, and garb themselves in the elaborate ugliness, devised forthe blind meek millions. 

As the Lady Sophia, now a little in advance of her companions, camestalking towards the steps, out from a little path that wound among thethick-growing laurels issued Paul Filey. He raised his eyes, andhurriedly thrust a small book into his pocket. The young lady paused, but only apparently to pat, or rather to administer an approving cuffto, the Bedlington terrier lying near the lower step. 

'Well, ' she said over her shoulder to Filey, 'our side gave a goodaccount of itself that last round. '

'I was sure it would as soon as my malign influence was removed. '

'Yes; from the moment I took on Dick Farnborough, the situation assumeda new aspect. You'll _never_ play a good game, you know, if you goquoting Baudelaire on the links. '

'Poor Paul!' his hostess murmured to her niece, 'I always tremble when Isee him exposed to Sophia's ruthless handling. '

'Yes, ' whispered Hermione. 'She says she's sure he thinks of himself asa prose Shelley; and for some reason that infuriates Sophia. '

With a somewhat forced air of amusement, Mr. Filey was following hiscritic up the steps, she still mocking at his 'drives' and the way henegotiated his bunkers. 

Arrived at the top of the little terrace, whose close-shorn turf waslevel with the flagged floor of the colonnade, Mr. Filey sought refugenear Hermione, as the storm-tossed barque, fleeing before the wind, hiesswift to the nearest haven. 

Bending over the Bedlington, the Amazon remained on the top step, herlong, rather good figure garbed in stuff which Filey had said was fitonly for horse-blankets, but which was Harris tweed slackly belted by abroad canvas girdle drawn through a buckle of steel. 

'_Will_ you tell me, ' he moaned in Hermione's ear, 'why the daughter ofa hundred earls has the manners of a groom, and dresses herself in oddsand ends of the harness room?'

'Sh! Somebody told her once you'd said something of that sort. '

'No!' he said. 'Who?'

'It wasn't I. '

'Of course not. But did she mind? What did she say, eh?'

'She only said, "He got that out of a novel of Miss Broughton's. "'

Filey looked a little dashed. 'No! Has Miss Broughton said it, too? Thenthere are more of them!' He glanced again at the Amazon. 'Horriblethought!'

'Don't be so unreasonable. She couldn't play golf in a long skirt andhigh heels!'

'Who _wants_ a woman to play golf?'

Hermione gave him his tea with a smile. She knew with an absoluteprecision just how perfectly at that moment she herself was presentingthe average man's picture of the ideal type of reposeful womanhood. 

As Lord John and the two other men, his companions, came up the steps inthe midst of a discussion--

'If you stop to argue, Mr. Farnborough, ' said Lady John, holding out acup, 'you won't have time for tea before you catch that train. '

'Oh, thank you!' He hastened to relieve her, while Hermione murmuredregrets that he wasn't staying. 'Lady John didn't ask me, ' he confided. As he saw in Hermione's face a project to intercede for him, he added, 'And now I've promised my mother--we've got a lot of people coming, andtwo men short!'

'Two men short! how horrible for her!' She said it half laughing, buther view of the reality of the dilemma was apparent in her letting thesubject drop. 

Farnborough, standing there tea-cup in hand, joined again in thediscussion that was going on about some unnamed politician of the day, with whose character and destiny the future of England might quiteconceivably be involved. 

Before a great while this unnamed person would be succeeding his ailingand childless brother. There were lamentations in prospect of his tooearly translation to the Upper House. 

The older men had been speaking of his family, in which the tradition ofpublic service, generations old, had been revived in the person of thisyounger son. 

'I have never understood, ' Lord John was saying, 'how a man with suchopportunities hasn't done more. '

'A man as able, too, ' said Borrodaile, lazily. 'Think of the tribute hewrung out of Gladstone at the very beginning of his career. Whatever wemay think of the old fox, Gladstone had an eye for men. '

'Be _quiet_, will you!' Lady Sophia administered a little whack to theBedlington. 'Sh! Joey! don't you hear they're talking about our cousin?'

'Who?' said Filey, bending over the lady with a peace-offering of cake. 

'Why, Geoffrey Stonor, ' answered Sophia. 

'_Is_ it Stonor they mean?'

'Well, of course. '

'How do you know?' demanded Filey, in the pause. 

'Oh, wherever there are two or three gathered together talking politicsand "the coming man"--who has such a frightful lot in him that verylittle ever comes out--it's sure to be Geoffrey Stonor they mean, isn'tit, Joey?'

'Perhaps, ' said her father, dryly, 'you'll just mention that to him atdinner to-night. '

'_What!_' said Farnborough, with a keen look in his eyes. 'You don'tmean he's coming here!'

Sophia, too, had looked round at her host with frank interest. 

'Comin' to play golf?'

'Well, he mayn't get here in time for a round to-night, but we're ratherexpecting him by this four-thirty. '

'What fun!' Lady Sophia's long face had brightened. 

'May I stay over till the next train?' Farnborough was whispering toLady John as he went round to her on the pretext of more cream. 'Thankyou--then I won't go till the six forty-two. '

'I didn't know, ' Lady Sophia was observing in her somewhat crude way, 'that you knew Geoffrey as well as all that. '

'We don't, ' said Lord John. 'He's been saying for years he wanted tocome down and try our links, but it's by a fluke that he's coming, afterall. '

'He never comes to see _us_. He's far too busy, ain't he, Joey, even ifwe can't see that he accomplishes much?'

'Give him time and you'll see!' said Farnborough, with a wag of hishead. 

'Yes, ' said Lord John, 'he's still a young man. Barely forty. '

'Barely forty! _They_ believe in prolonging their youth, don't they?'said Lady Sophia to no one in particular, and with her mouth rather morefull of cake than custom prescribes. 'Good thing it isn't us, ain't it, Joey?'

'For a politician forty _is_ young, ' said Farnborough. 

'Oh, don't I know it!' she retorted. 'I was reading the life of RandolphChurchill the other day, and I came across a paragraph of filialadmiration about the hold Lord Randolph had contrived to get so early inlife over the House of Commons. It occurred to me to wonder just howmuch of a boy Lord Randolph was at the time. I was going to count upwhen I was saved the trouble by coming to a sentence that said he wasthen "an unproved stripling of thirty-two. " You shouldn't laugh. Itwasn't meant sarcastic. '

'Unless you're leader of the Opposition, I suppose it's not very easy todo much while your party's out of power, ' hazarded Lady John, 'is it?'

'One of the most interesting things about our coming back will be towatch Stonor, ' said Farnborough. 

'After all, they said he did very well with his Under Secretaryshipunder the last Government, didn't they?' Again Lady John appealed to thetwo elder men. 

'Oh, yes, ' said Borrodaile. 'Oh, yes. '

'And the way'--Farnborough made up for any lack of enthusiasm--'the wayhe handled that Balkan question!'

'All that was pure routine, ' Lord John waved it aside. 'But if Stonorhad ever looked upon politics as more than a game, he'd have been apower long before this. '

'Ah, ' said Borrodaile, slowly, 'you go as far as that? I doubt myself ifhe has enough of the demagogue in him. '

'But that's just why. The English people are not like the Americans orthe French. The English have a natural distrust of the demagogue. I tellyou if Stonor once believed in anything with might and main, he'd be aleader of men. '

'Here he is now. '

Farnborough was the first to distinguish the sound of carriage wheelsbehind the shrubberies. The others looked up and listened. Yes, thecrunch of gravel. The wall of laurel was too thick to give any glimpsefrom this side of the drive that wound round to the main entrance. Butsome animating vision nevertheless seemed miraculously to havepenetrated the dense green wall, to the obvious enlivenment of thecompany. 

'It's rather exciting seeing him at close quarters, ' Hermione said toFiley. 

'Yes! He's the only politician I can get up any real enthusiasm for. He's so many-sided. I saw him yesterday at a Bond Street show looking atcaricatures of himself and all his dearest friends. '

'Really. How did he take the sacrilege?'

'Oh, he was immensely amused at the fellow's impudence. You see, Stonorcould understand the art of the thing as well as the fun--the fierceeconomy of line----'

Nobody listened. There were other attempts at conversation, mere decentpretence at not being absorbed in watching for the appearance ofGeoffrey Stonor. 

CHAPTER VI

There was the faint sound of a distant door's opening, and there was aglimpse of the old butler. But before he could reach the French windowwith his announcement, his own colourless presence was masked, wipedout--not as the company had expected by the apparition of a man, but bya tall, lightly-moving young woman with golden-brown eyes, and wearing agolden-brown gown that had touches of wallflower red and gold on theshort jacket. There were only wallflowers in the small leaf-green toque, and except for the sable boa in her hand (which so suddenly it was toowarm to wear) no single thing about her could at all adequately accountfor the air of what, for lack of a better term, may be called accessoryelegance that pervaded the golden-brown vision, taking the low sunlighton her face and smiling as she stepped through the window. 

It was no small tribute to the lady had she but known it, that hercoming was not received nor even felt as an anti-climax. 

As she came forward, all about her rose a significant Babel: 'Here'sMiss Levering!' 'It's Vida!' 'Oh, how do you _do_!'--the frou-frou ofswishing skirts, the scrape of chairs pushed back over stone flags, andthe greeting of the host and hostess, cordial to the point ofaffection--the various handshakings, the discreet winding through thegroups of a footman with a fresh teapot, the Bedlington's first attackof barking merged in tail-wagging upon pleased recognition of a friend;and a final settling down again about the tea-table with the air full ofscraps of talk and unfinished questions. 

'You didn't see anything of my brother and his wife?' asked LordBorrodaile. 

'Oh, yes, ' his host suddenly remembered. 'I thought the Freddys werecoming by that four-thirty as well as----'

'No--nobody but me. ' She threw her many-tailed boa on the back of thechair that Paul Filey had drawn up for her between the hostess and theplace where Borrodaile had been sitting. 

'There are two more good trains before dinner----' began Lord John. 

'Oh, didn't I tell you, ' said his wife, as she gave the cup just filledfor the new-comer into the nearest of the outstretched hands--'didn't Itell you I had a note from Mrs. Freddy by the afternoon post? Theyaren't coming. '

Out of a little chorus of regret, came Borrodaile's slightly mocking, 'Anything wrong with the precious children?'

'She didn't mention the children--nor much of anything else--just ahurried line. '

'The children were as merry as grigs yesterday, ' said Vida, looking attheir uncle across the table. 'I went on to the Freddys' after the RoyalAcademy. No!' she put her cup down suddenly. 'Nobody is to ask me how Ilike my own picture! The Tunbridge children----'

'That thing Hoyle has done of you, ' said Lord Borrodaile, deliberately, 'is a very brilliant and a very misleading performance. '

'Thank you. '

Filey and Lord John, in spite of her interdiction, were pursuing thesubject of the much-discussed portrait. 

'It certainly is one aspect of you----'

'Don't you think his Velasquez-like use of black and white----'

'The tiny Tunbridges, as I was saying, ' she went on imperturbably, 'werehaving a teafight when I got there. I say "fight" advisedly. '

'Then I'll warrant, ' said their uncle, 'that Sara was the aggressor. '

'She was. '

'You saw Mrs. Freddy?' asked Lady John, with an interest half amused, half cynical, in her eyes. 

'For a moment. '

'She doesn't confess it, I suppose, ' the hostess went on, 'but I imagineshe is rather perturbed;' and Lady John glanced at Borrodaile with hergood-humoured, worldly-wise smile. 

'Poor Mrs. Freddy!' said Vida. 'You see, she's taken it all quiteseriously--this Suffrage nonsense. '

'Yes;' Mrs. Freddy's brother-in-law had met Lady John's look with thesame significant smile as that lady's own--'Yes, she's naturally feelingrather crestfallen--perhaps she'll _see_ now!'

'Mrs. Freddy crestfallen, what about?' said Farnborough. But he was muchpreoccupied at that moment in supplying Lady Sophia with bits of toastthe exact size for balancing on the Bedlington's nose. For the benefitof his end of the table Paul Filey had begun to describe the new one-manshow of caricatures of famous people just opened in Bond Street. The'mordant genius, ' as he called it, of this new man--an AmericanJew--offered an irresistible opportunity for phrase-making. And still onthe other side of the tea urn the Ullands were discussing withBorrodaile and Miss Levering the absent lady whose 'case' was obviouslya matter of concern to her friends. 

'Well, let us hope, ' Lord John was saying as sternly as his urbanitypermitted--'let us hope this exhibition in the House will be a lesson toher. '

'_She_ wasn't concerned in it!' Vida quickly defended her. 

'Nevertheless we are all hoping, ' said Lady John, 'that it has come justin time to prevent her from going over the edge. '

'Over the edge!' Farnborough pricked up his ears at last in goodearnest, feeling that the conversation on the other side had grown toointeresting for him to be out of it any longer. 'Over what edge?'

'The edge of the Woman Suffrage precipice, ' said Lady John. 

'You call it a precipice?' Vida Levering raised her dark brows in alittle smile. 

'Don't you?' demanded her hostess. 

'I should say mud-puddle. '

'From the point of view of the artist'--Paul Filey had begun laying downsome new law, but turning an abrupt corner, he followed the wanderingattention of his audience--'from the point of view of the artist, ' herepeated, 'it would be interesting to know what the phenomenon is, thatLady John took for a precipice and that Miss Levering says is amud-puddle. '

'Oh, ' said Lord John, thinking it well to generalize and spare Mrs. Freddy further rending, 'we've been talking about this publicdemonstration of the unfitness of women for public affairs. '

'Give me some more toast dice!' Sophia said to Farnborough. 'You haven'tseen Joey's new accomplishment. They're only discussing that idioticscene the women made the other night. '

'Oh, in the gallery of the House of Commons?'

'Yes, wasn't it disgustin'?' said Paul Filey, facing about suddenly withan air of cheerful surprise at having at last hit on something that heand Lady Sophia could heartily agree about. 

'Perfectly revolting!' said Hermione Heriot, not to be out of it. For itis well known that, next to a great enthusiasm shared, nothing so drawshuman creatures together as a good bout of cursing in common. So withemphasis Miss Heriot repeated, 'Perfectly revolting!'

Her reward was to see Paul turn away from Sophia and say, in a tonewhose fervour might be called marked--

'I'm glad to hear you say so!'

She consolidated her position by asking sweetly, 'Does it need saying?'

'Not by people like you. But it _does_ need saying when it comes topeople we know----'

'Like Mrs. Freddy. Yes. '

That unfortunate little lady seemed to be 'getting it' on all sides. Even her brother-in-law, who was known to be in reality a great ally ofhers--even Lord Borrodaile was chuckling as though at some reflectiondistinctly diverting. 

'Poor Laura! She was being unmercifully chaffed about it last night. '

'I don't myself consider it any longer a subject for chaff, ' said LordJohn. 

'No, ' agreed his wife; '_I_ felt that before this last outbreak. At thetime of the first disturbance--where was it?--in some town in the Northseveral weeks ago----'

'Yes, ' said Vida Levering; 'I almost think that was even worse!'

'Conceive the sublime impertinence, ' said Lady John, 'of an ignorantlittle factory girl presuming to stand up in public and interrupt aspeech by a minister of the Crown!'

'I don't know what we're coming to, I'm sure!' said Borrodaile, with adetached air. 

'Oh, _that_ girl--beyond a doubt, ' said his host, with conviction--'thatgirl was touched. '

'Oh, beyond a doubt!' echoed Mr. Farnborough. 

'There's something about this particular form of feminine folly----'began Lord John. 

But he wasn't listened to--for several people were talking at once. 

After receiving a few preliminary kicks, the subject had fallen, as afootball might, plump into the very midst of a group of school-boys. Itssudden presence there stirred even the sluggish to unwonted feats. Everyone must have his kick at this Suffrage Ball, and manners were for thenonce in abeyance. 

In the midst of an obscuring dust of discussion, floated fragments ofcondemnation: 'Sexless creatures!' 'The Shrieking Sisterhood!' etc. , inwhich the kindest phrase was Lord John's repeated, 'Touched, you know, 'as he tapped his forehead--'not really responsible, poor wretches. Touched. '

'Still, everybody doesn't know that. It must give men a quite horrididea of women, ' said Hermione, delicately. 

'No'--Lord Borrodaile spoke with a wise forbearance--'we don't confounda handful of half-insane females with the whole sex. '

Dick Farnborough was in the middle of a spirited account of that earlieroutbreak in the North--

'She was yelling like a Red Indian, and the policeman carried her outscratching and spitting----'

'Ugh!' Hermione exchanged looks of horror with Paul Filey. 

'Oh, yes, ' said Lady John, with disgust, 'we saw all that in thepapers. '

Miss Levering, too, had turned her face away--not as Hermione did, tosummon a witness to her detestation, but rather as one avoiding the eyesof the men. 

'You see, ' said Farnborough, with gusto, 'there's something about women'sclothes--_especially_ their hats, you know--they--well, they ain't builtfor battle. '

'They ought to wear deer-stalkers, ' was Lady Sophia's contribution tothe New Movement. 

'It is quite true, ' Lady John agreed, 'that a woman in a scrimmage cannever be a heroic figure. '

'No, that's just it, ' said Farnborough. 'She's just funny, don't youknow!'

'I don't agree with you about the fun, ' Borrodaile objected. 'That's whyI'm glad they've had their lesson. I should say there was almost nothingmore degrading than this public spectacle of----' Borrodaile lifted hishigh shoulders higher still, with an effect of intense discomfort. 'Itnever but once came my way that I remember, but I'm free to own, ' hesaid, 'there's nothing that shakes my nerves like seeing a womanstruggling and kicking in a policeman's arms. '

But Farnborough was not to be dissuaded from seeing humour in thesituation. 

'They say they swept up a peck of hairpins after the battle!'

As though she had had as much of the subject as she could very wellstand, Miss Levering leaned sideways, put an arm behind her, and tookpossession of her boa. 

'They're just ending the first act of _Siegfried_. How glad I am to bein your garden instead of Covent Garden!'

Ordinarily there would have been a movement to take the appreciativeguest for a stroll. 

Perhaps it was only chance, or the enervating heat, that kept thecompany in their chairs listening to Farnborough--

'The cattiest one of the two, there she stood like this, her clotheshalf torn off, her hair down her back, her face the colour of a lobsterand the crowd jeering at her----'

'I don't see how you could stand and look on at such a hideous scene, 'said Miss Levering. 

'Oh--I--I didn't! I'm only telling you how Wilkinson described it. Hesaid----'

'How did Major Wilkinson happen to be there?' asked Lady John. 

'He'd motored over from Headquarters to move a vote of thanks to thechairman. He said he'd seen some revolting things in his time, but thescrimmage of the stewards and the police with those women----!'Farnborough ended with an expressive gesture. 

'If it was as horrible as that for Major Wilkinson to look on at--whatmust it have been for those girls?' It was Miss Levering speaking. Sheseemed to have abandoned the hope of being taken for a stroll, and wasleaning forward, chin in hand, looking at the fringe of the teacloth. 

Richard Farnborough glanced at her as if he resented the note ofwondering pity in the low tone. 

'It's never so bad for the lunatic, ' he said, 'as for the sane peoplelooking on. '

'Oh, I don't suppose _they_ mind, ' said Hermione--'women like _that_. '

'It's flattery to call them women. They're sexless monstrosities, ' saidPaul Filey. 

'You know some of them?' Vida raised her head. 

'_I?_' Filey's face was nothing less than aghast at the mere suggestion. 

'But you've seen them----?'

'Heaven forbid!'

'But I suppose you've gone and listened to them haranguing the crowds. '

'Now _do_ I look like a person who----'

'Well, you see we're all so certain they're such abominations, ' saidVida, 'I thought maybe some of us knew something about them. '

Dick Farnborough was heard saying to Lord John in a tone of cheerfulvigour--

'Locking up is too good for 'em. I'd give 'em a good thrashin'. '

'Spirited fellow!' said Miss Levering, promptly, with an accent thatbrought down a laugh on the young gentleman's head. 

He joined in it, but with a _naïf_ uneasiness. What's the matter withthe woman?--his vaguely bewildered face seemed to inquire. After all, I'm only agreeing with her. 

'Few of us have time, I imagine, ' said Filey, 'to go and listen to theirravings. '

As Filey was quite the idlest of men, without the preoccupation of beinga tolerable sportsman or even a player of games, Miss Levering's littlelaugh was echoed by others beside Lady Sophia. 

'At all events, ' said Vida to Lord Borrodaile, as she stood up, and hedrew her chair out of her way, 'even if we don't know much about thesewomen, we've spent a happy hour denouncing them. '

'Who's going to have a short round before sundown?' said Lady Sophia, getting up briskly. '_You_, of course, Mr. Filey. Or are you too"busy"?'

'Say too thirsty. May I?' He carried his cup round to Lady John, notseeming to see Hermione's hospitable hand held out for it. 

In the general shuffle Farnborough found himself carried off by Sophiaand Lord John. 

'Who is our fourth?' said Lady Sophia, suddenly. 

'Oh, Borrodaile!' Lord John stopped halfway across the lawn and calledback, 'aren't you coming?'

'It's not a bit of use, ' said Sophia. 'You'll see. He's safe to sitthere and talk to Miss Levering till the dressing-bell rings. '

'Isn't she a _nice_ creature!' said Lord John. 'I can't think how awoman like that hasn't got some nice fella to marry her!'

 * * * * *

'Would you like to see my yellow garden, Vida?' Lady John asked. 'It'srather glorious at this moment. '

Obvious from the quick lifting of the eyes that the guest was on thepoint of welcoming the proposal, had Filey not swallowed his belated cupof tea with surprising quickness after saying, 'What's a yellow garden?'in the unmistakable tone of one bent upon enlarging his experience. LadyJohn, with all her antennæ out, lost no time in saying to Vida--

'Perhaps you're a little tired. Hermione, you show Mr. Filey the garden. And maybe, Lord Borrodaile would like to see it, too. '

Although the last-named failed to share the enthusiasm expected in agardener, he pulled his long, slackly-put-together figure out of thechair and joined the young people. 

When they were out of earshot, 'What's the matter?' asked Lady John. 

'Matter?'

'Yes, what did poor Paul say to make you fall upon him like that?'

'I didn't "fall upon" him, did I?'

'Well, yes, I rather thought you did. '

'Oh, I suppose I--perhaps it did jar on me, just a little, to hear acocksure boy----'

'He's not a boy. Paul is over thirty. '

'I was thinking of Dick Farnborough, too--talking about women like that, before women. '

'Oh, all they meant was----'

'Yes, I know. Of course we _all_ know they aren't accustomed to treatingour sex in general with overmuch respect when there are only menpresent--but--do you think it's quite decent that they should be so freewith their contempt of women before us?'

'But, my dear Vida! _That_ sort of woman! Haven't they deserved it?'

'That's just what nobody seems to know. I've sat and listened toconversations like the one at tea for a week now, and I've said as muchagainst those women as anybody. Only to-day, somehow, when I heard thatboy--yes, I was conscious I didn't like it. '

'You're behaving exactly as Dr. Johnson did about Garrick. You won'tallow any one to abuse those women but yourself. '

Lady John cleared the whole trivial business away with a laugh. 

'Now, be nice to Paul. He's dying to talk to you about his book. Let usgo and join them in the garden. See if you can stand before my yellowblaze and not feel melted. '

The elder woman and the younger went down the terrace through a littlecopse to her ladyship's own area of experimentation. A gate of oldFlorentine scrolled iron opened suddenly upon a blaze of yellow in allthe shades from the orange velvet of the wallflower through the shadedsaffron of azalias and a dozen tints of tulip to the palest primrose andjonquil. 

The others were walking round the enclosing grass paths that served asbroad green border, and Filey, who had been in all sorts of queerplaces, said the yellow garden made him think of a Mexican serapé--'oneof those silk scarves, you know--native weaving made out of thepineapple fibre. '

But Vida only said, 'Yes. It's a good scheme of colour. '

She sat on the rustic seat while Lady John explained to Lord Borrodaile, whose gardens were renowned, how she and Simonson treated this and thatplant to get so fine a result. Filey had lost no time in finding a placefor himself by Miss Levering, while Hermione trailed dutifully round thegarden with the others. Occasionally she looked over her shoulder at thetwo on the seat by the sunken wall--Vida leaning back in the cornermotionless, absolutely inexpressive; Filey's eager face bent forward. Hewas moving his hands in a way he had learned abroad. 

'You were rather annoyed with me, ' he was saying. 'I saw that. '

The lady did not deny the imputation. 

'But you oughtn't to be. Because you see it's only because my ideal ofwoman is'--again that motion of the hands--'_what_ it is, that when Isee her stepping down from her pedestal I----' the hands indicatedconsternation, followed hard by cataclysmic ruin. 'Of course, lots ofmen don't care. I _do_. I care enormously, and so you must forgive me. Won't you?' He bent nearer. 

'Oh, _I've_ nothing to forgive. '

'I know without your telling me, I feel instinctively, _you_ more thanmost people--you'd simply loathe the sort of thing we were talking aboutat tea--women yelling and fighting men----'

'Yes--yes, don't go all over that. '

'No, of course I won't, ' he said soothingly. 'I can feel it to my veryspine, how you shrink from such horrors. '

Miss Levering, raising her eyes suddenly, caught the look Hermione castbackward as Lady John halted her party a moment near the pansy-strip inthe gorgeous yellow carpet spread out before them. 

'Don't you want to sit down?' Vida called out to the girl, drawing asideher gown. 

'What?' said Hermione, though she had heard quite well. Slowly sheretraced her steps down the grass path as if to have the words repeated. 

But if Miss Levering's idea had been to change the conversation, she wasdisappointed. There was nothing Paul Filey liked better than anaudience, and he had already the impression that Miss Heriot was what hewould have scorned to call anything but 'simpatica. '

'I'm sure you've shown the new garden to dozens already, ' Miss Leveringsaid to the niece of the house. 'Sit down and confess you've had enoughof it!'

'Oh, I don't think, ' began Hermione, suavely, 'that one ever gets toomuch of a thing like that!'

'There! I'm glad to hear you say so. How can we have too much beauty!'exclaimed Filey, receiving the new occupant of the seat as a soul worthyof high fellowship. Then he leaned across Miss Heriot and said to thelady in the corner, 'I'm making that the theme of my book. '

'Oh, I heard you were writing something. '

'Yes, a sort of plea for the æsthetic basis of society! It's the onlycure for the horrors of modern civilization--for the very thing we weretalking about at tea! What is it but a loss of the sense of beautythat's to blame?' Elbows on knees, he leaned so far forward that hecould see both faces, and yet his own betrayed the eye turnedinward--the face of the one who quotes. The ladies knew that he wasobliging them with a memorized extract from 'A Plea for the ÆstheticBasis. ' 'Nothing worse can happen to the world than loss of its sense ofBeauty. Men, high and low alike, cling to it still as incarnated inwomen. ' (Hermione crossed her pointed toes and lowered her longeyelashes. ) 'We have made Woman the object of our deepest adoration! Wehave set her high on a throne of gold. We have searched through theworld for jewels to crown her. We have built millions of temples to ourideal of womanhood and called them homes. We have fought and wrought andsung for her--and all we ask in return is that she should tend thesacred fire, so that the light of Beauty might not die out of theworld. ' He was not ill-pleased with his period. 'But women'--he leanedback, and illustrated with the pliant white hands that were ornamentedwith outlandish rings--'women are not content with their high and holyoffice. '

'_Some_ women, ' amended Hermione, softly. 

'There are more and more every day who are not content, ' he saidsternly; then, for an instant unbending and craning a little forward, 'Of course I don't mean you--_you_ are exceptions--but of women in themass! Look at them! They force their way into men's work, they crowdinto the universities--yes, yes' (in vain Hermione tried to reassure himby 'exceptions')--'Beauty is nothing to them! They fling aside theirdelicate, provocative draperies, they cast off their scented sandals. They pull on brown boots and bicycling skirts! They put man's yoke ofhard linen round their ivory throats, and they scramble off theirjewelled thrones to mount the rostrum and the omnibus!'

'Why? _Why_ do they?' Vida demanded, laughing. 'Nobody ever tells mewhy. I can't believe they're as unselfish as _you_ make out. '

'I!'

'You ought to admire them if they voluntarily give up all thosebeautiful things--knowing beforehand they'll only win men's scorn. Foryou've always warned them!'

He didn't even hear. 'Ah, Ladies, Ladies!' half laughing, but reallyvery much in earnest, he apostrophized the peccant sex, 'I should liketo ask, are we men to look upon our homes as dusty din-filled camps onthe field of battle, or as holy temples of Peace? Ah!' He leaned back inhis corner, stretched out his long legs, and thrust his restless handsin his pockets. 'If they knew!'

'Women?' asked Hermione, with the air of one painstakingly brushing upcrumbs of wisdom. 

Paul Filey nodded. 

'Knew----?'

'They would see that in the ugly scramble they had let fall theircrowns! If they only knew, ' he repeated, 'they would go back to theirthrones, and, with the sceptre of beauty in one hand and the orb ofpurity in the other, they would teach men to worship them again. '

'And then?' said Miss Levering. 

'Then? Why, men will fall on their knees before them. ' As Miss Leveringmade no rejoinder, 'What greater victory do women want?' he demanded. 

For the first time Miss Levering bent her head forward slightly asthough to see how far he was conscious of the fatuity of his climax. Buthis flushed face showed a childlike good faith. 

'Eh? Will any one tell me what they _want_?'

'Since you need to ask, ' said the gently smiling woman in the corner, 'perhaps there's more need to show than I'd quite realized. '

'I don't think you quite followed, ' he began, with an air offorbearance. 'What I mean is----'

Miss Levering jumped up. 'Lord Borrodaile!' He was standing at thelittle iron gate waiting for his hostess, who had stopped to speak toone of the gardeners. 'Wait a moment!' Vida called, and went swiftlydown the grass path. He had turned and was advancing to meet her. 'No, come away, ' she said under her breath, 'come away quickly'--(safe on theother side of the gate)--'and talk to me! Tell me about old, half-forgotten pictures or about young rose trees. '

'Is something the matter?'

'I'm ruffled. '

'Who has ruffled you?' His tone was as serene as it was sympathetic. 

'Several people. '

'Why, I thought you were never ruffled. '

'I'm not, often. '

They turned down into a little green aisle between two dense thickets ofrhododendrons. 

'It's lucky you are here, ' she said irrelevantly. 

He glanced at her face. 

'It's not luck. It's foresight. '

'Oh, you arranged it? Well, I'm glad. '

'So am I, ' he answered quietly. 'We get on rather well together, ' headded, after a moment. 

She nodded half absently. 'I feel as if I'd known you for years insteadof for months, ' she said. 

'Yes, I have rather that feeling, too. Except that I'm always a littlenervous when I meet you again after an interval. '

'Nervous, ' she frowned. 'Why nervous?'

'I'm always afraid you'll have some news for me. '

'What news?'

'Oh, the usual thing. That a pleasant friendship is going to beinterrupted if not broken by some one's carrying you off. It would be apity, you know. '

'Then you don't agree with Lord John. '

'Oh, I suppose you _ought_ to marry, ' he said, with smiling impatience, 'and I'm very sure you will! But I shan't like it'--he wound up with anodd little laugh--'and neither will you. '

'It's an experiment I shall never try. '

He smiled, but as he glanced at her he grew grave. 'I've heard more thanone young woman say that, but you look as if it might really be so. '

'It is so. '

He waited, and then, switching at the wild hyacinths with his stick--

'Of course, ' he said, 'I have no right to suppose you are going to giveme your reasons. '

'No. That's why I shall never even consider marrying--so that I shallnot have to set out my reasons. '

He had never seen that look in her face before. He made an effort to putaside the trouble of it, saying almost lightly--

'I often wonder why people can't be happy as they are!'

'They think of the future, I suppose. '

'There's no such thing as the future. '

'You can't say there's no such thing as growth. If it's only a garden, it's natural to like to see life unfolding--that's the future. '

'Yes, in spite of resolutions, you'll be trying the great experiment. 'He said it wearily. 

'Why should you mind so?' she asked curiously; 'you are not in love withme. '

'How do you know?'

'Because you give me such a sense of rest. '

'Thank you. ' He caught himself up. 'Or perhaps I should thank my greyhair. '

'Grey hair doesn't bring the thing I mean. I've sometimes wished it did. But our friendship is an uncommonly peaceful one, don't you think?'

'Yes; I think it is, ' he said. 'All the same, you know there's a touchof magic in it. ' But, as though to condone the confession, 'You haven'ttold me why you were ruffled. '

'It's nothing. I dare say I was a little tired. '

They had come out into the park. 'I hurried so to catch the train. Mysister's new coachman is stupid about finding short cuts in London, andwe got blocked by a procession--a horrible sort of demonstration, youknow. '

'Oh, the unemployed. '

'Yes. And I got so tired of leaning out of the window and shoutingdirections that I left the maid and the luggage to come later. I got outof the brougham and ran through a slum, or I'd have lost my train. Inearly lost it anyway, because I saw a queer picture that made me stop. 'She stopped again at the mere memory of it. 

'In a second-hand shop?'

He turned his pointed face to her, and the grey-green eyes wore a gleamof interest that few things could arouse in their cool depths. 

'No, not in a shop. ' She stopped and leaned against a tree. 'In thestreet. It was a middle-aged workman. When I caught sight of his backand saw his worn clothes--the coat went up in the middle, and had thatdespairing sag on both sides--it crossed my mind, here's another ofthose miserable, unemployed wastrels obstructing my way! Then he lookedround and I saw--solid content in his face!' She stopped a moment. 

'So he _wasn't_ one of the----'

'Well, I wondered. I couldn't see at first what it was he had lookedround at. Then I noticed he had a rope in his hand, and was draggingsomething. As the people who had been between us hurried on I saw--I sawa child, two or three years old, in a flapping, pink sun-bonnet. He wassitting astride a toy horse. The horse was clumsily made, and had lostits tail. But it had its head still, and the board it was mounted on hadfat, wooden rollers. The horse was only about that long, and so near theground that, for all his advantage in the matter of rollers, still thelittle rider's feet touched the pavement. They even trailed and lurched, as the horse went on, in that funny, spasmodic gait. The child had tohalf walk, or, rather, make the motions--you know, without actuallybearing any of even his own weight. The slack-shouldered man did it all. I crossed to the other side of the street, and stood and watched themtill, as I say, I nearly lost my train. The dingy workman, smokingimperturbably, dragging the grotesque, almost hidden, horse--thedelighted child in the flapping sun-bonnet--the crisis when they came tothe crossing! The man turned and called out something. The childdeclined to budge. I wondered what would happen. So did the man. Hewaited a moment, and puffed smoke and considered. The baby dug his heelsin the pavement and shouted. Then I saw the man carefully tilt the toyhorse up by the rope. I stood and watched the successful surmounting ofthe obstacle, and the triumphant progress as before--sun-bonnetflapping, smoke curling. Of course the man was content! He had lost thebattle. You saw that in his lined face. What did it matter? _He held thefuture by a string. _'

Lord Borrodaile lifted his eyes and looked at her. Without a word thetwo walked on. 

The first to speak after the silence was the man. He pointed out acurious effect of the light, and reminded her who had painted it best--

'Corot could do these things!'--and he flung a stone in passing at theNew Impressionists. 

At the Lodge Gate they found Lady John with Filey and Hermione. 

'We thought if we walked this way we might meet Jean and her bodyguard. But I mustn't go any further. ' Lady John consulted her watch. 'The restof you can take your time, but I have to go and receive my other guest. '

Filey and Hermione were still at the gate. The girl had caught sight ofFarnborough being driven by the park road to the station. 

'Oh, I do believe it's the new mare they're trying in the dogcart, ' saidHermione. 'Let's wait and see her go by. '

Borrodaile and his companion kept at Lady John's side. 

'I'm glad, ' said Vida, 'that I shall at last make acquaintance with yourJean. '

'Yes; it's odd your never having met, especially as she knows yourcousins at Bishopsmead so well. '

'I've been so little in England----'

'Yes, I know. A great business it is, ' Lady John explained to LordBorrodaile, 'each time to get that crusty old Covenanter, Jean'sgrandfather, to allow her to stay at Bishopsmead. So it's the sadder forthem to have her visit cut short. '

'Why is it cut short?' he asked. 

'Because the hostess took to her bed yesterday with a chill, and hertemperature was a hundred and one this afternoon. '

'Really?' said Miss Levering. 'I hadn't heard----'

'She is rather bad, I'm afraid. We are taking over another of herguests. Of course you know him--Geoffrey Stonor. '

'Taking him over?' Miss Levering repeated. 

'Yes; he was originally going to Bishopsmead this week-end, but as he'sbeen promising for ages to come here, it's been arranged that we shouldtake him off their hands. Of course we're delighted. '

Miss Levering walked on, between her two companions, looking straight infront of her. As Lady John, with a glance at her watch, quickened thepace--

'I'm rather unhappy at what you tell me about my cousin, ' said Vida. 'She's a delicate creature. ' Then, as though acting on a sudden impulse, Vida paused. 'You mustn't mind, Lady John, but I shall have to go toher. Can I have a trap of some sort to take me over?'

She put aside the objections with a gentle but unmistakable decisionthat made Lady John say--

'I'm sure I've alarmed you more than there was the least need for. Butthe carriage shall wait and bring you back just as soon as you'vesatisfied yourself. '

'I can't tell, of course, till I've seen Mary. But may my maid be toldnot to unpack----'

'Not unpack!'

'In case I have to send for my things. '

'My _dear_!' Lady John stopped short for very vexation. '_Don't_ desertus! I've been so congratulating myself on having you, since I knewGeoffrey Stonor was coming. ' Again she glanced nervously at her watch. 'He is due in ten minutes! John won't like it if I'm not there. '

As she was about to hurry on, the other slackened pace. She seemed to berevolving some further plan. 

'Why shouldn't'--she turned suddenly--'why shouldn't the dogcart take meon after dropping Mr. Farnborough at the station? Yes, that will besimplest. Mr. Farnborough!' she waved to him as the cart came in sight, 'Wait! Good-bye! Forgive my rushing off, won't you?' she called backover her shoulder, and then with that swift, light step of hers, shecovered by a short cut the little distance that lay between her and thelodge gate. 

'I wish I'd held my tongue, ' said Lady John almost angrily as shehastened in the opposite direction. Already some sense seemed to reachher of the hopelessness of expecting Vida's return. 

'I didn't _dream_ she cared so much for that dull cousin of hers!'

'Do you think she really does?' said Borrodaile, dryly. 

CHAPTER VII

About Vida's little enterprise on a certain Sunday a few weeks later wasan air of elaborate mystery. Yet the expedition was no further than toTrafalgar Square. It was there that those women, the so-called'Suffragettes, ' in the intervals of making worse public disturbances, were rumoured to be holding open-air meetings--a circumstance distinctlyfortunate for any one who wanted to 'see what they were like, ' and whowas yet unwilling to commit herself by doing anything so eccentric aspublicly to seek admission under any roof known to show hospitality to'such goings on. ' In those days, only a year ago, and yet already suchancient history that the earlier pages are forgotten and scarce credibleif recalled, it took courage to walk past the knots of facetiousloafers, and the unblushing Suffragette poster, into the hall where themeetings were held. Deliberately to sit down among odd, misguidedpersons in rows, to listen to, and by so much to lend public countenanceto 'women of that sort'--the sort that not only wanted to vote (quaintcreatures!), but were not content with merely wanting to--for theaverage conventional woman to venture upon a step so compromising, torisk seeming for a moment to take these crazy brawlers seriously, was tolay herself open to 'the comic laugh'--most dreaded of all the weaponsin the social armoury. But it was something wholly different to set outfor a Sunday Afternoon Concert, or upon some normal and recognizedphilanthropic errand, and on the way find one's self arrested for a fewminutes by seeing a crowd gathered in a public square. Yet it had notbeen easy to screw Mrs. Fox-Moore up to thinking even this non-committalmeasure a possible one to pursue. 'What would anybody think, ' she hadasked Vida, 'to see them lending even the casual support of a presence(however ironic) to so reprehensible a spectacle!' Had it not been forvery faith in the eccentricity of the proceeding--one wildly unlikely tobe adopted, Mrs. Fox-Moore felt, by any one else of 'their kind'--shewould never have consented to be drawn into Vida's absurd project. 

Of course it was absolutely essential to disguise the object of theouting from Mr. Fox-Moore. Not merely because with the full weight ofhis authority he would most assuredly have forbidden it, but because ofa nervous prefiguring on his wife's part of the particular things hewould say, and the particular way he would look in setting hisextinguisher on the enterprise. 

Vida, from the first, had never explained or excused herself to him, sothat when he asked at luncheon what she was going to do with this fineSunday afternoon, she had simply smiled, and said, 'Oh, I have a trystto keep. '

It was her sister who added anxiously, 'Is Wood leading now at theQueen's Hall Concerts?' And so, without actually committing herself to alie, gave the impression that music was to be their quest. 

An hour later, while the old man was nursing his gout by the librarywindow, he saw the ladies getting into a hansom. In spite of theinconvenience to his afflicted member he got up and opened the window. 

'Don't tell me you're doing anything so rational--you two--as going to aconcert. '

'Why do you say that? You know I never like to take the horses out onSunday----'

'Rubbish! You think a dashing, irresponsible hansom is more in keepingwith the Factory Girls' Club or some giddy Whitechapel frivolity!'

Mrs. Fox-Moore gave her sister a look of miserable apprehension; but theyounger woman laughed and waved a hand. She knew that, even more thanthe hansom, their 'get up' had given them away. It must be confessed shehad felt quite as strongly as her sister that it wouldn't do to berecognized at a Suffragette meeting. Even as a nameless 'fine lady'standing out from a mob of the dowdy and the dirty, to be stared at byeyes however undiscerning, under circumstances so questionable, would bedistinctly distasteful. 

So, reversing the order of Nature, the butterfly had retired into a'grubby' state. In other words, Vida had put on the plainest of herdiscarded mourning-gowns. From a small Tuscan straw travelling-toque, the new maid, greatly wondering at such instructions, had extracted anold paste buckle and some violets, leaving it 'not fit to be seen. ' Inspite of having herself taken these precautions, Vida had broken intouncontrollable smiles at the apparition of Mrs. Fox-Moore, asking withpride--

'Will I do? I look quite like a Woman of the People, don't I?'

The unconscious humour of the manifestation filled Miss Levering with anuneasy merriment every time she turned her eyes that way. 

Little as Mr. Fox-Moore thought of his wife's taste, either in clothesor in amusements, he would have been more mystified than ever he hadbeen in his life had he seen her hansom, ten minutes later, stop on thenorth side of Trafalgar Square, opposite the National Gallery. 

'Look out and see, ' she said, retiring guiltily into the corner of theconveyance. 'Are they there?' And it was plain that nothing could morehave relieved Mrs. Fox-Moore at that moment than to hear 'they' werenot. 

But Vida, glancing discreetly out of the side window, had said--

'There? I should think they are--and a crowd round them already. Look attheir banners!' and she laughed as she leaned out and read the legend, 'We demand VOTES FOR WOMEN' inscribed in black letters on the whiteground of two pieces of sheeting stretched each between a pair ofupright poles, standing one on either side of the plinth of Nelson'scolumn. In the very middle, and similarly supported, was a banner ofblood red. Upon this one, in great white letters, appeared the legend--

 'EFFINGHAM, THE ENEMY OF WOMEN AND THE WORKERS. '

As Vida read it out--

'_What!_' ejaculated her sister. 'They haven't really got that on abanner!' And so intrigued was she that, like some shy creature dwellingin a shell, cautiously she protruded her head out of the shiny, blacksheath of the hansom. 

But as she did so she met the innocent eye of a passer-by, tired ofcraning his neck to look back at the meeting. With precipitation Mrs. Fox-Moore withdrew into the innermost recesses of the black shell. 

'Come, Janet, ' said Vida, who had meanwhile jumped out and settled thefare. 

'Did that man know us?' asked the other, lifting up the flap from theback window of the hansom and peering out. 

'No, I don't think so. '

'He stared, Vida. He certainly stared very hard. '

Still she hesitated, clinging to the friendly shelter of the hansom. 

'Oh, come on! He only stared because---- He took you for a Suffragette!'But the indiscretion lit so angry a light in the lady's eye, that Vidawas fain to add, 'No, no, do come--and I'll tell you what he was reallylooking at. '

'What?' said Mrs. Fox-Moore, putting out her head again. 

'He was struck, ' said Vida, biting her lip to repress smiles, 'by thehat of the Woman of the People. '

But the lady was too entirely satisfied with her hat to mind Vida'spoking fun at it. 

'"Effingham, the Enemy!"' Mrs. Fox-Moore read for herself as theyapproached the flaunting red banner. 'How perfectly outrageous!'

'How perfectly _silly_!' amended the other, 'when one thinks of thatkind and charming Pillar of Excellence!'

'I told you they were mad as well as bad. '

'I know; and now we're going to watch them prove it. Come on. '

'Why, they've stopped the fountains!' Mrs. Fox-Moore spoke as thoughdetecting an additional proof of turpitude. 'Those two policemen, ' shewent on, in a whisper, 'why are they looking at _us_ like that?'

Vida glanced at the men. Their eyes were certainly fixed on the twoladies in a curious, direct fashion, not exactly impudent, but still ina way no policeman had ever looked at either of them before. A coollywatchful, slightly contemptuous stare, interrupted by one man turning tosay something to the other, at which both grinned. Vida was conscious ofwishing that she had come in her usual clothes--above all, that Janethad not raked out that 'jumble sale' object she had perched on her head. 

The wearer of the incriminatory hat, acting upon some quite unanalyzedinstinct to range herself unmistakably on the side of law and order, paused as they were passing the two policemen and addressed them withdignity. 

'Is it safe to stop and listen for a few minutes to these people?'

The men looked at Mrs. Fox-Moore with obvious suspicion. 

'I cawn't say, ' said the one nearest. 

'Do you expect any trouble?' she demanded. 

There was a silence, and then the other policeman said with a decidedlysnubby air--

'It ain't our business to go _lookin'_ fur trouble;' and he turned hiseyes away. 

'Of course not, ' said Vida, pleasantly, coming to her sister's rescue. 'All this lady wants to be assured of is that there are enough of youpresent to make it safe----'

'If ladies wants to be safe, ' said number one, 'they'd better stop intheir 'omes. '

'That's the first rude policeman I ever----' began Mrs. Fox-Moore, asthey went on. 

'Well, you know he's only echoing what we all say. '

Vida was looking over the crowd to where on the plinth of the historiccolumn the little group of women and a solitary man stood out againstthe background of the banners. Here they were--these new Furies thatpursued the agreeable men one sat by at dinner--men who, it was wellknown, devoted their lives--when they weren't dining--to the welfare ofEngland. But were these frail, rather depressed-looking women--were theyindeed the ones, outrageously daring, who broke up meetings and bashedin policemen's helmets? Nothing very daring in their aspect to-day--alittle weary and preoccupied they looked, as they stood up there in twosand threes, talking to one another in that exposed position of theirs, while from time to time about their ears like spent bullets flew thespasmodic laughter and rude comment of the crowd--strangely unconscious, those 'blatant sensation-mongers, ' of the thousand eyes and the sea ofupturned faces!

'Not _quite_ what I expected!' said Mrs. Fox-Moore, with an unmistakableaccent of disappointment. It was plainly her meaning that to a generalreprehensibleness, dulness was now superadded. 

'Perhaps these are not the ones, ' said Vida, catching at hope. 

Mrs. Fox-Moore took heart. 'Suppose we find out, ' she suggested. 

They had penetrated the fringe of a gathering composed largely of weedyyouths and wastrel old men. A few there were who looked like decentartizans, but more who bore the unmistakable aspect of the beeryout-of-work. Among the strangely few women, were two or three girls ofthe domestic servant or Strand Restaurant cashier class--wearers of thecheap lace blouse and the wax bead necklace. 

Mrs. Fox-Moore, forgetting some of her reluctance now that she was onthe spot, valiantly followed Vida as the younger woman threaded her wayamong the constantly increasing crowd. Just in front of where the twocame to a final standstill was a quiet-looking old man with a lot ofunsold Sunday papers under one arm and wearing like an apron the bill ofthe _Sunday Times_. Many of the boys and young men were smokingcigarettes. Some of the older men had pipes. Mrs. Fox-Moore commented onthe inferior taste in tobacco as shown by the lower orders. But she, too, kept her eyes glued to the figures up there on the plinth. 

'They've had to get men to hold up their banners for them, ' laughedVida, as though she saw a symbolism in the fact, further convictingthese women of folly. 

'But there's a well-dressed man--that one who isn't holding up anythingthat I can see--what on earth is _he_ doing there?'

'Perhaps he'll be upholding something later. '

'Going to speak, you mean?'

'It may be a debate. Perhaps he's going to present the other side. '

'Well, if he does, I hope he'll tell them plainly what he thinks ofthem. '

She said it quite distinctly for the benefit of the people round her. Both ladies were still obviously self-conscious, occupied with the needto look completely detached, to advertise: '_I'm_ not one of them! Neverthink it!' But it was gradually being borne in upon them that they needtake no further trouble in this connection. Nobody in the crowd noticedany one except 'those ordinary looking persons, ' as Mrs. Fox-Moorecomplainingly called them, up there on the plinth--'quite like what onesees on the tops of omnibuses!' Certainly it was an exercise inincongruity to compare these quiet, rather depressed looking people withthe vision conjured up by Lord John's 'raving lunatics, ' 'worthy of thestraight jacket, ' or Paul Filey's 'sexless monstrosities. '

'It's rather like a jest that promised very well at the beginning, onlythe teller has forgotten the point. Or else, ' Vida added, looking at theface of one of the women up there--'or else the mistake was in thinkingit a jest at all!' She turned away impatiently and devoted her attentionto such scraps of comment as she could overhear in the crowd--or such, rather, as she could understand. 

'That one--that's just come--yes, in the blue tam-o'-shanter, that's theone I was tellin' you about, ' said a red-haired man, with a cheerful andrubicund face. 

'_Looks_ like she'd be 'andy with her fists, don't she?' contributed afriend alongside. The boys in front and behind laughed appreciatively. 

But the ruddy man said, 'Fists? No. _She's_ the one wot carries thedog-whip;' and they all craned forward with redoubled interest. It issad to be obliged to admit that the two ladies did precisely the same. 

While the boys were, in addition, cat-calling and inquiring about thedog-whip--

'That must be the woman the papers have been full of, ' Mrs. Fox-Moorewhispered, staring at the new-comer with horrified eyes. 

'Yes, no doubt. ' Vida, too, scrutinized her more narrowly. 

The wearer of the 'Tam' was certainly more robust-looking than theothers, but even she had the pallor of the worker in the town. Shecarried her fine head and shoulders badly, like one who has stooped overtasks at an age when she should have been running about the fields. Shedrew her thick brows together every now and then with an effect ofdetermination that gave her well-chiselled features so dark andforbidding an aspect it was a surprise to see the grace that swept intoher face when, at something one of her comrades said, she broke into asmile. Two shabby men on Vida's left were working themselves into a finestate of moral indignation over the laxity of the police in allowingthese women to air their vanity in public. 

'Comin' here with tam-o'-shanters to tell us 'ow to do our business. '

'It's part o' wot I mean w'en I s'y old England's on the down gryde. '

'W'ich is the one in black--this end?' his companion asked, indicatinga refined-looking woman of forty or so. 'Is that Miss----?'

'Miss, ' chipped in a young man of respectable appearance just behind. '_Miss?_ Why, that's the mother o' the Gracchi, ' and there was a littleripple of laughter. 

'Hasn't she got any of her jewels along with her to-day?' said anothervoice. 

'What do they mean?' demanded Mrs. Fox-Moore. 

Vida shook her head. She herself was looking about for some one to ask. 

'Isn't it queer that you and I have lived all this time in the world andhave never yet been in a mixed crowd before in all our lives?--never _asa part of it_. '

'I think myself it's less strange we haven't done it before than thatwe're doing it now. There's the woman selling things. Let us askher----'

They had noticed before a faded-looking personage who had been goingabout on the fringe of the crowd with a file of propagandist literatureon her arm. Vida beckoned to her. She made her way with some difficultythrough the chaffing, jostling horde, saying steadily and with a kind ofcheerful doggedness--

'Leaflets! Citizenship of Women, by Lothian Scott! Labour Record! PrisonExperiences of Miss----'

'How much?' asked Miss Levering. 

'What you like, ' she answered. 

Miss Levering took her change out in information. 'Can you tell me whothe speakers are?'

'Oh, yes. ' The haggard face brightened before the task. 'That one is thefamous Miss Claxton. '

'With her face screwed up?'

'That's because the sun is in her eyes. '

'She isn't so bad-looking, ' admitted Mrs. Fox-Moore. 

'No; but just wait till she speaks!' The faded countenance of the womanwith the heavy pile of printed propaganda on her arm was so lit withenthusiasm, that it, too, was almost good-looking, in the same way asthe younger, more regular face up there, frowning at the people, or thesun, or the memory of wrongs. 

'Is Miss Claxton some relation of yours?' asked Mrs. Fox-Moore. 

'No, oh, no, I don't even know her. She hasn't been out of prison long. The man in grey--he's Mr. Henry. '

'Out of prison! And Henry's the chairman, I suppose. '

'No; the chairman is the lady in black. ' The pamphlet-seller turned awayto make change for a new customer. 

'Do you mean the mother of the Gracchi?' said Vida, at a venture, andsaw how if she herself hadn't understood the joke the lady with theliterature did. She laughed good-humouredly. 

'Yes; that's Mrs. Chisholm. '

'What!' said a decent-looking but dismal sort of shopman just behind, 'is that the mother of those dreadful young women?'

Neither of the two ladies were sufficiently posted in the nefariousgoings on of the 'dreadful' progeny quite to appreciate the bystander'ssurprise, but they gazed with renewed interest at the delicate face. 

'What can the man mean! She doesn't _look_----' Mrs. Fox-Moorehesitated. 

'No, ' Vida helped her out with a laughing whisper; 'I agree she doesn't_look_ big enough or bad enough or old enough or bold enough to be themother of young women renowned for their dreadfulness. But as soon asshe opens her mouth no doubt we'll smell the brimstone. I wish she'dbegin her raging. Why are they waiting?'

'It's only five minutes past, ' said the lady with the literature. 'Ithink they're waiting for Mr. Lothian Scott. He's ill. But he'll come!'As though the example of his fidelity to the cause nerved her to moreearnest prosecution of her own modest duty, she called out, 'Leaflets!Citizenship of Women, by Lothian Scott!'

'Wot do they give ye, ' inquired a half-tipsy tramp, 'fur 'awkin' thatrot about?'

She turned away quite unruffled. 'Citizenship of Women, one penny. '

'I hope you _do_ get paid for so disagreeable a job--forgive my sayingso, ' said Vida. 

'Paid? Oh, no!' she said cheerfully. 'I'm too hard at work all week tohelp much. And I can't speak, so I do this. Leaflets! Citizenship----'

'Is that pinched-looking creature at the end, '--Mrs. Fox-Moore detainedthe pamphlet-seller to point out a painfully thin, eager little figuresitting on the ledge of the plinth and looking down with anxious eyes atthe crowd--'is that one of them?'

'Oh, yes. I thought everybody knew _her_. That's Miss Mary O'Brian. '

She spoke the name with an accent of such protecting tenderness thatVida asked--

'And who is Miss Mary O'Brian?' But the pamphlet-seller had descried apossible customer, and was gone. 

'Mary O'Brian, ' said a blear-eyed old man, 'is the one that's just comeout o' quod. '

'Oh, thank you. ' Then to her sister Vida whispered, 'What is quod?'

But Mrs. Fox-Moore could only shake her head. Even when they heard thewords these strange fellow-citizens used, meaning often failed toaccompany sound. 

'Oh, is _that_ Mary?' A rollicking young rough, with his hat on theextreme back of his head, began to sing, 'Molly Darling. '

''Ow'd yer like the skilly?' another shouted up at the girl. 

'Skilly?' whispered Mrs. Fox-Moore. 

Vida in turn shook her head. It wasn't in the dictionary of any languageshe knew. But it seemed in some way to involve dishonour, for thechairman, who had been consulting with the man in grey, turned suddenlyand faced the crowd. Her eyes were shining with the light of battle, butwhat she said in a peculiarly pleasant voice was--

'Miss O'Brian has come here for the express purpose of telling you howshe liked it. '

'Oh, she's going to tell us all about it. 'Ow _nice_!' But they let thethin little slip of a girl alone after that. 

It was a new-comer, a few moments later who called out from the fringeof the crowd--

'I say, Mary, w'en yer get yer rights will y' be a perliceman?' Even thetall, grave guardians of the peace ranged about the monument, even theysmiled at the suggested image. 

After all, it might not be so uninteresting to listen to these peoplefor a few minutes. It wasn't often that life presented such anopportunity. It probably would never occur again. These women on theplinth must be not alone of a different world, but of a different clay, since they not only did not shrink from disgracing themselves--womenhad been capable of that before--but these didn't even mind ridicule. Which was new. 

Just then the mother of the Gracchi came to the edge of the plinth toopen the meeting. 

'Friends!' she began. The crowd hooted that proposition to start with. But the pale woman with the candid eyes went on as calmly as though shehad been received with polite applause, telling the jeering crowdseveral things they certainly had not known before, that, among othermatters, they were met there to pass a censure on the Government----

'Haw! haw!'

''Ear, 'ear!' said the deaf old newsvendor, with his free hand up to hisear. 

'And to express our sympathy with the brave women----'

The staccato cries throughout the audience dissolved into one generalhoot; but above it sounded the old newsvendor's ''Ear, 'ear!'

''E can't 'ear without 'e shouts about it. '

'Try and keep _yerself_ quiet, ' said he, with dignity. 'We ain't 'ere to'ear _you_. '

'----sympathy with the brave women, ' the steady voice went on, 'who arestill in prison. '

'Serve 'em jolly well right!'

'Give the speaker a chaunce, caun't ye?' said the newsvendor, with awithering look. 

It was plain this old gentleman was an unblushing adherent to the cause(undismayed by being apparently the only one in that vicinity), ready tocheer the chairman at every juncture, and equally ready to administercaustic reproof to her opponents. 

'Our friends who are in prison, are there simply for trying to bringbefore a member of the Government----'

'Good old Effingham. Three cheers for Effingham!'

'Oh, yes, ' said the newsvendor, 'go on! 'E needs a little cheerin', awfter the mess 'e's made o' things!'

'For trying to put before a member of the Government a statement of theinjustice----'

'_That_ ain't why they're in gaol. It's fur ringin' wot's-'is-name'sdoor-bell. '

'Kickin' up rows in the street----'

'Oh, you shut up, ' says the old champion, out of patience. 'You've 'ad'arf a pint too much. '

Everybody in the vicinity was obliged to turn and look at the youth tosee what proportion of the charge was humour and how much was fact. Theyouth resented so deeply the turn the conversation had taken that hefell back for a moment on bitter silence. 

'When you go to call on some one, ' the chairman was continuing, with thepatient air of one instructing a class in a kindergarten, 'it is thecustom to ring the bell. What do you suppose a door-bell is for? Do youthink our deputation should have tried to get in without ringing at thedoor?'

'They 'adn't no business goin' to 'is private 'ouse. '

'Oh, look 'ere, just take that extry 'arf pint outside the meetin' andcool off, will yer?'

It was the last time that particular opponent aired his views. The oldman's judicious harping on the ''arf pint' induced the ardent youth tomoderate his political transports. They were not rightly valued, itappeared. After a few more mutterings he took his 'extry 'alf pint' intosome more congenial society. But there were several others in the crowdwho had come similarly fortified, and they were everywhere the mostaudible opponents. But above argument, denial, abuse, steadily in thatupper air the clear voice kept on--

'Do you think they _wanted_ to go to his house? Haven't you heard thatthey didn't do that until they had exhausted every other means to get ahearing?'

To the shower of denial and objurgation that greeted this, she said withuplifted hand--

'Stop! Let me tell you about it. '

The action had in it so much of authority that (as it seemed, to theirown surprise) the interrupters, with mouths still open, suspendedoperations for a moment. 

'Why, this is a woman of education! What on earth is a person like thatdoing in this _galère_?' Vida asked, as if Mrs. Fox-Moore might be ableto enlighten her. 'Can't she see--even if there were anything in the"Cause, " as she calls it--what an imbecile waste of time it is talkingto these louts?'

'There's a good many voters here, ' said a tall, gloomy-lookingindividual, wearing a muffler in lieu of a collar. 'She's politicianenough to know that. '

Mrs. Fox-Moore looked through the man. 'The only reassuring thing I seein the situation, ' she said to her sister, 'is that they don't find manywomen to come and listen to their nonsense. '

'Well, they've got you and me! Awful thought! Suppose they convertedus!'

Mrs. Fox-Moore didn't even trouble to reply to such levity. What wasinteresting was the discovery that this 'chairman, ' before an audienceso unpromising, not only held her own when she was interrupted andharassed by the crowd--even more surprising she bore with the mostrecalcitrant members of it--tried to win them over, and yet when theywere rude, did not withhold reproof, and at times looked down upon themwith so fine a scorn that it seemed as if even those ruffianly young menfelt the edge of it. Certainly a curious sight--this well-bred womanstanding there in front of the soaring column, talking with gravepassion to those loafers about the 'Great Woman Question, ' and theytreating it as a Sunday afternoon street entertainment. 

The next speaker was a working woman, the significance of whoseappearance in that place and in that company was so little apprehendedby the two ladies in the crowd that they agreed in laughinglycommiserating the chairman for not having more of her own kind to backher up in her absurd contention. Though the second speaker merely boredthe two who, having no key either to her pathos or her power, sawnothing but 'low cockney effrontery' in her effort, she nevertheless hada distinct success with the crowd. Here was somebody speaking their ownlanguage--they paid her the tribute of their loudest hoots mixed withapplause. She never lost her hold on them until the appearance on theplinth of a grave, rugged, middle-aged man in a soft hat. 

'That's 'im!'

'Yes. Lothian Scott!'

Small need for the chairwoman to introduce the grey man with thenorthern burr in his speech, and the northern turn for theuncompromising in opinion. Every soul there save the two 'educated'ladies knew this was the man who had done more to make the Labour Partya political force to be reckoned with than any other creature in thethree kingdoms. Whether he was conscious of having friends in agathering largely Tory (as lower-class crowds still are), certainly hedid not spare his enemies. 

During the first few minutes of a speech full of Socialism, Mrs. Fox-Moore (stirred to unheard-of expressiveness) kept up a low, runningcomment--

'Oh, of _course_! He says that to curry favour with the mob--a rankdemagogue, this man! Such pandering to the populace!' Then, turningsharply to her companion, '_He wants votes!_' she said, as thoughdetecting in him a taste unknown among the men in her purer circle. 'Oh, no doubt he makes a very good thing out of it! Going about filling thepeople's heads with revolutionary ideas! Monstrous wickedness, _I_ callit, stirring up class against class! I begin to wonder what the policeare thinking about. ' She looked round uneasily. 

The excitement had certainly increased as the little grey politiciandenounced the witlessness of the working-class, and when they howled athim, went on to expound a trenchant doctrine of universalResponsibility, which preceded the universal Suffrage that was to come. Much of what he said was drowned in uproar. It had become clear that hisopinions revolted the majority of his hearers even more than they didthe two ladies. So outraged were the sensibilities of the hooligan andthe half-drunk that they drowned as much of the speech as they were ablein cat-calls and jeers. But enough still penetrated to ears polite notonly to horrify, but to astonish them--such force has the spoken wordabove even its exaggeration in cold print. 

The ladies had read--sparingly, it is true--that these things were said, but to _hear_ them!

'He doesn't, after all, seem to be saying what the mob wants to hear, 'said the younger woman. 

'No; mercifully the heart of the country is still sound!'

But for one of these two out of the orderlier world, the opposition thatthe 'rank demagogue' roused in the mob was to light a lamp whereby sheread wondering the signs of an unsuspected bond between Janet Fox-Mooreand the reeking throng. 

When, contrary to the old-established custom of the demagogue, thelittle politician in homespun had confided to the men in front of himwhat he thought of them, he told them that the Woman's Movement whichthey held themselves so clever for ridiculing, was in much the sameposition to-day as the Extension of Suffrage for men was in '67. Had itnot been for demonstrations (beside which the action that had lodged thewomen in gaol was innocent child's play), neither he, the speaker, norany of the men in front of him would have the right to vote to-day. 

'You ridicule and denounce these women for trying peacefully--yes, I say_peacefully_--to get their rights as citizens. Do you know what ourfathers did to get ours? They broke down Hyde Park railings, they burntthe Bristol Municipal Buildings, they led riots, and they shed blood. These women have hurt nobody. '

'What about the policeman?'

He went on steadily, comparing the moderation of the women with thered-hot violence of their Chartist forbears--till one half-drunkenlistener, having lost the thread, hiccuped out--

'Can't do nothin'--them women. Even after we've showed 'em _'ow_!'

'Has he got his history right?' Vida asked through her smiling at thelast sally. 'Not that it applies, of course, ' she was in haste to add. 

'Oh, what does it matter?' Her sister waved it aside. 'An unscrupulouspolitician hasn't come here to bother about little things like facts. '

'I don't think I altogether agree with you _there_. That man may be afanatic, but he's honest, I should say. Those Scotch peasants, youknow----'

'Oh, because he's rude, and talks with a burr, you think he's a sort ofpolitical Thomas Carlyle?'

Though Vida smiled at the charge, something in her alert air as shefollowed the brief recapitulation of the Chartist story showed how anappeal to justice, or even to pity, may fail, where the rousing of somedim sense of historical significance (which is more than two-thirdsfear), may arrest and even stir to unsuspected deeps. The graveScotsman's striking that chord even in a mind as innocent as Vida's, ofaccurate or ordered knowledge of the past, even here the chord couldvibrate to a strange new sense of possible significance in this scene'----after all. ' It would be queer, it would be horrible, it wasfortunately incredible, but what if, 'after all, ' she were ignorantlyassisting at a scene that was to play its part in the greatestrevolution the world had seen? Some such mental playing withpossibilities seemed to lurk behind the intent reflective face. 

'There are far too many voters already, ' her sister had flung out. 

'Yes--yes, a much uglier world they want to make!'

But in the power to make history--if these people indeed had that, thenindeed might they be worth watching--even if it were only after one goodlook to hide the eyes in dismay. That possibility of historicsignificance had suddenly lifted the sordid exhibition to a differentplane. 

As the man, amid howls, ended his almost indistinguishable peroration, the unmoved chairman stepped forward again to try to win back for thenext speaker that modicum of quiet attention which he, at all events, had the art of gaining and of keeping. As she came forward this time oneof her auditors looked at the Woman Leader in the Crusade with neweyes--not with sympathy, rather with a vague alarm. Vida Levering's airof almost strained attention was an unconscious public confession: 'Ihaven't understood these strange women; I haven't understood the spiritof the mob that hoots the man we know vaguely for their champion; Ihaven't understood the allusions nor the argot that they talk; I can'tcheck the history that peasant has appealed to. In the midst of so muchthat is obscure, it is meet to reserve judgment. ' Something of thatmight have been read in the look lifted once or twice as though inwonderment, above the haggard group up there between the guardian lions, beyond even the last reach of the tall monument, to the cloudless sky ofJune. Was the great shaft itself playing a part in the impression? Wasit there not at all for memory of some battle long ago, but just to markon the fair bright page of afternoon a huge surprise? What lesser accentthan just this Titanic exclamation point could fitly punctuate therecord of so strange a portent!--women confronting the populace of themightiest city in the world--pleading in her most public place theirright to a voice in her affairs. 

In the face of this unexpected mood of receptivity, however unwilling, came a sharp corrective in the person of the next speaker. 

'Oh, it's not going to be one that's been to prison!'

'Oh, dear! It's the one with the wild black hair and the awful "picturehat"!' But they stared for a few moments as if, in despite ofthemselves, fascinated by this lady be-feathered, be-crimped, andbe-ringed, wearing her huge hat cocked over one ear with a defiantcoquetry above a would-be conquering smile. The unerring wits in thecrowd had already picked her out for special attention, but her active'public form' was even more torturing to the fastidious feminine sensethan her 'stylish' appearance. For her language, flowery andgrandiloquent, was excruciatingly genteel, one moment conveyed by mincedwords through a pursed mouth, and the next carried away on a turgid tideof rhetoric--the swimmer in this sea of sentiment flinging outbraceleted arms, and bawling appeals to the '_Wim--men--nof--Vinglund!_'The crowd howled with derisive joy. 

All the same, when they saw she had staying power, and a kind ofTranspontine sense of drama in her, the populace mocked less andapplauded more. Why not? She was very much like an overblown Adelphiheroine, and they could see her act for nothing. But every time sheapostrophized the '_Wim--men--nof--Vinglund!_' two of those same gaveway to overcharged feelings. 

'Oh, my dear, I can't stand this! I'm going home!'

'Yes, yes. Let's get away from this terrible female. I suppose they keepback the best speakers for the last. '

The two ladies turned, and began to edge their way out of the tightlypacked mass of humanity. 

'It's rather a pity, too, ' said Mrs. Fox-Moore, looking back, 'for thisis the only chance we'll ever have. I did want to hear what the skillywas. '

'Yes, and about the dog-whip. '

'Skilly! Sounds as if it might be what she hit the policeman with. ' Mrs. Fox-Moore was again pausing to look back. 'That gyrating female is morewhat I expected them _all_ to be. '

'Yes; but just listen to that. '

'To what?'

'Why, the way they're applauding her. '

'Yes, they positively revel in the creature!'

It was a long, tiresome business this worming their way out. They pausedagain and again two or three times, looking back at the scene with arecurrent curiosity, and each time repelled by the platform graces ofthe lady who was so obviously enjoying herself to the top of her bent. Yet even after the fleeing twain arrived on the fringe of the greatlyaugmented crowd, something even then prevented their instantly makingthe most of their escape. They stood criticizing and denouncing. 

Again Mrs. Fox-Moore said it was a pity, since they were there, thatthey should have to go without hearing one of those who had been inprison, 'For we'll never have another chance. '

'Perhaps, ' said her sister, looking back at the gesticulatingfigure--'perhaps we're being a little unreasonable. We were annoyed atfirst because they weren't what we expected, and when we get what wecame to see, we run away. '

While still they lingered, with a final fling of arms and toss ofplumes, the champion of the women of England sat down in the midst ofapplause. 

'You hear? It's all very well. Most of them simply loved it. '

And now the chairman, in a strikingly different style, was preparing theway for the next speaker, at mention of whom the crowd seemed to feelthey'd been neglecting their prerogative of hissing. 

'What name did she say? Why do they make that noise?'

The two ladies began to worm their way back; but this was a differentmatter from coming out. 

'Wot yer doin'?' some one inquired sternly of Mrs. Fox-Moore. 

Another turned sharply, 'Look out! Oo yer pushin', old girl?'

The horrid low creatures seemed to have no sense of deference. And thestuff they smoked!

'Pah!' observed Mrs. Fox-Moore, getting the full benefit of a noxiouspuff. '_Pah!_'

'_Wot!_' said the smoker, turning angrily. 'Pah to you, miss!' He eyedMrs. Fox-Moore from head to foot with a withering scorn. 'Comin' 'ereawskin' us fur votes' (Vida nearly fainted), 'and ain't able to stand alittle tobacco. '

'Stand in front, Janet, ' said Miss Levering, hastily recovering herself. '_I_ don't mind smoke, ' she said mendaciously, trying to appease thedefiler of the air with a little smile. Indeed, the idea of Mrs. Fox-Moore having come to 'awsk' this person for a vote was sufficientlyquaint. 

'This is the sort of thing they mean, I suppose, ' said that lady, 'whenthey talk about cockney humour. It doesn't appeal to me. '

Vida bit her lip. Her own taste was less pure. 'We needn't try to getany nearer, ' she said hastily. 'This chairman-person can make herselfheard without screeching. '

But having lost the key during the passage over the pipe, they couldonly make out that she was justifying some one to the mob, some one whoapparently was coming in for too much sharp criticism for the chairmanto fling her to the wolves without first diverting them a little. Thebattle of words that ensued was almost entirely unintelligible to thetwo ladies, but they gathered, through means more expressive thanspeech, that the chairman was dealing with some sort of crisis in thetemper of the meeting, brought about by the mention of a name. 

The only thing clear was that she was neither going to give in, norgoing to turn over the meeting in a state of ferment to some lesspractised hand. 

'Yes, she did! She had a perfect right, ' the chairman maintained againsta storm of noes--'more than a right, _a duty_, to perform in going withthat deputation on public business to the house of a public servant, since, unlike the late Prime Minister, he had refused to women allopportunity to treat with him through the usual channels always open tocitizens having a political grievance. '

'Citizens? Suffragettes!'

'Very well. ' She set her mouth. 'Suffragettes if you like. To get anabuse listened to is the first thing; to get it understood is the next. Rather than not have our cause stand out clear and unmistakable before apreoccupied, careless world, we accept the clumsy label; we wear itproudly. And it won't be the first time in history that a name given inderision has become a badge of honour!'

Why, the woman's eyes were suffused!--a flush had mounted up to herhair!

How she cared!

'Yer ain't told us the reason ye _want_ the vote. '

'Reason? Why, she's a woman!'

'Haw! haw!'

The speaker had never paused an instant, but--it began to be clear thatshe heard any interruption it suited her to hear. 

'Some one asking, at this time of day, why women want the vote? Why, forexactly the same reason that you men do. Because, not having any voicein public affairs, our interests are neglected; and since woman'sinterests are man's, all humanity suffers. We want the vote, becausetaxation without representation is tyranny; because the laws as theystand bear hardly on women; and because those unfair, man-made laws willnever be altered till women have a share in electing the men who controllegislation. '

'Yer ought ter leave politics to us----'

'We can't leave politics to the men, because politics have come into thehome, and if the higher interests of the home are to be served, womenmust come into politics. '

'That's a bad argument!'

'Wot I always say is----'

'Can't change nature. Nature says----'

'Let 'er st'y at 'ome and mind 'er business!'

The interjections seemed to come all at once. The woman bent over thecrowd. Nothing misty in her eyes now--rather a keener light than before. 

'Don't you see, ' she appealed to them as equals--'don't you see that inyour improvement of the world you men have taken women's business out ofher home? In the old days there was work and responsibility enough forwoman without going outside her own gate. The women were the bakers andbrewers, the soap and candle-makers, the loom-workers of the world. Youmen, ' she said, delicately flattering them, '_you_ have changed allthat. You have built great factories and warehouses and mills. But howdo you keep them going? By calling women to come in their thousands andhelp you. But women love their homes. You couldn't have got these womenout of their homes without the goad of poverty. You men can't alwaysearn enough to keep the poor little home going, so the women work in theshops, they swarm at the mill gates, and the factories are full. '

'True! True, every blessed word!' said the old newsvendor. 

'Hush!' she said. 'Don't interrupt. In taking women's business out ofthe home you haven't freed her from the need to see after the business. The need is greater than ever it was. Why, eighty-two per cent of thewomen of this country are wage-earning women! Yet, you go on foolishlyechoing: Woman's place is at home. '

'True! True!' said the aged champion, unabashed. 

'Then there are those men, philanthropists, statesmen, who believe theyare safeguarding the interests of women by making laws restricting theirwork, and so restricting their resources without ever consulting thesewomen. If they consulted these women, they would hear truths that wouldopen their blind eyes. But no, the woman isn't worthy of beingconsulted. She is worthy to do the highest work given to humanity, tobear and to bring up children; she is worthy to teach and to train them;she is worthy to pay the taxes that she has no voice in levying. If shebreaks the law that she has no share in making, she is worth hanging, but she is not worth consulting about her own affairs--affairs ofsupremest importance to her very existence--affairs that no man, howevergreat and good, can understand so well as she. She will never getjustice until she gets the vote. Even the well-to-do middle-classwoman----'

'Wot are _you_?'

'And even the woman of what are called the upper classes--even she mustwince at the times when men throw off the mask and let her see how intheir hearts they despise her. A few weeks ago Mr. Lothian Scott----'

'Boo! Boo!'

'Hooray!'

''ray for Lothian Scott!'

In the midst of isolated cheers and a volume of booing, she went on--

'When he brought a resolution before the House of Commons to remove thesex disqualification, what happened?'

'Y' kicked up a row!'

'Lot o' yer got jugged!'

'The same thing happened that has been happening for half a centuryevery time the question comes up in that English Parliament thatEnglishmen are supposed to think of with such respect as a place ofdignity. What _happened_?' She leaned forward and her eyes shone. 'Whathappened in that sacred place, that Ark where they safeguard the honourof England? What happened to _our_ honour, that these men dare tell usis so safe in their hands? Our cause was dragged through filth. The veryname "woman" was used as a signal for jests and ribald laughter, and forsuch an exhibition of sex rancour and mistrust that it passedimagination to think what the mothers and wives of the members mustthink of the public confession of the deep disrespect their menfolk feelfor them. Some one here spoke of "a row. "' She threw back her head, andfaced the issue as though she knew that by bringing it forward herself, she could turn the taunt against the next speaker into a title ofrespect. 'You blame us for making a scene in that holy place! You wouldhave us imitate those other women--the well-behaved--the women who thinkmore of manners than of morals. There they were--for an example tous--that night of the debate, that night of the "row"--there they sat asthey have always done, like meek mute slaves up there in their littlegilded pen, ready to listen to any insult, ready to smile on the menafterward. In only one way, but it was an important exception, in justone way that debate on Woman Suffrage differed from any other that hadever taken place in the House of Commons. '

A voice in the crowd was raised, but before the jeer was out Mrs. Chisholm had flung down her last ringing sentences. 

'There were _others_ up there in the little pen that night!--women, too--but women with enough decency to be revolted, and with enoughcharacter to resent such treatment as the members down there on thefloor of the House were giving to our measure. Though the women whoought to have felt it most sat there cowed and silent, I am proud tothink there were other women who cried out, "_Shame!_" Yes, yes, ' sheinterrupted the interrupters, 'those women were dragged away to prison, and all the world was aghast. But I tell you that cry was the beginningof a new chapter in human history. It began with "Shame!" but it willend with "Honour. "'

The old newsvendor led the applause. 

'Janet! That woman never spat in a policeman's face. '

'Pull down your veil, ' was the lady's sharp response. 'Quick----'

'My----'

'Yes, pull it down, and don't turn round. '

A little dazed by the red-hot torrent the woman on the plinth was stillpouring down on the people, Vida's mind at the word 'veil, ' soperemptorily uttered, reverted by some trick of association to theOriental significance of that mark in dress distinctively the woman's. 

'Why should I pull down my veil?' she answered abstractedly. 

'They're looking this way. Don't turn round. Come, come. '

With a surprising alacrity and skill Mrs. Fox-Moore made her way out ofthe throng. Vida, following, yet looking back, heard--

'Now, I want you men to give a fair hearing to a woman who----'

'Vida, _don't_ look! Mercifully, they're too much amused to notice us. '

Disobeying the mandate, the younger woman's eyes fell at last upon thefigures of two young men hovering on the outer circle. The sun caughttheir tall, glossy hats, played upon the single flower in the frockcoat, struck on the eyeglass, and gleamed mockingly on the white teethof the one who smiled the broadest as they both stood, craning theirnecks, whispering and laughing, on the fringe of the crowd. 

'Why, it's Dick Farnborough--and that friend of his from the AustrianEmbassy. '

Vida pulled down her veil. 

CHAPTER VIII

Devoutly thankful at having escaped from her compromising positionunrecognized, Mrs. Fox-Moore firmly declined to go 'awskin' fur thevote' again! When Vida gave up her laughing remonstrance, Mrs. Fox-Moorethought her sister had also given up the idea. But as Vida afterwardsconfessed, she told herself that she would go 'just once more. ' It couldnot be but what she was under some illusion about that queer spectacle. From one impression each admitted it was difficult to shake herselffree. Whatever those women were or were not, they weren't fools. Whatdid the leaders (in prison and out), what did they think they wereaccomplishing, besides making themselves hideously uncomfortable? TheEnglish Parliament, having flung them out, had gone on with its routine, precisely as though nothing had happened. _Had_ anything happened? Thatwas the question. The papers couldn't answer. They were given over tolies. The bare idea of women pretending to concern themselves withpublic affairs--from the point of view of the Press, it was enough tomake the soberest sides shake with Homeric laughter. 

So, then, one last time to see for one's self. And on this occasion nopettiness of disguise, Miss Levering's aspect seemed to say--norecurrence of any undignified flight. She had been frightened away fromher first meeting, but she would not be frightened from the second, which was also to be the last. 

An instinct unanalyzed, but significant of what was to follow, kept herfrom seeking companionship outside. Had Wark not gone over to themarket-gardener, her former mistress would have had no misgiving abouttaking the woman into her confidence. But Wark, with lightning rapidity, had become Mrs. Anderson Slynes, and was beyond recall. So the new maidwas told the following Sunday, that she might walk with her mistressacross Hyde Park (where the papers said the meetings in future were tobe), carrying some music which had to be returned to the Tunbridges. 

Pursuing this programme, what more natural than that those two chancepedestrians should be arrested by an apparition on their way, of aflaming banner bearing, along with a demand for the vote, an outrageouscharge against a distinguished public servant--'a pity the misguidedcreatures didn't know him, just a little!'

Yes. There it was! a rectangle of red screaming across the vivid greenof the park not a hundred yards from the Marble Arch, the denunciatorybanner stretched above the side of an uncovered van. A little crowd ofperhaps a hundred collected on one side of the cart--the loafers on theoutermost fringe, lying on the grass. Never a sign of a Suffragette, andnearly three o'clock! Impossible for any passer-by to carry out theprogramme of pausing to ask idly, 'What are those women screechingabout?'

Seeming to search in vain for some excuse to linger, Miss Levering'swandering eye fell upon a young mother wheeling a perambulator. She hadglanced with mild curiosity at the flaunting ensign, and then turnedfrom it to lean forward and straighten her baby's cap. 

'I wonder what _she_ thinks of the Woman Question, ' Miss Leveringobserved, in a careless aside to her maid. 

Before Gorringe could reply: 'Doddy's a bootiful angel, isn't Doddy?'said the young mother, with subdued rapture. 

'Ah, she's found the solution, ' said the lady, looking back. 

Other pedestrians glanced at the little crowd about the cart, readdemand and denunciation on the banner, laughed, and they, too, for themost part, went on. 

An Eton boy, who looked as if he might be her grandson, came by with awhite-haired lady of distinguished aspect, who held up her voluminoussilken skirts and stared silently at the legend. 

'Do you see what it says?' the Eton boy laughed as he looked back. '"_Wedemand the vote. _" Fancy! They "demand" it. What awful cheek!' and helaughed again at the fatuity of the female creature. 

Vida glanced at the dignified old dame as though with an uneasy newsense of the incongruity in the attitude of those two quite commonplace, everyday members of a world that was her world, and that yet could for amoment look quite strange. 

She turned and glanced back at the ridiculous cart as if summoning theinvisible presence of Mrs. Chisholm to moderate the insolence of thebudding male. Still there was no sign either of Mrs. Chisholm or any ofher fellow-conspirators against the old order of the world. MissLevering stood a moment hesitating. 

'I believe I'm a little tired, ' she said to the discreet maid. 'We'llrest here a moment, ' and she sat down with her back to the crowd. 

A woman, apparently of the small shopkeeping class, was alreadyestablished at one end of the only bench anywhere near the cart. Herchild who was playing about, was neatly dressed, and to Vida's surprisewore sandals on her stockingless feet. This fashion for children, whichhad been growing for years among the upper classes, had found littleimitation among tradesmen or working people. They presumably were stilltoo near the difficulty of keeping their children in shoes andstockings, to be able to see anything but a confession of failure ingoing without. In the same way, the 'Simple Life, ' when led by the rich, wears to the poverty-struck an aspect of masked meanness--a matter farless tolerable in the eyes of the pauper than the traditional splendourof extravagance in the upper class, an extravagance that feeds more thanthe famished stomach with the crumbs that it lets fall. 

As Miss Levering sat watching the child, and wondering a little at thesandals, the woman caught her eye. 

'Could you please tell me the time?' she asked. 

Miss Levering took out her watch, and then spoke of the wisdom of thatplan of sandals. 

The woman answered with such self-possession and good sense, that thelady sent a half-amused glance over her shoulder as if relishing inadvance the sturdy disapproval of this highly respectable young motherwhen she should come to realize how near she and the precious daughterwere to the rostrum of the Shrieking Sisterhood. It might be worthprolonging the discussion upon health and education for the amusementthere would be in seeing what form condemnation of the Suffragettes tookamong people of this kind. By turning her head to one side, out of thetail of her eye the lady could see that an excitement of some sort wasagitating the crowd. The voices rose more shrill. People craned andpushed. A derisive cheer went up as a woman appeared on the cart. Thewearer of the tam-o'-shanter! Three others followed--all women. MissLevering saw without seeming to look, still listening while thepractical-minded mother talked on about her child, and what 'was goodfor it. ' All life had resolved itself into pursuit of that. 

An air of semi-abstraction came over the lady. It was as if in thepresence of this excellent bourgeoise she felt an absurd constraint inshowing an interest in the proceedings of these unsexed creatures behindthem. 

To her obvious astonishment the mother of the child was the first tojump up. 

'Now they're going to begin!' she said briskly. 

'Who?' asked Miss Levering. 

'Why, the Suffrage people. '

'Oh! Are _you_ going to listen to them?'

'Yes; that's what I've come all this way for. ' And she and herbare-legged offspring melted into the growing crowd. 

Vida turned to the maid and met her superior smile. 'That woman says shehas come a long way to hear these people advocating Woman's Suffrage, 'and slowly with an air of complete detachment she approached the edge ofthe crowd, followed by the supercilious maid. They were quickly hemmedin by people who seemed to spring up out of the ground. It was curiousto look back over the vivid green expanse and see the dotted humanityrunning like ants from all directions to listen to this handful of dowdywomen in a cart!

In finding her way through the crowd it would appear that the lady wasnot much sustained by the presence of a servant, however well-meaning. Much out of place in such a gathering as Mrs. Fox-Moore or anyultra-oldfashioned woman was, still more incongruous showed there therelation of mistress and maid. The punctilious Gorringe was plainlyhorrified at the proximity to her mistress of these canaille, and themistress was not so absorbed it would seem but what she felt the affrontto seemliness in a servant's seeing her pushed and shoved aside--treatedwith slight regard or none. Necessary either to leave the scene withlofty disapproval, or else make light of the discomfort. 

'It doesn't matter!' she assured the girl, who was trying to protect hermistress's dainty wrap from contact with a grimy tramp. And, again, whenhalf a dozen boys forced their way past, 'It's all right!' she nodded tothe maid, 'it's no worse than the crowd at Charing Cross coming overfrom Paris. '

But it was much worse, and Gorringe knew it. 'The old man is standing onyour gown, miss. '

'Oh, would you mind----' Miss Levering politely suggested another placefor his feet. 

But the old man had no mind left for a mere bystander--it was allabsorbed in Suffragettes. 

''is feet are filthy muddy, 'm, ' whispered Gorringe. 

It may have been in part the maid's genteel horror of such proximitiesthat steeled Miss Levering to endure them. Under circumstances likethese the observant are reminded that no section of the modern communityis so scornfully aristocratic as our servants. Their horror of themeanly-apparelled and the humble is beyond the scorn of kings. The finelady shares her shrinking with those inveterate enemies of democracy, the lackey who shuts the door in the shabby stranger's face, and the dogwho barks a beggar from the gate. 

And so while the maid drew her own skirts aside and held her nose highin the air, the gentlewoman stood faintly smiling at the queer scene. 

Alas! no Mrs. Chisholm. It looked as if they must have been hard up forspeakers to-day, for two of them were younger even than Miss Claxton ofthe tam-o'-shanter. One of them couldn't be more than nineteen. 

'How dreadful to put such very young girls up there to be stared at byall these louts!'

'Oh, yes, 'm, quite 'orrid, ' agreed the maid, but with the air of 'Whatcan you expect of persons so low?'

'However, the young girls seem to have as much self-possession as theolder ones!' pursued Miss Levering, as she looked in vain for any signof flinching from the sallies of cockney impudence directed at theoccupants of the cart. 

They exhibited, too, what was perhaps even stranger--an utter absence ofany flaunting of courage or the smallest show of defiance. What was thisarmour that looked like mere indifference? It couldn't be that thosequiet-looking young girls _were_ indifferent to the ordeal of standingup there before a crowd of jeering rowdies whose less objectionableutterances were: 'Where did you get that 'at?' 'The one in green is mygirl!' 'Got yer dog-whip, miss?' and such-like utterances. 

The person thus pointedly alluded to left her companions ranged alongthe side of the cart against the background of banner, while she, thefamous Miss Claxton, took the meeting in charge. She wasted no time, this lady. Her opening remarks, which, in the face of a fire ofinterruption, took the form of an attack upon the Government, showed heran alert, competent, cut-and-thrust, imperturbably self-possessedpolitician, who knew every aspect of the history of the movement, asable to answer any intelligent question off-hand as to snub an impudentirrelevance, able to take up a point and drive it well in--to shrug andsmile or frown and point her finger, all with most telling effect, andkeep the majority of her audience with her every minute of the time. 

As a mere exhibition of nerve it was a thing to make you open your eyes. Only a moment was she arrested by either booing or applause. When a knotof young men, who had pushed their way near the front, kept on shoutingargument and abuse, she interrupted her harangue an instant. Pointingout the ring-leader--

'Now you be quiet, if you please, ' she said. 'These people are here tolisten to _me_. '

'No, they ain't. They come to see wot you look like. '

'That can't be so, ' she said calmly, 'because after they've seen us theystay. ' Then, as the interrupter began again, 'No, it's no use, myman'--she shook her head gently as if almost sorry for him--'you can'ttalk _me_ down!'

'Now, ain't that just _like_ a woman!' he complained to the crowd. 

Just in front of where Miss Levering and her satellite first came to astandstill, was a cheerful, big, sandy man with long flowingmoustachios, a polo cap, and a very dirty collar. At intervals heinquired of the men around him, in a great jovial voice, 'Are wedown-'earted?' as though the meeting had been called, not for thepurpose of rousing interest in the question of woman's share in the workof the world, but as though its object were to humiliate anddisfranchise the men. But his exclamation, repeated at intervals, camein as a sort of refrain to the rest of the proceedings. 

'The Conservatives, ' said the speaker, 'had never pretended theyfavoured broadening the basis of the franchise. But here were theseLiberals, for thirty years they'd been saying that the demand on thepart of women for political recognition commanded their respect, andwould have their support, and yet there were four hundred and oddmembers who had got into the House of Commons very largely through theefforts of women--oh, yes, we know all about that! We've been helpingthe men at elections for years. '

'What party?'

Adroitly she replied, 'We have members of every party in our ranks. '

'Are you a Conservative?'

'No, I myself am not a Conservative----'

'You work for the Labour men--I know!'

'It's child's play belonging to any party till we get the vote, ' shedismissed it. 'In future we are neither for Liberal nor Conservative norLabour. We are for Women. When we get the sex bar removed, it will betime for us to sort ourselves into parties. At present we are unitedagainst any Government that continues to ignore its duty to the women ofthe country. In the past we were so confiding that when a candidate saidhe was in favour of Woman's Suffrage (he was usually a Liberal), weworked like slaves to get that man elected, so that a voice might beraised for women's interests in the next Parliament. Again and again theman we worked for got in. But the voice that was to speak for us--thatvoice was mute. We had served his purpose in helping him to win hisseat, and we found ourselves invariably forgotten or ignored. TheConservatives have never shown the abysmal hypocrisy of the Liberals. Wecan get on with our open enemies; it's these _cowards_' ('Boo!' andgroans)--'these cowards, I say--who, in order to sneak into a place inthe House, pretend to sympathize with this reform--who use us, and thenbetray us; it's these who are women's enemies!'

'Why are you always worrying the Liberals? Why don't you ask theConservatives to give you the vote?'

'You don't go to a person for something he hasn't got unless you're afool. The Liberals are in power; the Liberals were readiest with fairpromises; and so we go to the Liberals. And we shall continue to go tothem. We shall never leave off' (boos and groans) 'till they leaveoffice. Then we'll begin on the Conservatives. ' She ended in a chorus oflaughter and cheers, 'I will now call upon Miss Cynthia Chisholm topropose the resolution. '

Wherewith the chairman gave way to the younger of the two girls. Thisone of the Gracchi--a gentle-seeming creature, carelessly dressed, graveand simple--faced the mob with evident trepidation, a few notes, towhich she never referred, in her shaking hand. What brought a girl likethat here?--was the question on the few thoughtful faces in the crowdconfronting her. She answered the query by introducing the resolution inan earnest little speech which, if it didn't show that much of thefailure and suffering that darken the face of the world is due towomen's false position, showed, at all events, that this young creatureheld a burning conviction that the subjection of her sex was the world'sRoot-Evil. With no apparent apprehension of the colossal audacity of herposition, the girl moved gravely that 'this meeting demands of theGovernment the insertion of an enfranchisement clause in the PluralVoting Bill, and demands that it shall become law during the presentsession. ' Her ignorance of Parliamentary procedure was freely pointedout to her. 

'No, ' she said, 'it is you who are ignorant--of how pressing the needis. You say it is "out of order. " If treating the women of the countryfairly is out of order, it is only because men have made a poor sort oforder. It is the _order_ that should be changed. '

Of course that dictum received its due amount of hooting. 

'The vote is the reward for defending the country, ' said a voice. 

'No, ' said the girl promptly, 'for soldiers and sailors don't vote. '

'It implies fitness for military service, ' somebody amended. 

'It _shouldn't_, ' said Nineteen, calmly; 'it ought to imply merely _astake_ in the country. No one denies we have that. '

The crowd kept on about soldiering, till the speaker was goaded intosaying--

'I don't say women like fighting, but women _can_ fight! In these dayswarfare isn't any more a matter of great physical strength, and a womancan pull a trigger as well as a man. The Boer women found that out--andso has the Russian. I don't like thinking about it myself--for I seem torealize too clearly what horrors those women endured before they couldcarry bombs or shoulder rifles. '

'Rifles? Why a woman can't never hit _nothing_. '

'It is quite true we can't most of us even throw a stone straight--thegreat mass of women never in all their lives wanted to hit anybody oranything. And that'--she came nearer, and leaned over the side of thecart with scared face--'it's that that makes it so dreadful to realizehow at last when women's eyes are opened--when they see their homes andthe holiest things in life threatened and despised, how quickly afterall _they can learn the art of war_. '

'With hatpins!' some one called out. 

'Yes, scratching and spitting, ' another added. 

That sort of interruption did not so much embarrass her, but once ortwice she was nearly thrown off her beam-ends by men and boys shouting, 'Wot's the matter with yer anyway? Can't yer get a husband?' andsuch-like brilliant relevancies. Although she flushed at some of thesesallies, she stuck to her guns with a pluck that won her friends. In oneof the pauses a choleric old man gesticulated with his umbrella. 

'If what the world needed was Woman's Suffrage, it wouldn't have beenleft for a minx like you to discover it. ' At which volleys of approval. 

'That gentleman seems to think it's a new madness that we've recentlyinvented. ' The child seemed in her loneliness to reach out forcompanioning. She spoke of 'our friend John Stuart Mill. '

'Oo's Mill?'

'That great Liberal wrote in 1867----' But Mill and she were drownedtogether. She waited a moment for the flood of derision to subside. 

''E wouldn't 'ad nothin' to do with yer if 'e'd thought you'd go on likeyou done. '

'Benjamin Disraeli was on our side. Mazzini--Charles Kingsley. As longago as 1870, a Woman's Suffrage Bill that was drafted by Dr. Pankhurstand Mr. Jacob Bright passed a second reading. '

'The best sort of women _never_ wanted it. '

'The kind of women in the past who cared to be associated with thisreform--they were women like Florence Nightingale, and HarrietMartineau, and Josephine Butler, and the two thousand other women ofinfluence who memorialized Mr. Gladstone. '

Something was called out that Vida could not hear, but that brought thepainful scarlet into the young face. 

'Shame! shame!' Some of the men were denouncing the interjection. 

After a little pause the girl found her voice. 'You make it difficultfor me to tell you what I think you ought to know. I don't believe Icould go on if I didn't see over there the Reformer's Tree. It makes methink of how much had to be borne before other changes could be broughtabout. ' She reminded the people of what had been said and suffered onthat very spot in the past, before the men standing before her had gotthe liberties they enjoyed to-day. 

'They were _men_!'

'Yes, and so perhaps it wasn't so hard for them. I don't know, and I'msure it was hard enough. When we women remember what _theysuffered_--though you think meanly of us because we can't be soldiers, you may as well know we are ready to do whatever has to be done--we areready to bear whatever has to be borne. There seem to be things harderto face than bullets, but it doesn't matter, they'll be faced. '

The lady standing with her maid in the incongruous crowd, looked roundonce or twice with eyes that seemed to say, 'How much stranger life isthan we are half the time aware, and how much stranger it bids fair tobe!' The rude platform with the scarlet backing flaming in the face ofthe glorious summer afternoon, near the very spot upon which the greatbattles for Reform had been fought out in the past, and in place ofEngland's sturdy freeman making his historic appeal for justice, andadmission to the Commons--a girl pouring out this stream of vigorousEnglish, upholding the cause her family had stood for. Her voice failedher a little towards the close, or rather it did not so much fail asbetray to any sensitive listener the degree of strain she put upon it tomake it carry above laughter and interjection. As she raised the noteshe bent over the crowd, leaning forward, with her neck outstretched, the cords in it swelling, and the heat of the sun bringing a flush and amoisture to her face, steadying her voice as the thought of the struggleto come, shook and clouded it, and calling on the people to judge ofthis matter without prejudice. It was a thing to live in the memory--thevision of that earnest child trying to fire the London louts with thegreat names of the past, and failing to see her bite her lip to keepback tears, and, bending over the rabble, find a choked voice to say--

'If your forefathers and foremothers who suffered for the freedom youyoung men enjoy--if they could come out of their graves to-day and seehow their descendants use the great privileges they won--I believe theywould go back into their graves and pull the shrouds over their eyes tohide them from your shame!'

'Hear! Hear!' 'Right you are. '

But she was done. She turned away, and found friendly hands stretchedout to draw her to a seat. 

The next speaker was an alert little woman with a provincial accent andthe briskness of a cock-sparrow, whose prettiness, combined withpertness, rather demoralized the mob. 

'Men and women, ' she began, pitching her rather thin voice several notestoo high. 

'Men and women!' some one piped in mimicry; and the crowd dissolved inlaughter. 

It was curious to note again how that occasional exaggerated shrillnessof the feminine voice when raised in the open air--how it amused themob. They imitated the falsetto with squeals of delight. Each time shebegan afresh she was met by the shrill echo of her own voice. Thecontest went on for several minutes. The spectacle of the agitatedlittle figure, bobbing and gesticulating and nothing heard but shrillsqueaks, raised a very pandemonium of merriment. It didn't mend mattersfor her to say when she did get a hearing--

'I've come all the way from----' (place indistinguishable in theconfusion) 'to talk to you this afternoon----'

''ow kind!'

'Do you reely think they could spare you?'

'And I'm going to convert every man within reach of my voice. '

Groans, and 'Hear! Hear!'

'Let's see you try!'

She talked on quite inaudibly for the most part. A phrase here and therecame out, and the rest lost. So much hilarity in the crowd attracted toit a bibulous gentleman, who kept calling out, 'Oh, the pretty dear!' tothe rapture of the bystanders. He became so elevated that the policewere obliged to remove him. When the excitement attending this passagehad calmed down, the reformer was perceived to be still piping away. 

''ow long are you goin' on like this?'

'Ain't you _never_ goin' to stop?'

'Oh, not for a long time, ' she shrilled cheerfully. 'I've got theaccumulations of _centuries_ on me, and I'm only just beginning tounload! Although we haven't got the vote--_not yet_--never mind, we'vegot our tongues!'

'Lord, don't we know it!' said a sad-faced gentleman, in a rusty topper. 

'This one's too intolerable, ' said a man to his companion. 

'Yes; she ought to be smacked. '

They melted out of the crowd. 

'We've got our tongues, and I've been going round among all the women Iknow getting them to promise to _use_ their tongues----'

'You stand up there and tell us they needed _urgin'_?'

'To use their tongues to such purpose that it won't be women, but _men_, who get up the next monster petition to Parliament asking for Woman'sSuffrage. '

She went down under a flood of jeers, and rose to the surface again tosay--

'A man's petition, praying Parliament for goodness' sake give thosewomen the vote! Yes, you'd better be seeing about that petition, myfriends, for I tell you there isn't going to be any peace till we getthe franchise. '

'Aw now, they'd give _you_ anything!'

When the jeering had died a little, and she came to the top once more, she was discovered to be shouting--

'You men 'ad just better keep an eye on us----'

'Can't take our eyes off yer!'

'We Suffragettes _never_ have a Day of Rest! Every day in the week, while you men are at work or sitting in the public-house, we arevisiting the women in their homes, explaining and stirring them up to asense of their wrongs. '

'This I should call an example of what _not_ to say!' remarked ashrewd-looking man with a grin. 

The crowd were ragging the speaker again, while she shouted--

'We are going to effect such a revolution as the world has never seen!'

'I'd like to bash her head for her!'

'We let them know that so long as women have no citizenship they areoutside the pale of the law. If we are outside the law, we can't _break_the law. It is not our fault that we're outlaws. It is you men's fault. '

'Don't say that, ' said a voice in mock agony. 'I love you so. '

'I know you can't help it, ' she retorted. 

'If we gave you the vote, what would you do with it? Put it in a pie?'

'Well, I wouldn't make the _hash_ of it you men do!' and she turned thelaugh. 'Look at you! _Look_ at you!' she said, when quiet was restored. 

The young revellers gave a rather blank snigger, as though they had allalong supposed looking at them to be an exhilarating occupation for anyyoung woman. 

'What do you do with your power? You throw it away. You submit to beingtaxed and to _our_ being taxed to the tune of a hundred and twenty-sevenmillions, that a war may be carried on in South Africa--a war that mostof you know nothing about and care nothing about--a war that some of usknew only too much about, and wanted only to see abandoned. We seeconstantly how you men either misuse the power you have or you don't useit at all. Don't appreciate it. Don't know what to do with it. Haven't anotion you ought to be turning it into good for the world. Hundreds ofmen don't care anything about political influence, except that womenshouldn't have it. '

She was getting on better till some one called out, 'You ought to getmarried. '

'I'm going to. If you don't be good you won't be asked to the wedding. '

Before the temptation of a retort she had dropped her argument andencouraged personalities. In vain she tried to recover that thread ofattention which, not her interrupter, but herself had snapped. Sheretired in the midst of uproar. 

The chairman came forward and berated the crowd for its un-Englishbehaviour in not giving a speaker a fair hearing. 

A man held up a walking-stick. 'Will you just tell me one thing, miss----'

'Not now. When the last speaker has finished there will be ten minutesfor questions. And I may say that it is a great and rare pleasure tohave any that are intelligent. Don't waste anything so precious. Justsave it up till you're asked for it. I want you now to give a fairhearing to Mrs. Bewley. '

This was a wizened creature of about fifty, in rusty black, widow of astonemason and mother of four children--'four _livin'_, ' she said withsome significance. She added her mite of testimony to that of the 96, 000organized women of the mills, that the workers in her way of liferealized how their condition and that of the children would be improved'if the women 'ad some say in things. '

'It's quite certain, ' she assured the people, 'there ought to be womenrelief-officers and matrons in the prisons. And it's very 'ard on womenthat there isn't the same cheap lodgin'-'ouse accommodation fur singlewomen as there is fur single men. It's very 'ard on poor girls. It'sworse than 'ard. But men won't never change that. We women 'as got to doit. '

'Go 'ome and get your 'usban's tea!' said a new-comer, squeezing her wayinto the tight-packed throng, a queer little woman about the same age asthe speaker, but dressed in purple silk and velvet, and wearing awonderful purple plush hat on a wig of sandy curls. She might have beena prosperous milliner from the Commercial Road, and she had a meek manalong who wore the husband's air of depressed responsibility. She wasspared the humiliating knowledge, but she was taken at first for asympathizer with the Cause. In manners she was precisely like what theSuffragette was at that time expected to be, pushing her way through thecrowd, and vociferating 'Shyme!' to all and sundry. The men who had beenpleasantly occupied in boo-ing the speaker turned and glared at her. Thehang-dog husband had an air of not observing. Some of the boys pushedand harried her, but, to their obvious surprise, they heard her advisingthe rusty widow: 'Go 'ome and get your 'usban's tea!' She varied thatadvice by repeating her favourite 'Shyme!' varied by 'Wotbeayviour!--old enough to know better. Every good wife oughter stay at'ome and darn 'er 'usban's socks and make 'im comftubble. '

After delivering which womanly sentiment she would nod her purpleplumes and smile at the men. It was the sorriest travesty of similarscenes in a politer world. To the credit of the loafers about her, theydid not greatly encourage her. She was perhaps overmature for her_rôle_. But they ceased to jostle her. They even allowed her to get infront of them. The tall, rusty woman in the cart was meanwhile telling astory of personal experience of the operation of some law which shut outfrom any share in the benefits of the new Act which regulates thefeeding of school children, the very people most in need of it. For itappeared that orphans and the children of widows were excluded. The Billprovided only for children living under their father's roof. If the roofwas kept over them by the shackled hands of the mother, according to thespeaker, they might go hungry. 

'No, no, ' Miss Levering shook her head, explaining to her maid. 'I don'tdoubt the poor soul has had some difficulty, some hard experience, butshe can't be quoting the law correctly. '

Nevertheless, in the halting words of the woman who had suffered, ifonly from misapprehension upon so grave a point, there was a rudeeloquence that overbore the lady's incredulity. The crowd hissed suchgross unfairness. 

'If women 'ad 'ave made the laws, do you think we'd 'ave 'ad one likethat disgracin' the statue-book? No! And in all sorts o' ways it lookslike the law seems to think a child's got only one parent. I'd like totell them gentlemen that makes the laws that (it may be different intheir world, I only speak for my little corner of it)--but in 'Ackney itlooks like when a child's got only one parent, that one is the mother. '

'Sy, let up, old gal! there's some o' them young ones ain't 'ad a showyet. '

'About time you had a rest, mother!'

'If the mother dies, ' she was saying, 'wot 'appens?'

'Let's 'ope she goes to heaven. '

'Wot 'appens to the pore little 'ome w'en the mother dies? Why, the porelittle home is sold up, and the children's scattered among relations, orsent out so young to work it makes yer 'art ache. But if a man dies--yousee it on every side, _in 'Ackney_--the widow takes in sewin', or goesout charin', or does other people's washin' as well as 'er own, or shemykes boxes--_something_ er ruther, any'ow, that makes it possible fur'er to keep 'er 'ome together. You don't see the mother scatterin' thelittle family w'en the only parent the law seems to reconize is dead andgone. I say----'

'You've a been sayin' it for a good while. You must be needin' a cup o'tea yerself. '

'In India I'm told they burn the widows. In England they do worse thanthat. They keep them _half_ alive. '

The crowd rose to that, with the pinched proof before their eyes. 

'Just enough alive to suffer through their children. And so the workin'women round about where I live--that's 'Ackney--they say if we ain't'eathins in this country let's give up 'eathin ways. Let the mothers o'this country 'ave their 'ands untied. We're willin' to work for ourchildren, but it breaks our 'earts to work without tools. The tool we'reneedin' is the tool that mends the laws. I 'ave pleasure in secondin'the resolution. '

With nervously twitching lips the woman sat down. They cheered herlustily--a little out of sympathy, a good deal from relief that she hadfinished, and a very different sort of person was being introduced bythe chairman. 

CHAPTER IX

'I will now call upon the last speaker. Yes, I will answer any generalquestions _after_ Miss Ernestine Blunt has spoken. '

'Oh, I sy!'

''Ere's Miss Blunt. '

'Not that little one?'

'Yes. This is the one I was tellin' you about. '

People pushed and craned their necks, the crowd swayed as the other oneof the two youngest 'Suffragettes' came forward. She had been sittingvery quietly in her corner of the cart, looking the least concernedperson in Hyde Park. Almost dull the round rather pouting face with thevivid scarlet lips; almost sleepy the heavy-lidded eyes. But when shehad taken the speaker's post above the crowd, the onlooker wondered whyhe had not noticed her before. 

It seemed probable that all save those quite new to the scene had beenkeeping an eye on this person, who, despite her childish look, wasplainly no new recruit. Her self-possession demonstrated that asabundantly as the reception she got--the vigorous hoots and hoorays inthe midst of clapping and cries--

'Does your mother know you're out?'

'Go 'ome and darn your stockens. '

'Hurrah!'

'You're a disgryce!'

'I bet on little Blunt!'

'Boo!'

Even in that portion of the crowd that did not relieve its feelings byeither talking or shouting, there was observable the indefinablesomething that says, 'Now the real fun's going to begin. ' You see thesame sort of manifestation in the playhouse when the favourite comedianmakes his entrance. He may have come on quite soberly only to say, 'Teais ready, ' but the grin on the face of the public is as ready as thetea. The people sit forward on the edge of their seats, and the wholeatmosphere of the theatre undergoes some subtle change. So it was here. 

And yet in this young woman was the most complete lack of any dependenceupon 'wiles' that platform ever saw. Her little off-hand manner seemedto say, 'Don't expect me to encourage you in any nonsense, and, aboveall, don't dare to presume upon my youth. '

She began by calling on the Government to save the need of furtherdemonstration by giving the women of the country some speedy measure ofjustice. 'They'll have to give it to us in the end. They might just aswell do it gracefully and at once as do it grudgingly and after more"scenes. "' Whereupon loud booing testified to the audience's horror ofanything approaching unruly behaviour. 'Oh, yes, you are scandalized atthe trouble we make. But--I'll tell you a secret'--she paused andcollected every eye and ear--'_we've only just begun_! You'd be simply_staggered_ if you knew what the Government still has to expect from us, if they don't give us what we're asking for. '

'Oh, ain't she just _awful_!' sniggered a girl with dyed hair andgorgeous jewelry. 

The men laughed and shook their heads. She just was! They crowdednearer. 

'You'd better take care! There's a policeman with 'is eye on you. '

'It's on you, my friends, he's got his eye. You saw a little while agohow they had to take away somebody for disturbing our meeting. It wasn'ta woman. '

'Hear, hear!'

'The police are our friends, when the Government allows them to be. Theother day when there was that scene in the House, one of the policemenwho was sent up to clear the gallery said he wished the members wouldcome and do their own dirty work. They hate molesting us. We don't blamethe police. We put the blame where it belongs--on the LiberalGovernment. '

'Pore old Gov'mint--gettin' it 'ot. '

'Hooray fur the Gov'mint!'

'We see at last--it's taken us a long time, but we see at last--womenget nothing even from their professed political friends, they'venothing whatever to expect by waiting and being what's called"ladylike. "'

'Shame!'

'We don't want to depreciate the work of preparation the older, the"ladylike, " Suffrage women did, but we came at last to see that all thatwas possible to accomplish that way had been done. The Cause hadn'tmoved an inch for years. It was even doing the other thing. Yes, it wasgoing backward. Even the miserable little pettifogging share women hadhad in Urban and Borough Councils--even that they were deprived of. Andthey were tamely submitting! Women who had been splendid workers tenyears ago, women with the best capacities for public service, had falleninto a kind of apathy. They were utterly disheartened. Many had given upthe struggle. That was the state of affairs with regard to Woman'sSuffrage only a few short months ago. We looked at the Suffragists whohad grown grey in petitioning Parliament and being constitutional and"ladylike, " and we said, "_That's no good. _"'

Through roars of laughter and indistinguishable denunciation certainfragments rose clear--

'So you tried being a public nuisance!'

'A laughing-stock!'

'When we got to the place where we were a public laughing-stock we knewwe were getting on. ' The audience screamed. '_We began to feelencouraged!_' A very hurricane swept the crowd. Perhaps it was chieflyat the gleam of eye and funny little wag of the head with the bigfloppity hat that made the people roar with delight. 'Yes; when thingsgot to that point even the worst old fogey in the Cabinet----'

'Name! Name!'

'No, we are merciful. We withhold the name!' She smiled significantly, while the crowd yelled. 'Even the very fogeyest of them all you'd thinkmight have rubbed his eyes and said, "Everybody's laughing at them--why, there must be something serious at the bottom of this!" But no; themembers of the present Government _never_ rub their eyes. '

'If you mean the Prime Minister----'

'Hooray for the----'

Through the cheering you heard Ernestine saying, 'No, I _didn't_ meanthe Prime Minister. The Prime Minister, between you and me, is as good aSuffragist as any of us. Only he----well, he likes his comfort, does thePrime Minister!'

When Ernestine looked like that the crowd roared with laughter. Yet itwas impossible not to feel that when she herself smiled it was becauseshe couldn't help it, and not, singularly enough, because of anydependence she placed upon the value of dimples as an asset ofpersuasion. What she seemed to be after was to stir these people up. Itcould not be denied that she knew how to do it, any more than it couldbe doubted that she was ignorant of how large a part in her success wasplayed by a peculiarly amusing and provocative personality. Always shewas the first to be grave again. 

'Now if you noisy young men can manage to keep quiet for a minute, I'lltell you a little about our tactics, ' she said obligingly. 

'We know! Breakin' up meetings!'

'_Rotten_ tactics!'

'That only shows you don't understand them yet. Now I'll explain toyou. '

A little wind had sprung up and ruffled her hair. It blew open her longplain coat. It even threatened to carry away her foolish flapping hat. She held it on at critical moments, and tilted her delicate littleGreuze-like face at a bewitching angle, and all the while that she waslooking so fetching, she was briskly trouncing by turns the Liberalparty and the delighted crowd. The man of the long moustachios, who hadbeen swept to the other side of the monument, returned to his oldinquiry with mounting cheer--

'Are we down'earted? _Oh_, no!'

'Pore man! 'Ave a little pity on us, miss!'

There were others who edged nearer, narrowing their eyes and squaringtheir shoulders as much as to say, 'Now we'll just trip her up at thefirst opportunity. '

'That's a very black cloud, miss, ' Gorringe had whispered severalminutes before a big raindrop had fallen on the lady's upturned face. 

As Gorringe seemed to be the only one who had observed the overcloudingof the sky, so she seemed to be the only one to think it mattered much. But one by one, like some species of enormous black 'four-o-clocks, 'umbrellas blossomed above the undergrowth at the foot of the monument. The lady of the purple plumes had long vanished. A few others moved off, head turned over shoulder, as if doubtful of the policy of leaving whileErnestine was explaining things. The great majority turned up their coatcollars and stood their ground. The maid hurriedly produced an umbrellaand held it over the lady. 

''Igher up, please, miss! Caun't see, ' said a youth behind. 

Nothing cloudy about Ernestine's policy: Independence of all parties, and organized opposition to whatever Government was in power, untilsomething was done to prove it that friend to women it pretended to be. 

'We are tired of being lied to and cheated. There isn't a man in theworld whose promise at election time I would trust!'

It struck some common chord in the gathering. They roared withappreciation, partly to hear that baby saying it. 

'No, not one!' she repeated stoutly, taking the raindrops in her face, while the risen wind tugged at her wide hat. 'They'll promise us heaven, and earth, and the moon, and the stars, just to get our help. Oh, we areold hands at it now, and we can see through the game!'

'Old 'and _she_ is! Ha! ha! Old 'and!'

'Do they let you sit up for supper?'

'We are going to every contested election from this on. '

'Lord, yes! Rain or shine _they_ don't mind!'

'They'll find they'll always have us to reckon with. And we aren't _theleast bit_ impressed any more, when a candidate tells us he's in favourof Woman's Suffrage. We say, "Oh, we've got four hundred and twenty ofyour kind already!"'

'Oh! oh!'

'Haw! haw!'

'Oo did you say that to?'

By name she held up to scorn the candidates who had given every reasonfor the general belief that they were indifferent, if not opposed, toWoman's Suffrage till the moment came for contesting a seat. 

'Then when they find us there (we hear it keeps them awake at night, thinking we always _will_ be there in future!)--when they find us there, they hold up their little white flags. Yes. And they say, "Oh, but I'min favour of Votes for Women!" We just smile. '

The damp gathering in front of her hallooed. 

'Yes. And when they protest what splendid friends of the Suffrage theyare, we say, "You don't care twopence about it. You are like the humbugswho are there in the House of Commons already. "'

'Humbugs!'

'Calls 'em 'umbugs to their fyces! Haw! haw!'

Roars and booing filled the air. 

'We know, for many of us helped to put them there. But that was beforewe knew any better. _Never again!_'

Once more that wise little wag of the head, while the people shriekedwith laughter. It was highly refreshing to think those Government blokescouldn't take in Ernestine. 

'It's only the very young or the very foolish who will ever be caughtthat way again, ' she assured them. 

''Ow old are you?'

'Much too old to----'

'Just the right age to think about gettin' married, ' shouted apasty-faced youth. 

'Haw! haw!'

Then a very penetrating voice screamed, 'Will you be mine?' and thatstarted off several others. Though the interruptions did not anger norin the least discompose this surprising young person in the cart--so farat least as could be seen--the audience looked in vain for her to givethe notice to these that she had to other interruptions. It began to beplain that, ready as she was to take 'a straight ball' from anybody inthe crowd, she discouraged impertinence by dint of an invincibledeafness. If you wanted to get a rise out of Ernestine you had to talkabout her 'bloomin' policy. ' No hint in her of the cheap smartness thathad wrecked the other speaker. In that highly original place for suchmanifestation, Ernestine offered all unconsciously a new lesson of themoral value that may lie in good-breeding. She won the loutish crowd tolisten to her on her own terms. 

'Both parties, ' she was saying, 'have been glad enough to use women'shelp to get candidates elected. We've been quite intelligent enough tocanvass for them; we were intelligent enough to explain to the ignorantmen----' She acknowledged the groans by saying, 'Of course there arenone of that sort here, but elsewhere there are such things as ignorantmen, and women by dozens and by scores are sent about to explain to themwhy they should vote this way or that. But as the chairman told you, anywoman who does that kind of thing in the future is a very poor creature. She deserves no sympathy when her candidate forgets his pledge andsneers at Womanhood in the House. If we put ourselves under men's feetwe must _expect_ to be trodden on. We've come to think it's time womenshould give up the door-mat attitude. That's why we've determined on apolicy of independence. We see how well independence has worked for theIrish party--we see what a power in the House even the little Labourparty is, with only thirty members. Some say those thirty Labour memberslead the great Liberal majority by the nose----'

'Hear! hear!'

'Rot!'

They began to cheer Lothian Scott. Some one tossed Mr. Chamberlain'sname into the air. Like a paper balloon it was kept afloat by vigorouspuffings of the human breath. ''Ray fur Joe!' 'Three cheers forJoe!'--and it looked as if Ernestine had lost them. 

'Listen!' She held out her hands for silence, but the tumult only grew. 'Just a moment. I want to tell you men--here's a friend of yours--he's anew-comer, but he looks just your kind! Give him a hearing. ' Shestrained her voice to overtop the din. 'He's a _Liberal_. '

'Hooray!'

'Yes, I thought you'd listen to a Liberal. He's asking that oldquestion, Why did we wait till the Liberals came in? Why didn't we worrythe Conservatives when they were in power? The answer to that is thatthe Woman's Suffrage cause was then still in the stage of mildconstitutional propaganda. Women were still occupied in being ladylikeand trying to get justice by deserving it. Now wait a moment. ' Shestemmed another torrent. 'Be quiet, while I tell you something. You menhave taught us that women can get a great deal by coaxing, often farmore than we deserve! But justice isn't one of the things that's evergot that way. Justice has to be fought for. Justice has to be won. '

Howls and uproar. 

'You men----' (it began to be apparent that whenever the roaring got soloud that it threatened to drown her, she said, 'You men--' very loud, and then gave her voice a rest while the din died down that they mighthear what else the irrepressible Ernestine had to say upon thatabsorbing topic). 'You men discovered years ago that you weren't goingto get justice just by deserving it, or even by being men, so when yougot tired of asking politely for the franchise, you took to smashingwindows and burning down Custom Houses, and overturning Bishops'carriages; while _we_, why, we haven't so much as upset a curate off abicycle!'

Others might laugh, not Ernestine. 

'You men, ' she went on, 'got up riots in the streets--_real_ riots wherepeople lost their lives. It may have to come to that with us. But theGovernment may as well know that if women's political freedom has to bebought with blood, we can pay that price, too. '

Above a volley of boos and groans she went on, 'But we are opposed toviolence, and it will be our last resort. We are leaving none of themore civilized ways untried. We publish a great amount of literature--Ihope you are all buying some of it--you can't understand our movementunless you do! We organize branch unions and we hire halls--we've gotthe Somerset Hall to-night, and we hope you'll all come and bring yourfriends. We have very interesting debates, and _we_ answer questions, politely!' she made her point to laughter. 'We don't leave any stoneunturned. Because there are people who don't buy our literature, and whodon't realize how interesting the Somerset Hall debates are, we go intothe public places where the idle and the foolish, _like that man justover there!_--where they may point and laugh and make their poor littlejokes. But let me tell you we never hold a meeting where we don't winfriends to our cause. A lot of you who are jeering and interrupting noware going to be among our best friends. _All_ the intelligent ones aregoing to be on our side. '

Above the laughter, a rich groggy voice was heard, 'Them that's againstyer are all drunk, miss' (hiccup). 'D--don't mind 'em!'

Ernestine just gave them time to appreciate that, and then went on--

'Men and women were never meant to fight except side by side. You'vebeen told by one of the other speakers how the men suffer by the womenmore and more underselling them in the Labour market----'

'Don't need no tellin'. '

'Bloody black-legs!'

'Do you know how that has come about? I'll tell you. It's come aboutthrough your keeping the women out of your Unions. You never would havedone that if they'd had votes. You saw the important people ignoredthem. You thought it was safe for you to do the same. But I tell you it_isn't ever_ safe to ignore the women!'

High over the groans and laughter the voice went on, 'You men have gotto realize that if our battle against the common enemy is to be won, you've got to bring the women into line. '

'What's to become of chivalry?'

'What _has_ become of chivalry?' she retorted; and no one seemed to havean answer ready, but the crowd fell silent, like people determined topuzzle out a conundrum. 

'Don't you know that there are girls and women in this very city who areworking early and late for rich men, and who are expected by those sameemployers to live on six shillings a week? Perhaps I'm wrong in sayingthe men expect the women to live on that. It may be they _know_ that nogirl can--it may be the men know how that struggle ends. But do theycare? Do _they_ bother about chivalry? Yet they and all of you aredreadfully exercised for fear having a vote would unsex women. We aretoo delicate--women are such fragile flowers. ' The little face wasablaze with scorn. 'I saw some of those fragile flowers last week--andI'll tell you where. Not a very good place for gardening. It was a backstreet in Liverpool. The "flowers"' (oh, the contempt with which sheloaded the innocent word!)--'the flowers looked pretty dusty--but theyweren't quite dead. I stood and looked at them! hundreds of worn womencoming down steep stairs and pouring out into the street. What had theyall been doing there in that--garden, I was going to say!--that biggrimy building? They had been making cigars!--spending the best years oftheir lives, spending all their youth in that grim dirty street makingcigars for men. Whose chivalry prevents that? Why were they coming outat that hour of the day? Because their poor little wages were going tobe lowered, and with the courage of despair they were going on strike. No chivalry prevents men from getting women at the very lowest possiblewage--(I want you to notice the low wage is the main consideration inall this)--men get these women, that they say are so tender anddelicate, to undertake the almost intolerable toil of the rope-walk. They get women to make bricks. Girls are driven--when they are notdriven to worse--they are driven to being lodging-house slaveys orover-worked scullions. _That's_ all right! Women are graciouslypermitted to sweat over other people's washing, when they should becaring for their own babies. In Birmingham'--she raised the clear voiceand bent her flushed face over the crowd--'in Birmingham those same"fragile flowers" make bicycles to keep alive! At Cradley Heath we makechains. At the pit brows we sort coal. But a vote would soil our hands!You may wear out women's lives in factories, you may sweat them in theslums, you may drive them to the streets. You _do_. But a vote wouldunsex them. '

Her full throat choked. She pressed her clenched fist against her chestand seemed to admonish herself that emotion wasn't her line. 

'If you are intelligent you know as well as I do that women areexploited the length and the breadth of the land. And yet you cometalking about chivalry! Now, I'll just tell you men something for yourfuture guidance. ' She leaned far out over the crowd and won a watchfulsilence. '_That talk about chivalry makes women sick. _' In the midst ofthe roar, she cried, 'Yes, they mayn't always show it, for women havehad to learn to conceal their deepest feelings, but depend on it that'show they feel. '

Then, apparently thinking she'd been serious enough, 'There might besome sense in talking to us about chivalry if you paid our taxes forus, ' she said; while the people recovered their spirits in roaring withdelight at the coolness of that suggestion. 

'If you forgave us our crimes because we are women! If you gaveannuities to the eighty-two women out of every hundred in this countrywho are slaving to earn their bread--many of them having to provide fortheir children; some of them having to feed sick husbands or oldparents. But chivalry doesn't carry you men as far as that! No! Nofurther than the door! You'll hold that open for a lady and then expecther to grovel before such an exhibition of _chivalry_! We don't need it, thank you! We can open doors for ourselves. '

She had quite recovered her self-possession, and it looked, as she facedthe wind and the raindrops, as if she were going to wind up infirst-class fighting form. The umbrellas went down before a gleam ofreturning sun. An aged woman in rusty black, who late in the proceedingshad timidly adventured a little way into the crowd, stood there lost andwondering. She had peered about during the last part of Miss Blunt'sspeech with faded incredulous eyes, listened to a sentence or two, andthen, turning with a pathetic little nervous laugh of apology, consultedthe faces of the Lords of Creation. When the speaker was warned that apoliceman had his eye on her, the little old woman's instant solicitudeshowed that the dauntless Suffragist had both touched and frightenedher. She craned forward with a fluttering anxiety till she could see forherself. Yes! A stern-looking policeman coming slow and majestic throughthe crowd. Was he going to hale the girl off to Holloway? No; he came toa standstill near some rowdy boys, and he stared straight beforehim--herculean, impassive, the very image of conscious authority. Whenever Ernestine said anything particularly dreadful, the old ladycraned her neck to see how the policeman was taking it. When Ernestinefell to drubbing the Government, the old lady, in her agitation greatlydaring, squeezed up a little nearer as if half of a mind to try toplacate that august image of the Power that was being flouted. But itended only in trembling and furtive watching, till Ernestine's recklessscorn at the idea of chivalry moved the ancient dame faintly to admonishthe girl, as a nurse might speak to a wilful child. 'Dear! _Dear!_'--andthen furtively trying to soothe the great policeman she twittered at hiselbow, 'No! No! she don't mean it!'

When Ernestine declared that women could open doors for themselves, someone called out--

'When do you expect to be a K. C. ?'

'Oh, quite soon, ' she answered cheerfully, with her wind-blown hatrakishly over one ear, while the boys jeered. 

'Well, ' said the policeman, 'she's pawsed 'er law examination!' As someof the rowdiest boys, naturally surprised at this interjection, lookedround, he rubbed it in. 'Did better than the men, ' he assured them. 

Was it possible that this dread myrmidon of the law was vaunting theprowess of the small rebel?

Miss Levering moved nearer. 'Is that so? Did I understand you----'

With a surly face he glanced round at her. Not for this lady's benefithad the admission been made. 

'So they say!' he observed, with an assumption of indifference, quiteother than the tone in which he had betrayed where his sympathies, inspite of himself, really were. Well, well, there were all kinds, even ofpeople who looked so much alike as policemen. 

Now the crowd, with him and Miss Levering as sole exceptions, weredissolved again in laughter. What had that girl been saying?

'Yes, we're spectres at the Liberal feast; and we're becominginconveniently numerous. We've got friends everywhere. Up and down thecountry we go organizing----'

''Ow do you go--in a pram?' At which the crowd rocked with delight. 

The only person who hadn't heard the sally, you would say, was theorator. On she went--

'Organizing branches and carrying forward the work of propaganda. Youpeople in London stroll about with your hands in your pockets and yourhats on the back of your heads, and with never a _notion_ of what'sgoing on in the world that thinks and works. That's the world that'smaking the future. Some of you understand it so little you think allthat we tell you is a joke--just as the governing class used to laugh atthe idea of a Labour Party in conservative England. While those peoplewere laughing, the Labour men were at work. They talked and wrote; theylectured, and printed, and distributed, and organized, and one fine daythere was a General Election! To everybody's astonishment, thirty Labourmen were returned to Parliament! Just that same sort of thing is goingon now among women. We have our people at work everywhere. And let metell you, the most wonderful part of it all is to discover how littleteaching we have to do. How _ready_ the women are, all over the threekingdoms. '

'Rot!'

'The women are against it. '

'Read the letters in the papers. '

'Why don't more women come to hear you if they're so in favour?'

'The converted don't need to come. It's you who need to come!' Aboveroars of derision: 'You felt that or, of course, you wouldn't be here. Men are so reasonable! As to the women who write letters to the papersto say they're against the Suffrage, they are very ignorant, thoseladies, or else it may be they write their foolish letters to pleasetheir menfolk. Some of them, I know, think the end and aim of woman isto please. I don't blame them; it's the penalty of belonging to theparasite class. But those women are a poor little handful. They writeletters to prove that they "don't count, " and they _prove it_. ' Shewaved them away with one slim hand. 'That's one reason we don't bothermuch with holding drawing-room meetings. The older Suffragists have beenholding drawing-room meetings _for forty years_!' She brought it out toshouts. 'But we go to the mill gates! That's where we hold our meetings!We hold them at the pit-brow; we hold them everywhere that men and womenare working and suffering and hoping for a better time. '

With that Miss Ernestine sat down. They applauded her lustily; theyrevelled in laughing praise, yielding to a glow that they imagined to bepure magnanimity. 

'Are there any questions?' Miss Claxton, with her eyes still screwed upto meet the returning sun and the volley of interrogatory, appeared atthe side of the cart. 'Now, one at a time, please. What? I can't hearwhen you all talk together. Write it down and hand it to me. Now, youpeople who are nearer--what? Very well! Here's a man who wants to knowwhether if women had the vote wouldn't it make dissension in the house, when husband and wife held different views?' She had smiled and nodded, as though in this question she welcomed an old friend, but instead ofanswering it she turned to the opposite side and looked out over theclamourers on the left. They were engaged for the most part in inquiringabout her matrimonial prospects, and why she had carried that dog-whip. Something in her face made them fall silent, for it was bothgood-humoured and expectant, even intent. 'I'm waiting, ' she said, aftera little pause. 'At every meeting we hold there's usually anotherquestion put at the same time as that first one about the quarrels thatwill come of husbands and wives holding different opinions. As thoughthe quarrelsome ones had been waiting for women's suffrage before theyfell out! When the man on my right asks, "Wouldn't they quarrel?"there's almost always another man on my left who says, "If women wereenfranchised we wouldn't be an inch forrader, because the wife wouldvote as her husband told her to. The man's vote would simply beduplicated, and things would be exactly as they were. " Neither objectorseems to see that the one scruple cancels the other. But to the questionput this afternoon, I'll just say this. ' She bent forward, and she heldup her hand. 'To the end of time there'll be people who won't rest tillthey've found something to quarrel about. And to the end of timethere'll be wives who follow blindly where their husbands lead. And tothe end of time there'll be husbands who are influenced by their wives. What's more, all this has gone on ever since there were husbands, and itwill go on as long as there are any left, and it's got no more to dowith women's voting than it has with their making cream tarts. No, nothalf as much!' she laughed. 'Now, where's that question that you weregoing to write?'

Some one handed up a wisp of white paper. Miss Claxton opened it, andupon the subject presented she embarked with the promising beginning, 'Your economics are pretty wobbly, my friend, ' and proceeded to clearthe matter up and incidentally to flatten out the man. One wondered thatunder such auspices 'Question Time' was as popular as it obviously was. There is no doubt a fearful joy in adventuring yourself in certaindanger before the public eye. Besides the excitement of taking apersonal share in the game, there is always the hope that it may havebeen reserved to you to stump the speaker and to shine before themultitude. 

A gentleman who had vainly been trying to get her to hear him, againasked something in a hesitating way, stumbling and going back to recastthe form of his question. 

He was evidently quite in earnest, but either unaccustomed to the soundof his own voice or unnerved to find himself bandying words in Hyde Parkwith a Suffragette. So when he stuck fast in the act of fashioning hisphrases, Miss Claxton bent in the direction whence the voice issued, andsaid, briskly obliging--

'You needn't go on. I know the rest. What this gentleman is trying toask is----'

And although no denial on his part reached the public ear, it was nothard to imagine him seething with indignation, down there helpless inhis crowded corner, while the facile speaker propounded as well asdemolished his objection to her and all her works. 

'Yes; one last question. Let us have it. '

'How can you pretend that women want the vote? Why, there are hardly anyhere. '

'More women would join us openly but for fear of their fellow-cowards. Thousands upon thousands of women feel a sympathy with this movementthey dare not show. '

'Lots of women don't want the vote. '

'What women don't want it? Are you worrying about a handful who thinkbecause they have been trained to like subservience everybody else oughtto like subservience, too? The very existence of a movement like this isa thorn in their sleek sides. We are a reproach and a menace to suchwomen. But this isn't a movement to compel anybody to vote. It is togive the right to those who _do_ want it--to those signatories of thesecond largest petition ever laid on the table of the House ofCommons--to the 96, 000 textile workers--to the women who went last monthin deputation to the Prime Minister, and who represented over half amillion belonging to Trades Unions and organized societies. To--perhapsmore than all, to the unorganized women, those whose voices are neverheard in public. _They_, as Mrs. Bewley told you--they are beginning towant it. The women who are made to work over hours--_they_ want thevote. To compel them to work over hours is illegal. But who troubles tosee that laws are fairly interpreted for the unrepresented? I know afactory where a notice went up yesterday to say that the women employedthere will be required to work twelve hours a day for the next fewweeks. Instead of starting at eight, they must begin at six, and worktill seven. The hours in this particular case are illegal--as theemployer will find out!' she threw in with a flash, and one saw by thatillumination the avenue through which his enlightenment would come. 'Butin many shops where women work, twelve hours a day is legal. Much ofwomen's employment is absolutely unrestricted, except that they may notbe worked on Sunday. And while all that is going on, comfortablegentlemen sit in armchairs and write alarmist articles about the fallingbirth-rate and the horrible amount of infant mortality. A Governmentcalling itself Liberal goes pettifogging on about side issues, whilewomen are debased and babies die. Here and there we find a man whorealizes that the main concern of the State should be its children, andthat you can't get worthy citizens where the mothers are sickly andenslaved. The question of statecraft, rightly considered, always reachesback to the mother. That State is most prosperous that most considersher. No State that forgets her can survive. The future is rooted in thewell-being of women. If you rob the women, your children and yourchildren's children pay. Men haven't realized it--your boasted logic hasnever yet reached so far. Of all the community, the women who give thenext generation birth, and who form its character during the mostimpressionable years of its life--of all the community, these mothersnow or mothers to be ought to be set free from the monstrous burden thatlies on the shoulders of millions of women. Those of you who want to seewomen free, hold up your hands. '

A strange, orchid-like growth sprang up in the air. Hands gloved andungloved, hands of many shades and sizes, hands grimy and hands ringed. 

Something curious to the unaccustomed eye, these curling, clutching, digitated members raised above their usual range and common avocations, suddenly endowed with speech, and holding forth there in the silentupper air for the whole human economy. 

'Now, down. ' The pallid growth vanished. 'Those against the freedom ofwomen. ' Again hands, hands. Far too many to suit the promoters of themeeting. But Miss Claxton announced, 'The ayes are in the majority. Themeeting is with us. '

'She can't even count!' The air was full of the taunting phrase--'Can'tcount!'

'Yes, ' said Miss Claxton, wheeling round again upon the people, as someof her companions began to get down out of the cart. 'Yes, she cancount, and she can see when men don't play fair. Each one in that groupheld up _two_ hands when the last vote was taken. ' She made a great dealof this incident, and elevated it into a principle. 'It is entirelycharacteristic of the means men will stoop to use in opposing theWomen's Cause. '

To hoots and groans and laughter the tam-o'-shanter disappeared. 

'Rank Socialists every one of 'em!' was one of the verdicts that flewabout. 

'They ought _all_ to be locked up. '

'A danger to the public peace. '

A man circulating about on the edge of the crowd was calling out, ''Andsome souvenir. Scented paper 'andkerchief! With full programme ofGreat Suffragette Meeting in 'Yde Park!'

As the crowd thinned, some of the roughs pressing forward were trying to'rush' the speakers. The police hastened to the rescue. It looked as ifthere would be trouble. Vida and her maid escaped towards the MarbleArch. 

''Andsome scented 'andkerchief! Suffragette Programme!' The raucousvoice followed them, and not the voice alone. Through the air was waftedthe cheap and stifling scent of patchouli. 

CHAPTER X

Jean Dunbarton received Mr. Geoffrey Stonor upon his entrance into Mrs. Freddy's drawing-room with a charming little air of flutteredresponsibility. 

'Mrs. Freddy and I have been lunching with the Whyteleafes. She had togo afterwards to say good-bye to some people who are leaving for abroad. So Mrs. Freddy asked me to turn over my Girls' Club to your cousinSophia----'

'Are you given to good works, too?' he interrupted. 'What a terriblyphilanthropic age it is!'

Jean smiled as she went on with her explanation. 'Although it wasn't herSunday, Sophia, like an angel, has gone to the club. And I'm here toexplain. Mrs. Freddy said if she wasn't back on the stroke----'

'Oh, I dare say I'm a trifle early. '

It was a theory that presented fewer difficulties than that he should bekept waiting. 

'I was to beg you to give her a few minutes' grace in any case. '

Instead of finding a seat, he stood looking down at the charming face. His indifference to Mrs Freddy's precise programme lent his eyes amisleading look of absent-mindedness, which dashed the girl's obviousexcitement over the encounter. 

'I see, ' he had said slowly. What he saw was a graceful creature ofmedium height, with a clear colour and grey-blue eyes fixed on him withan interest as eager as it was frank. What the grey-blue eyes saw wasprobably some glorified version of Stonor's straight, firm features, alittle blunt, which lacked that semblance of animation given by colour, and seemed to scorn to make up for it by any mobility of expression. Thegrey eyes, set somewhat too prominently, were heavy when not interested, and the claim to good looks which nobody had dreamed of denying seemedto rest mainly upon the lower part of his face. The lips, over-full, perhaps, were firmly moulded, but the best lines were those curves fromthe ear to the quite beautiful chin. The gloss on the straightlight-brown hair may have stood to the barber's credit, but only healthcould keep so much grace still in the carriage of a figure heavier thanshould be in a man of forty--one who, without a struggle, had declinedfrom polo unto golf. There was no denying that the old expression ofincipient sullenness, fleeting or suppressed, was deepening into themain characteristic of his face, though it was held that he, as littleas any man, had cause to present that aspect to a world content to behis oyster. Yet, as no doubt he had long ago learned, it was that veryexpression which was the cause of much of the general concern peopleseemed to feel to placate, to amuse, to dispel the menace of that cloud. The girl saw it, and her heart failed her. 

'Mrs. Freddy said if I told you the children were in the gardenexpecting you, you wouldn't have the heart to go away directly. '

'She is right. I _haven't_ the heart. ' And in that lifting of his cloud, the girl's own face shone an instant. 

'I should have felt it a terrible responsibility if you were to go. ' Shespoke as if the gladness that was not to be repressed called for someexplanation. 'Mrs. Freddy says that she and Mr. Freddy see so little ofyou nowadays. That was why she made such a point of my coming and tryingto--to----'

'You needed a great deal of urging then?' He betrayed the half-amused, half-ironic surprise of the man accustomed to find people ready enough, as a rule, to clutch at excuse for a _tête-à-tête_. Although she hadflushed with mingled embarrassment and excitement, he proceeded toincrease her perturbation by suggesting, 'Mrs. Freddy had to overcomeyour dislike for the mission. '

'Dislike? Oh, no!'

'What then?'

'My--well----' She lifted her eyes, and dared to look him full in theface as she said, 'I suppose you know you are rather alarming. '

'Am I?' he smiled. 

People less interested in him than Jean were grateful to Geoffrey Stonorwhen he smiled. They felt relieved from some intangible responsibilityfor the order of the universe. 

The girl brightened wonderfully. 'Oh, yes, very alarming indeed, ' sheassured him cheerfully. 

'How do you make that out?'

'I don't need to "make it out. " It's so very plain. ' Then a littlehastily, as if afraid of having said something that sounded like impiousfault-finding, 'Anybody's alarming who is so--so much talked about, andso--well, like you, you understand. '

'I don't understand, ' he objected mendaciously--'not a little bit. '

'I think you must, ' she said, with her candid air. 'Though I had made upmy mind that I wouldn't be afraid of you any more since our week-end atUlland. '

'Ah, that's better!'

There was nothing in the words, but in the gentleness with which hebrought them out, so much that the girl turned her eyes away and playedwith the handle of her parasol. 

'Have you been reading any more poetry?' he said. 

'No. '

'No? Why not?'

She shook her head. 'It doesn't sound the same. '

'What! I spoilt it for you?'

She laughed, and again she shook her head, but with something shy, half-frightened in her look. Nervously she dashed at a diversion. 

'I'm afraid I was a little misleading about the children. They aren't inthe garden yet. Shall we go up and see them having tea?'

'Oh, no, it would be bad for their little digestions to hurry them. '

He sat down. Her face gave him as much credit as though he had done somefine self-abnegating deed. 

They spoke of that Sunday walk in the valley below the Ulland links, andthe crossing of a swollen little stream on a rotting and rickety log. 

'I _had_ to go, ' she explained apologetically. 'Hermione had gone on andforgotten the puppy hadn't learnt to follow. I was afraid he'd losehimself. '

'It _was_ a dangerous place to go across, ' he said, as if to justifysome past opinion. 

Her eyes were a little mischievous. 'I never thought _you'd_ come. '

'Why?' he demanded. 

'Oh, because I thought you'd be too----' His slow look quickened as ifto surprise in her some reflection upon his too solid flesh--or might iteven be upon the weight of years? But the uncritical admiration in herface must have reassured him before the words, 'I thought you'd be toogrand. It was delightful to find you weren't. '

He kept his eyes on her. 'Are you always so happy?'

'Oh, I hope not. That would be rather too inhuman, wouldn't it?'

'Too celestial, perhaps!' He laughed--but he was looking into the blueof her eyes as if through them he too had caught a glimpse of Paradise. 'I remember thinking at Ulland, ' he said more slowly again, 'I had neverseen any one quite so happy. '

'I was happy at Ulland. But I'm not happy now. '

'Then your looks belie you. '

'No, I am very sad. I have to go away from this delightful London toScotland. I shall be away for weeks. It's too dismal. '

'Why do you go?'

'My grandfather makes me. He hates London. And his dreary old house on ahorrible windy hill--he simply loves that!'

'And you don't love it _at all_. I see. ' He seemed to be thinking outsomething. 

Compunction visited the face before him. 'I didn't mean to say I didn'tlove it _at all_. It's like those people you care to be with for alittle while, but if you must go being with them for ever you come tohate them--almost. '

They sat silent for a moment, then with slow reflectiveness, like onewho thinks aloud, he said--

'I have to go to Scotland next week. '

'Do you! What part?'

'I go to Inverness-shire. '

'Why, that's where we are! Near----'

'Why shouldn't I drop down upon you some day?'

'Oh, _will_ you? That would be----' She seemed to save herself from somegulf of betrayal. 'There are walks about my grandfather's more beautifulthan anything you ever saw--or perhaps I ought to say more beautifulthan anything _I_ ever saw. '

'Nicer walks than at Ulland?'

'Oh, no comparison! One is a bridle-path all along a wonderful browntrout stream that goes racing down our hill. There's a moor on one side, and a wood on the other, and a peat bog at the bottom. '

'We might perhaps stop short of the bog. '

'Yes, we'd stop at old McTaggart's. He's the head-keeper and a realfriend. McTaggart "has the Gaelic. " But he hasn't much else, so perhapsyou'd prefer his wife. '

'Why should I prefer his wife?'

Jean's face was full of laughter. Stonor's plan of going to Scotland hadsingularly altered the character of that country. Its very inhabitantswere now perceived to be enlivening even to talk about; to _know_--thegamekeeper's wife alone--would repay the journey thither. 

'I assure you Mrs. McTaggart is a travelled, experienced person. '

He shook his head while he humoured her. 'I'm not sure travel orexperience is what we chiefly prize--in ladies. '

'Oh, isn't it? I didn't know, you see. I didn't know how dreadfully youmight miss the terribly clever people you're accustomed to in London. '

'It's because of the terribly clever people we are glad to go away. '

He waxed so eloquent in his admiration of the womanly woman (who seemedby implication to have steered clear of Mrs. McTaggart's pitfalls), thatJean asked with dancing eyes--

'Are you consoling me for not being clever?'

'Are you sure you aren't?'

'Oh, dear, yes. No possible shadow of doubt about it. '

'Then, ' he laughed, 'I'm coming to Inverness-shire! I'll even go so faras to call on the McTaggarts if you'll undertake that she won't instructme about foreign lands. '

'No such irrelevance! She'd tell you about London. She was here for sixwhole months. And she got something out of it I don't believe even youhave. A Certificate of Merit. '

'No. London certainly never gave me one. '

'You see! Mrs. McTaggart lived the life of the Metropolis with suchsuccess that she passed an examination before she left. The subject was:"Incidents in the Life of Abraham. " It says so on the certificate. Shehas it framed and hung in the parlour. '

He smiled. 'I admit few can point to such fruits of MetropolitanAusbildung. But I think I shall prefer the burnside--or even the bog. '

'No; the moors. They're best of all. ' She sat looking straight beforeher, with her heart's deep well overflowing at her eyes. As if she feltvaguely that some sober reason must be found for seeing those same moorsin this glorified light all of a sudden, she went on, 'I'll show you aspecial place where white heather grows, and the rabbits tumble about astame as kittens. It's miles away from the sea, but the gulls comesunning themselves and walking about like pigeons. I used to hide upthere when I was little and naughty. Nobody ever found the place outexcept an old gaberlunzie, and I gave him tuppence not to tell. '

'Yes, show me that place. ' His face was wonderfully attractive so!

'And we'll take The Earthly--William Morris--along, won't we?'

'I thought you'd given up reading poetry. '

'Yes--to myself. I used to think I knew about poetry, yes, better thananybody but the poets. There are people as arrogant as that. '

'Why, it's worse than Mrs. McTaggart!'

The girl was grave, even tremulous. 'But, no! I never had a notion ofwhat poetry really was till down at Ulland you took my book away fromme, and read aloud----'

 * * * * *

Mr. Freddy let himself and Lord Borrodaile in at the front door soclosely on the heels of Mrs. Freddy that the servant who had closed thedoor behind her had not yet vanished into the lower regions. At a wordfrom that functionary, Mr. Freddy left his brother depositing hat andstick with the usual deliberation, and himself ran upstairs two steps ata time. He caught up with his wife just outside the drawing-room door, as she paused to take off her veil in front of that mirror which Mrs. Freddy said should be placed between the front door and the drawing-roomin every house in the land for the reassurance of the timid femininecreature. She was known to add privately that it was not ignored bymen--and that those who came often, contracted a habit of hurryingupstairs close at the servant's heels, in order to have two seconds tospare for furtive consultation, while he went on to open thedrawing-room door. She had observed this pantomime more than once, leaning over the banisters, herself on the way downstairs. 

'They tell me Stonor's been here half an hour, ' said Mr. Freddy, breathlessly. 'You're dreadfully late!'

'No, darling----'

He held out his watch to confound her. 'You tell me you aren't late?'

'Sh--no. I do so sympathize with a girl who has no mother, ' with whichenigmatic rejoinder she pushed open the door, and went briskly throughthe double drawing-room to where Mr. Geoffrey Stonor and Jean Dunbartonwere sitting by a window that overlooked the square. 

Stonor waved away Mrs. Freddy's shower of excuses, saying--

'You've come just in time to save us from falling out. I've been tellingMiss Dunbarton that in another age she would have been a sort of DinahMorris, or more likely another St. Ursula with a train of seven thousandvirgins. '

'And all because I've told him about my Girls' Club! and----'

'Yes, ' he said, '"and"----' He turned away and shook hands with his twokinsmen. He sat talking to them with his back to the girl. 

It was a study in those delicate weights and measures that go toestimating the least tangible things in personality, to note how hisaction seemed not only to dim her vividness but actually to efface thegirl. In the first moments she herself accepted it at that. Her lookssaid: He is not aware of me any more--ergo, I don't exist. 

During the slight distraction incident to the bringing in of tea, andMr. Freddy's pushing up some of the big chairs, Mr. Stonor had amoment's remembrance of her. He spoke of his Scottish plans and fell toconsidering dates. Then all of a sudden she saw that again and yet morewoundingly his attention had wandered. The moment came while LordBorrodaile was busy Russianizing a cup of tea, and Mr. Freddy, balancinghimself on very wide-apart legs in front of his wife's tea-table, hadinterrogated her--

'What do you think, shall I ring and say we aren't at home?'

'Perhaps it would be----' Mrs. Freddy's eye flying back from Stonorcaught her brother-in-law's. 'Freddy'--she arrested her husband as hewas making for the bell--'say, "except to Miss Levering. "'

'All right. Except to Miss Levering. ' And it was at that point that Jeansaw she wasn't being listened to. 

Even Mrs. Freddy, looking up, was conscious of something in Stonor'sface that made her say--

'Old Sir Hervey's youngest daughter. You knew _him_, I suppose, even ifyou haven't met her. Jean, you aren't giving Mr. Stonor anything toeat. '

'No, no, thanks. I don't know why I took this. ' He set down his tea-cup. 'I never have tea. '

'You're like everybody else, ' said the girl, in a half-petulant aside. 

'Does nobody have tea?'

She lowered her voice while the others discussed who had already beensent away, and who might still be expected to invade. 

'Nobody remembers anybody else when that Miss Levering of theirs is tothe fore. You began to say when--to talk about Scotland. '

He had taken out his watch. 'I was wondering if the children were downyet. Shall we go and see?'

Jean jumped up with alacrity. 

'Sh!' Mrs. Freddy held up a finger and silenced her little circle. 'Theymust have thought I was ringing for toast--somebody's being let in!'

'Let's hope it's Miss Levering, ' said Mr. Freddy. 

'I must see those young barbarians of yours before I go, ' said Stonor, rising with decision. 

The sound of voices on the stair was quite distinct now. By the time theservant had opened the door and announced: 'Mrs. Heriot, Miss Heriot, Captain Beeching, ' Mr. Freddy, the usually gracious host, was leadingthe way through the back drawing-room, unblushingly abetting Mr. Stonor's escape under the very eyes of persons who would have gone mileson the chance of meeting him. 

Small wonder that Jean was consoled for knowing herself too shy tofollow, if she remembered that he had actually asked her to do so! Sheshowed no surprise at the tacit assumption on the part of his relationsthat Geoffrey Stonor could never be expected to sit there as commonmortals might, making himself more or less agreeable to whoever mightchance to drop in. Unless they were 'very special' of course he couldn'tbe expected to put up with them. 

But what on earth was happening! No wonder Mrs. Freddy looked aghast. For Mrs. Heriot had had the temerity to execute a short cut and waylaythe escaping lion. 'Oh, how do you do?'--she thrust out a hand. And hewent out as if she had been thin air! It was the kind of insolence thatused to be more common, because safer, than it is likely to be infuture--a form of condoned brutality that used to inspire more awe thandisgust. People were guilty even of a slavish admiration of those whohad the nerve to administer this wholly disproportionate reproof to themerely maladroit. It could be done only by one whom all the world hadconspired to befog and befool about his importance in the scheme ofthings. 

Small wonder the girl, too, was bewildered. For no one seemed to dreamof resenting what had occurred. The lesson conveyed appeared to be thatthe proper attitude to certain of your fellow-creatures was very muchthe traditional one towards royalty. You were not to speak unless youwere spoken to. And yet this man who with impunity snubbed persons ofconsideration, was the same one who was coming to call on SallyMcTaggart--he was going to walk the bridle-path along the burnside tothe white heather haven. 

With the dazed look in her eyes, and cheeks scarlet with sympathy andconfusion, the girl had run forward to greet her aunt, and to do herlittle share toward dissipating the awkward chill that had fallen on thecompany. 

After producing a stammered, 'Oh--a--I thought it was----' the immediateeffect on Mrs. Heriot was to make her both furious and cowed. Though anervous stream of talk trickled on, Mrs. Freddy's face did not lose itsflustered look nor did the company regain its ease, until a furtherdiversion was created by the appearance of Miss Levering with an alert, humorous-looking man of middle-age in her train. 

'Mr. Greatorex was passing just in time to help me out of my hansom, 'was her greeting to Mrs. Freddy. 

'And I, ' said the gentleman, 'insisted on being further rewarded bybeing brought in. '

'_That_ is Miss Levering?' whispered Jean, partly to distract her aunt. 

'Yes; why not?' said Lord Borrodaile, overhearing. 

'Oh, I somehow imagined her different. '

'She _is_ different, ' said Aunt Lydia, with bitter gloom. 'You wouldnever know in the least what she was like from the look of her. '

Lord Borrodaile's eyes twinkled. 'Is that so?' he said, indulgent to amood which hardly perhaps made for dispassionate appraisement. 

'You don't believe it!' said Mrs. Heriot. 'Of course not!'

'I was only thinking what a fillip it gave acquaintance to be in doubtwhether a person was a sinner or a saint. '

'It wouldn't for me, ' said Jean. 

'Oh, you see, you're so Scotch. '

He was incorrigible!

'I didn't hear, who is the man?' Jean asked, as those not knowingusually did. 

Although far from distinguished in appearance, Mr. Greatorex would havestood in no danger of being overlooked, even if he had not thosetwinkling jewel-like eyes, and two strands of coal-black hair trainedacross his large bumpy cranium, from the left ear to the right, andsecurely pasted there. 

'It's that wretched radical, St. John Greatorex. ' Mrs. Heriot turnedfrom her niece to Lord Borrodaile. 'What foundation is there, ' shedemanded, 'for the rumour that he tells such good stories at dinner? _I_never heard any. '

'Ah, I believe he keeps them till the ladies have left the room. '

'You don't like him, either, ' said Mrs. Heriot, reaching out for thebalm of alliance with Lord Borrodaile. 

But he held aloof. 'Oh, they say he has his points--a good judge ofwine, and knows more about Parliamentary procedure than most of us. '

'How you men stand up for one another! You know perfectly well you can'tendure him. ' Mrs. Heriot jerked her head away and faced the group roundthe tea-table. 'What is she saying? That she's been to a Suffragemeeting in Hyde Park!'

'How could she! Nothing would induce me to go and listen to suchpeople!' said Miss Dunbarton. 

Her eyes, as well as Mrs. Heriot's, were riveted on the tall figure, tea-cup in hand, moving away from the table now to make room for somenew arrivals, and drawing after her a portion of the company, includingLady Whyteleafe and Richard Farnborough, who one after another had comein a few moments before. It was to the young man that Greatorex wassaying, with a twinkle, 'I am sure Mr. Farnborough agrees with me. '

Slightly self-conscious, he replied, 'About Miss Levering beingtoo--a----'

'For that sort of thing altogether "too. "'

'How do you know?' said the lady herself, with a teasing smile. 

Greatorex started out of the chair in which he had just depositedhimself at her side. 'God bless my soul!' he said. 

'She's only saying that to get a rise out of you. ' Farnborough seemedunable to bear the momentary shadow obscuring the lady's brightness. 

'Ah, yes'--Greatorex leaned back again--'your frocks aren't seriousenough. '

'Haven't I been telling you it's an exploded notion that the Suffragepeople are all dowdy and dull?'

'Pooh!' said Mr. Greatorex. 

'You talk about some of them being pretty, ' Farnborough said. '_I_didn't see a good-looking one among 'em. '

'Ah, you men are so unsophisticated; you missed the fine feathers. '

'Plenty o' feathers on the one I heard. '

'Yes, but not _fine_ feathers. A man judges of the general effect. Wecan, at a pinch, see past unbecoming clothes, can't we, Lady Whyteleafe?We see what women could make of themselves if they took the trouble. '

'All the same, ' said the lady appealed to, 'it's odd they don't see howmuch better policy it would be if they _did_ take a little trouble abouttheir looks. Now, if we got our maids to do those women's hair forthem--if we lent them our French hats--ah, _then_'--Lady Whyteleafenodded till the pear-shaped pearls in her ears swung out like milk-whitebells ringing an alarum--'they'd convert you creatures fast enoughthen. '

'Perhaps "convert" is hardly the word, ' said Vida, with ironic mouth. Asthough on an impulse, she bent forward to say, with her lips near LadyWhyteleafe's pearl drop: 'What if it's the aim of the movement to getaway from the need of just these little dodges?'

'Dodges?'

But without the exclamation, Miss Levering must have seen that she hadbeen speaking in an unknown tongue. A world where beauty exists forbeauty's sake--which is love's sake--and not for tricking money or powerout of men, even the possibility of such a world is beyond the imaginingof many. 

Something was said about a deputation of women who had waited on Mr. Greatorex. 

'Hm, yes, yes. ' He fiddled with his watch chain. 

As though she had just recalled the circumstances, 'Oh, yes, ' Vida said, 'I remember I thought at the time, in my modest way, it was nothingshort of heroic of them to go asking audience of their arch opponent. '

'It didn't come off!' He wagged his strange head. 

'Oh, ' she said innocently, 'I thought they insisted on bearding the lionin his den. '

'Of course I wasn't going to be bothered with a lot of----'

'You don't mean you refused to go out and face them!'

He put on a comic look of terror. 'I wouldn't have done it for worlds!But a friend of mine went and had a look at 'em. '

'Well, ' she laughed, 'did he get back alive?'

'Yes, but he advised me not to go. "You're quite right, " he said. "Don'tyou think of bothering, " he said. "I've looked over the lot, " he said, "and there isn't a week-ender among 'em. "'

Upon the general laugh that drew Hermione and Captain Beeching into thegroup, Jean precipitated herself gaily into the conversation. 'Have theytold you about Mrs. Freddy's friend who came to tea here in the winter?'she asked Hermione. 'He was a member of Parliament, too--quite a littleyoung one--he said women would never be respected till they had thevote!'

Mr. Greatorex snorted, the other men smiled, and all the women, exceptAunt Lydia, did the same. 

'I remember telling him, ' Mrs. Heriot said, with marked severity, 'thathe was too young to know what he was talking about. '

'Yes, I'm afraid you all sat on the poor gentleman, ' said LordBorrodaile. 

'It was such fun. He was flat as a pancake when we'd done with him. AuntEllen was here. She told him with her most distinguished air she didn'twant to be respected. '

'Dear Lady John!' murmured Miss Levering. 'I can hear her!'

'Quite right, ' said Captain Beeching. 'Awful idea to think you're_respected_. '

'Simply revolting, ' agreed Miss Heriot. 

'Poor little man!' laughed Jean, 'and he thought he was being _so_agreeable!'

'Instead of which it was you. '

Miss Levering said the curious words quite pleasantly, but so low thatonly Jean heard them. 

The girl looked up. 'Me?'

'You had the satisfaction of knowing you had made yourself immenselypopular with all other men. '

The girl flushed. 'I hope you don't think I did it for that reason. '

The little passage was unnoticed by the rest of the company, who werelistening to Lord Borrodaile's contented pronouncement: 'I'm afraid thenew-fangled seed falls on barren ground in our old-fashionedgardens--_pace_ my charming sister-in-law. '

Greatorex turned sharply. 'Mrs. Tunbridge! God bless my soul, you don'tmean----'

'There is one thing I will say for her'--Mrs. Freddy's brother-in-lawlazily defended the honour of the house--'she doesn't, as a rule, obtrude her opinions. There are people who have known her for years, andhaven't a notion she's a light among the misguided. '

But Greatorex was not to be reassured. 'Mrs. Tunbridge! Lord, the perilsthat beset the feet of man!' He got up with a half-comic ill humour. 

'You're not going!' The hostess flitted over to remonstrate. 'I haven'thad a word with you. '

'Yes, yes; I'm going. '

Mrs. Freddy looked bewildered at the general laugh. 

'He's heard aspersions cast upon your character, ' said Lord Borrodaile. 'His moral sense is shocked. '

'Honestly, Mrs. Tunbridge'--Farnborough was for giving her a chance toclear herself--'what do you think of your friends' recent exploits?'

'My friends?'

'Yes; the disorderly women. '

'They are not my friends, ' said Mrs. Freddy, with dignity, 'but I don'tthink you must call them----'

'Why not?' said Lord Borrodaile. '_I_ can forgive them for worrying theLiberals'--he threw a laughing glance at Greatorex--'but they _are_disorderly. '

'Isn't the phrase consecrated to a different class?' said Miss Levering, quietly. 

'You're perfectly right. ' Greatorex, for once, was at one with LordBorrodaile. 'They've become nothing less than a public nuisance. Goingabout with dog-whips and spitting in policemen's faces. '

'I wonder, ' said Mrs. Freddy, with a harassed air--'I wonder if they didspit!'

'Of course they did!' Greatorex exulted. 

'You're no authority on what they do, ' said Mrs. Freddy. 'You run away. '

'Run away?' He turned the laugh by precipitately backing away from herin a couple of agitated steps. 'Yes, and if ever I muster up courage tocome back, it will be to vote for better manners in public life, notworse than we have already. '

'So should I, ' observed Mrs. Freddy, meekly. 'Don't think I defended theSuffragettes. '

'But still, ' said Miss Levering, with a faint accent of impatience, 'you_are_ an advocate for the Suffrage, aren't you?'

'I don't beat the air. '

'Only policemen, ' Greatorex mocked. 

'If you cared to know the attitude of the real workers in the Reform, 'Mrs. Freddy said plaintively, 'you might have seen in any paper that welost no time in dissociating ourselves from the two or threehysterical----' She caught her brother-in-law's critical eye, andinstantly checked her flow of words. 

There was a general movement as Greatorex made his good-byes. Mrs. Heriot signalled her daughter. 

In the absence of the master, Lord Borrodaile made ready to do thehonours of the house to a lady who had had so little profit of hervisit. Beeching carried off the reluctant Farnborough. Mrs. Freddy keptup her spirits until after the exodus; then, with a sigh, she sat downbeside Vida. 'It's true what that old cynic says, ' she admittedsorrowfully. 'The scene has put back the Reform a generation. '

'It must have been awfully exciting. I wish I'd been there, ' said Jean. 

'I _was_ there. '

'Oh, was it as bad as the papers said?'

'Worse. I've never been so moved in public--no tragedy, no great operaever gripped an audience as the situation in the House did that night. There we all sat breathless--with everything more favourable to us thanit had been within the memory of woman. Another five minutes and theresolution would have passed. Then--all in a moment'--Mrs. Freddyclasped her hands excitedly--'all in a moment a horrible, dingy littleflag was poked through the grille of the Woman's Gallery--cries--insults--scuffling--the police--the ignominious turning out of the women--_us_ aswell as the---- Oh, I can't _think_ of it without----' She jumped up andwalked to and fro. 'Then the next morning!' She paused. 'The peoplegloating. Our friends antagonized--people who were wavering--nearly wonover--all thrown back! Heart-breaking! Even my husband! Freddy's been anangel about letting me take my share when I felt I must--but, of course, I've always known he doesn't like it. It makes him shy. I'm sure itgives him a horrid twist inside when he sees even the discreetest littleparagraph to say that I am "one of the speakers. " But he's always beenan angel about it before this. After the disgraceful scene, he said, "Itjust shows how unfit women are for any sort of coherent thinking orconcerted action. "'

'To think, ' said Jean, more sympathetically, 'that it should be womenwho've given their own scheme the worst blow it ever had!'

'The work of forty years destroyed in five minutes!'

'They must have felt pretty sick, ' said the girl, 'when they waked upthe next morning--those Suffragettes. '

'I don't waste any sympathy on _them_. I'm thinking of the penalty _all_women have to pay because two or three hysterical----'

'Still, I think I'm sorry for them, ' the girl persisted. 'It must bedreadful to find you've done such a lot of harm to the thing you caremost about in the world. '

'Do you picture the Suffragettes sitting in sack-cloth?' said Vida, speaking at last. 

'Well, they can't help realizing _now_ what they've done. '

'Isn't it just possible they realize they've waked up interest in theWoman Question so that it's advertised in every paper, and discussedunder every roof, from Land's End to John-o'-Groats? Don't you think_they_ know there's been more said and written about it in these dayssince the scene than in the ten years before it!'

'You aren't saying you think it was a good way to get what they wanted!'exclaimed Mrs. Freddy. 

'I'm only pointing out that it seems not such a bad way to get it knownthey _do_ want something, and--"want it bad, "' Vida added, smiling. 

Jean drew her low chair almost in front of the lady who had so woundedher sensibilities a little while before with that charge ofpopularity-hunting. 

'Mrs. Tunbridge says before that horrid scene everything was favourableat last, ' the girl hazarded. 

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Freddy, 'we never had so many friends in the Housebefore----'

'"Friends, "' echoed the other woman, with a faint smile. 

'Why do you say it like that?'

'Because I was thinking of a funny story--(he _said_ it was funny)--aLiberal Whip told me the other day. A Radical member went out of theHouse after his speech in favour of the Women's Bill, and as he cameback half an hour later he heard some members talking in the lobby aboutthe astonishing number who were going to vote for the measure. And theFriend of Woman dropped his jaw and clutched the man next him. "My God!"he said, "you don't mean they're going to _give_ it to them!"'

'Sh! Here is Ronald. ' Mrs. Freddy's tact brought her smiling to her feetas the figure of her brother-in-law appeared in the doorway. But sheturned her back on him and affected absorption in the tableau presentedby Jean leaning forward, elbow on knee, chin in hand, gazing steadily inVida Levering's face. 

'I don't want to interrupt you two, ' said the hostess, 'but I think youmust look at the pictures. '

'Oh, yes, I brought them specially'--Lord Borrodaile deflected hiscourse in order to take up from the table two squares of cardboard tiedface to face with tape. 

'Bless the man!' Mrs. Freddy contemplated him with smiling affectationof scorn. 'I mean the new photographs of the children. He's thinking ofsome reproductions Herbert Tunbridge got while he was abroad--picturesof things somebody's unearthed in Sicily or Cyprus. '

'Crete, my dear. ' He turned his back on the fond mother and Jean who wasalready oh-ing with appreciation at the first of a pile of little Sarasand Cecils. When he came back to his corner of the sofa he made nomotion to undo his packet, but 'Now then!' he said, as he often did onsitting down beside Vida Levering--as though they had been interruptedon the verge of coming to an agreement about something. 

She, with an instinct of returning the ball, usually tossed at him somescrap of news or a jest, or some small social judgment. This time whenhe uttered his 'Now then, ' with that anticipatory air, she answeredinstantly--'Yes; something rather odd has been happening. I've beenseeing beyond my usual range. '

'Really!' He smiled at her with a mixture of patronage and affection. 'And did you find there was "something new under the sun" after all?'

'Well, perhaps not so new, though it seemed new to me. But somethingdifferently looked at. Why do we pretend that all conversion is to somereligious dogma--why not to a view of life?'

'Bless my soul! I begin to feel nervous. '

'Do you remember once telling me that I had a thing that was rare in mysex--a sense of humour?'

'I remember often thinking it, ' he said handsomely. 

'It wasn't the first time I'd heard that. And it was one of thecompliments I liked best. '

'We all do. It means we have a sense of proportion--the mentalsuppleness that is capable of the ironic view; an eye that can lookright as well as left. '

She nodded. 'When you wrote to me once, "My dear Ironist, " I--yes--Ifelt rather superior. I'm conscious now that it's been a piece ofhidden, intellectual pride with me that I could smile at most things. '

'Well, do you mean to forswear pride? For you can't live withoutsmiling. '

'I've seen something to-day that I don't feel I want to smile at. Andyet to you it's the most ludicrous spectacle in London. '

'This is all very mysterious. ' He turned his long, whimsical face on oneside as he settled himself more comfortably against the cushion. 

'You heard why I was late?' she said. 

'I took the liberty of doubting the reason you gave!'

'You mustn't. It wasn't even my first offence. '

'You must find time hang very heavy on your hands. '

'On the contrary. I've never known the time to go so fast. Oh, heaps ofpeople would do what I have, if they only knew how queer and interestingit is, and how already the outer aspect of the thing is changing. At thefirst meetings very few women of any class. Now there aredozens--scores. Soon there'll be hundreds. There were three thousandpeople in the park this afternoon, so a policeman told me, but hardlyany of the class that what Dick Farnborough calls "runs England. "'

'I suppose not. '

'You don't even know yet you'll have to deal with all that passionatefeeling, all that fixed determination to bring about a vast, far-reaching change!--a change so great----'

'That it would knock civilized society into a cocked hat. '

'I wonder. '

'You _wonder_?'

'I wonder if you oughtn't to be reassured by the--bigness of the thing. It isn't only these women in Hyde Park. They have a Feministe Movementin France. They say there's a Frauenbewegung in Germany. From Finland toItaly----'

'Oh, yes, strikes and uprisings. It's an uneasy Age. '

'People in India wanting a greater share in the government----'

'Mad as the Persians----' he smiled--'fancy _Persians_ clamouring for arepresentative chamber! It's a sort of epidemic. '

'The Egyptians, too, restless under "benefits. " And now everywhere, asif by some great concerted movement--the Women!'

'Yes, yes; there's plenty of regrettable restlessness up and down theworld, a sort of wave of revolt against the constituted authorities. Ifit goes too far--nothing for us but a military despotism!'

She shook her head with a look of such serene conviction that hepersisted, 'I'd be sorry if we came to it--but if this spirit grows, this rebellion against all forms of control----'

'No, no, against other people's control. Suppose it ends in peoplelearning self-control. '

'That's the last thing the masses can do. There are few, even of the_élite_, who have ever done it, and they belong to the MoralAristocracy--the smallest and most rigid in the world. This thing thatyou're just opening your eyes to, is the rage against restraint thatgoes with decadence. But the phlegmatic Englishman won't lead in thatdégringolade. '

'You mean we won't be among the first of the great nations to give womenthe Suffrage?'

'_England?_' The slow head-shake and the smile airily relegated theWoman's Movement to the limbo of the infinitely distant. 

'Just because the men won't have it?' and for the second time she said, 'I wonder. For myself, I rather think the women are going to win. '

'Not in my time. Not even in yours. '

'Why?'

'Oh, the men will never let it come to the point. '

'It's interesting to hear you say that. You justify the militant women, you know. '

'That is perhaps _not_ to hit the bull's eye!' he said, a little grimly. Then dropping his unaccustomed air of chill disapproval, he appealed tohis friend's better taste. A confession of sheer physical loathing creptinto his face as he let fall two or three little sentences about thesewomen's offence against public decorum. 'Why, it is as hideous as war!'he wound up, dismissing it. 

'Perhaps it _is_ war. ' Her phrase drew the cloud of menace down again;it closed about them. It seemed to trouble her that he would not meether gaze. 'Don't think----' she prayed, and stumbling against the newhardness in his face, broke off, withdrew her eyes and changed the formof what she had meant to say. 'I think I like good manners, too, but Isee it would be a mistake to put them first. What if we have to earn theright to be gentle and gracious without shame?'

'You seriously defend these people!'

'I'm not sure they haven't taken the only way. ' She looked at herfriend with a fresh appeal in her eyes. But his were wearing their newcold look. She seemed to nerve herself to meet some numbing danger ofcowardice. 'The old rule used to be patience--with no matter what wrong. The new feeling is: shame on any one who weakly suffers wrong! Isn't ittoo cheap an idea of morals that women should take credit for theenduring that keeps the wrong alive? You won't say women have no stakein morals. Have we any right to let the world go wrong while we getcompliments for our forbearance and for pretty manners?'

'You began, ' said Borrodaile, 'by explaining other women's notions. Youhave ended by seeming to adopt them as your own. But you are a person ofsome intelligence. You will open your eyes before you go too far. Youbelong to the people who are responsible for handing on the world'streasure. As we've agreed, there never was a time when it was attackedfrom so many sides. Can't you see what's at stake?'

'I see that many of the pleasantest things may be in eclipse for atime. '

'My dear, they would die off the face of the earth. '

'No, they are too necessary. '

'To you and me. Not to the brawlers in Hyde Park. The life of civilizedbeings is a very complex thing. It isn't filled by good intentions noreven by the cardinal virtues. The function of the older societies is tohand on the best things the world has won, so that those who come after, instead of having to go back to barbarism, may start from where the bestof their day left off. We do for manners and the arts in general whatthe Moors did for learning when the wild hordes came down. There werecapital chaps among the barbarians, ' he smiled, 'I haven't a doubt! Butit was the men who held fast to civilization's clue, they were thepeople who mattered. _We_ matter. We hold the clue. ' He was recoveringhis spirits. 'Your friends want to open the gates still wider to theHuns. You want even the Moors overwhelmed. '

'Many women are as jealous to guard the old gains as the men are. Wait!'She leaned forward. 'I begin to see! They are more keen about it thanthe mass of men. The women! They are civilization's only ally againstyour brother, the Goth. '

He laughed. 'When you are as absurd as that, my dear, I don't mind. No, not a little bit. And I really believe I'm too fond of you to quarrel onany ground. '

'You don't care enough about anything to quarrel about it, ' she said, smiling, too. 'But it's just as well'--she rose and began to draw on herglove--'just as well that each of us should know where to find theother. So tell me, what if it should be a question of going forward inthe suffrage direction or going back?'

'You mean----'

'----on from latchkeys and University degrees to Parliament, or back. '

'Oh, back, ' he said hastily. 'Back. Yes, back to the harem. '

When the words were out, Lord Borrodaile had laughed a littleuneasily--like one who has surprised even himself by sometoo-illuminating avowal. 'See here, ' he put out a hand. 'I'm not goingto let you go for a minute or two. I've brought something to show you. This foolish discussion put it out of my head. ' But the revealing wordhe had flung out--it seemed to have struck wide some window that hadbeen shuttered close before. The woman stood there in the glare. She didnot refuse to be drawn back to her place on the sofa, but she lookedround first to see if the others had heard and how they took it. Aglimpse of Mrs. Freddy's gown showed her out of earshot on the balcony. 

'I've got something here really rather wonderful, ' Lord Borrodaile wenton, with that infrequent kindling of enthusiasm. He had taken one of theunmounted photographs from between its two bits of cardboard and washolding it up before his eyeglass. 'Yes, he's an extraordinarybeggar!'--which remark in the ears of those who knew his lordship, advertized his admiration of either some man of genius or 'Uebermensch'of sorts. Before he shared the picture with his companion he told her ofwhat was not then so widely known--details of that most thrilling momentperhaps in all the romance of archæology--where the excavators ofKnossos came upon the first authentic picture of a man belonging to thatmysterious and forgotten race that had raised up a civilization in somethings rivalling the Greek--a race that had watched Minoan power waneand die, and all but the dimmest legend of it vanish, before thebuilders of Argos and Mycenæ began laying their foundation stones. Borrodaile, with an accent that for him was almost emotion, emphasizedthe strangeness to the scholar of having to abandon the old idea of theGreek being the sole flower of Mediterranean civilization. For here wasthis wonderful island folk--a people standing between and bridging Eastand West--these Cretan men and women who, though they show us theirfaces, their delicate art and their stupendous palaces, have held noparley with the sons of men, some say for three and thirty centuries. 'But wait! They'll tell us tales before those fellows have done! Iwouldn't mind hearing what this beggar has to say for himself!' At lasthe shared the picture. They agreed that he was a beggar to be reckonedwith--this proud athlete coming back to the world of men after his longsleep, not blinded by the new day, not primitive, apologetic, butmeeting us with a high imperial mien, daring and beautiful. 

'What do you suppose he is carrying in that vase?' Vida asked; 'or isthat some trophy?'

'No, no, it's the long drinking cup--to the expert eye that is addedevidence of his high degree of civilization. But _think_, you know, aman like that walking the earth so long before the Greeks! And here. This courtly train looking on at the games. What do you say to thewomen!'

'Why, they had got as far as flouncing their gowns and puffing theirsleeves! Their hair!'--'Dear me, they must have had a M. Raoul to onduléand dress it. ' 'Amazing!--was there ever anything so modern dug out ofthe earth before?' 'No, nothing like it!' he said, holding the picturesup again between the glass and his kindling eye. 'Ce sont vraiment desParisiennes!'

Over his shoulder the modern woman looked long at that strange company. 'It is nothing less than uncanny, ' she said at last. 'It makes onevaguely wretched. '

'What does?'

'To realize that so long ago the world had got so far. Why couldn'tpeople like these go further still? Why didn't their sons hold fast whatso great a race had won?'

'These things go in cycles. '

'Isn't that a phrase?'--the woman mused--'to cover our ignorance of howthings go--and why? Why should we be so content to go the old way todestruction? If I were "the English" of this splendid specimen of aCretan, I would at least find a new way to perdition. '

'Perhaps we shall!'

They sat trying from the accounts of Lord Borrodaile's archæologicalfriends to reconstruct something of that vanished world. It was a gamethey had played at before, with Etruscan vases and ivories fromEphesus--the man bringing to it his learning and his wit, the woman hersupple imagination and a passion of interest in the great romance of thePilgrimage of Man. 

But to-day she bore a less light-hearted part--'It all came to an end!'she repeated. 

'Well, so shall we. '

'But--we--_you_ will leave your like behind to "hold fast to the clue, "as you said a little while ago. '

'Till the turn of the wheel carries the English down. Then somewhereelse on our uneasy earth men will begin again----'

'----the fruitless round! But it's horrible--the waste of effort in theworld! It's worse than horrible. It's insane. ' She looked up suddenlyinto his face. 'You are wise. Tell me what you think the story of theworld means, with its successive clutches at civilization--all thosehistories of slow and painful building--by Ganges and by Nile and in theIsles of Greece. '

'It's a part of the universal rhythm that all things move to--Nature'sway, ' he answered. 

'Or was it because of some offence against one of her high laws that shewiped the old experiments out? What if the meaning of history is that anEmpire maintained by brute force shall perish by brute force!'

'Ah, ' he fixed her with those eyes of his. 'I see where you are going. '

'You can't either of you go anywhere, ' said Mrs. Freddy, appearingthrough the balcony window, 'till you've seen the children's pictures. 'Vida's eye had once more fallen on the reproduction of one of the Cretanfrescoes with a sudden intensification of interest. 

'What is it?' Borrodaile asked, looking over her shoulder. 

Woman-like she offered the man the outermost fringe of her thought. 'Even Lady Whyteleafe, ' she said, 'would be satisfied with the attentionthey paid to their hair. '

'Come, you two. ' Mrs. Freddy was at last impatient. 'Jean's got the_really_ beautiful pictures, showing them to Geoffrey. Let us all godown to help him to decide which is the best. '

'Geoffrey?'

'Geoffrey Stonor--you know him, of course. But nobody knows the verynicest side of Geoffrey, do they?' she appealed to Borrodaile, --'nobodywho hasn't seen him with children?'

'I never saw him with children, ' said Vida, buttoning the last button ofher glove. 

'Well, come down and watch him with Sara and Cecil. They perfectly adorehim. '

'No, it's too late. '

But the fond mother drew her friend to the window. 'You can see themfrom here. '

Vida was not so hurried, apparently, but what she could stand theretaking in the picture of Sara and Cecil climbing about their big, kindcousin, with Jean and Mr. Freddy looking on. 

'Children!' Their mother waved a handkerchief. 'Here's another friend!Chil---- They're too absorbed to notice, ' she said apologetically, turning to find Vida had left the window, and was saying good-bye toBorrodaile. 

'Oh, yes, ' he agreed, 'they won't care about anybody else while Geoffreyis there. ' Lord Borrodaile stooped and picked up a piece of folded paperoff the sofa. 'Did I drop that?' He opened it. '_Votes for_----' He readthe two words out in an accent that seemed to brand them withfoolishness, even with vulgarity. 'No, decidedly I did not drop it. '

He was conveying the sheet to the wastepaper basket as one who piouslyremoves some unsavoury litter out of the way of those who walkdelicately. Miss Levering arrested him with outstretched hand. 

'Do you want it?' His look adjured her to say, 'No. '

'Yes, I want it. '

'What for?' he persisted. 

'I want it for an address there is on it. '

CHAPTER XI

It was Friday, and Mrs. Fox-Moore was setting out to alleviate the lotof the poor in Whitechapel. 

'Even if it were not Friday, ' Vida said slyly as her sister waspreparing to leave the house, 'you'd invent some errand to take you outof the contaminated air of Queen Anne's Gate this afternoon. '

'Well, as I told you, ' said the other woman, nervously, 'you ask thatperson here on your own responsibility. '

Vida smiled. 'I'm obliged to ask people here if I want to see themquietly. You make such a fuss when I suggest having a house of my own!'

Mrs. Fox-Moore ignored the alternative. 'You'll see you're only makingtrouble for yourself. You'll have to pay handsomely for your curiosity. '

'Well, I've been rather economical of late. Maybe I'll be able "topay. "'

'Don't imagine you'll be able to settle an account of that kind with asingle cheque. Give people like that an inch, and they'll expect aweekly ell. '

'Are you afraid she'll abstract the spoons?'

'I'm not only afraid, I _know_ she won't be satisfied with onecontribution, or one visit. She'll regard it as the thin end of thewedge--getting her nose into a house of this kind. ' Irresistibly thewords conjured up a vision of some sharp-visaged female marauderinsinuating the tip of a very pointed nose between the great front doorand the lintel. 'I only hope, ' the elder woman went on, 'that I won't behere the first time Donald encounters your new friend on the doorstep. _That's_ all!'

Wherewith she departed to succour women and children at long range inthe good old way. Little Doris was ill in bed. Mr. Fox-Moore wasunderstood to have joined his brother's coaching party. The time hadbeen discreetly chosen--the coast was indubitably clear. But would itremain so?

To insure that it should, Miss Levering had a private conference withthe butler. 

'Some one is coming to see me on business. '

'Yes, miss. '

'At half-past five. '

'Yes, miss. '

'I specially don't want to be interrupted. '

'No, miss. '

'Not by _any_body, no matter whom. '

'Very well, miss. ' A slight pause. 'Shall I show the gentleman into thedrawing-room, miss?'

'It's not a gentleman, and I'll see her upstairs in my sitting-room. '

'Yes, miss. Very well, miss. '

'And don't forget--to _any_ one else I'm not at home. '

'No, miss. What name, miss?'

Vida hesitated. The servants nowadays read everything. 'Oh, you can'tmake a mistake. She---- It will be a stranger--some one who has neverbeen here before. Wait! I'll look out of the morning-room window. If itis the person I'm expecting, I'll ring the bell. You understand. If themorning-room bell has rung just as this person comes, it will be the oneI'm expecting. '

'Yes, miss. ' With a splendid impassivity in the face of precautions sounprecedented, the servant withdrew. 

Vida smiled to herself as she leaned back among the cushions of hercapacious sofa, cutting the pages of a book. A pleasant place this roomof hers, wide and cool, where the creamy background of wall andchintz-cover was lattice-laced with roses. The open windows looked outupon one of those glimpses of greenery made vivid to the London eye, notalone by gratitude, but by contrast of the leafage against the ebonizedbark of smoke-ingrained bole and twig. 

The summer wind was making great, gentle fans of the plane branches; itwas swaying the curtains that hung down in long, straight folds from thehigh cornices. No other sound in the room but the hard grate of theivory paper-knife sawing its way through a book whose outside alone (amuddy-brown, pimpled cloth) proclaimed it utilitarian. Among thefair-covered Italian volumes, the vellum-bound poets, and thosefriends-for-a-lifetime wearing linen or morocco to suit a special taste;above all, among that greater company 'quite impudently French' thatstood close ranked on shelves or lay about on tables--the brown book onits dusty modern theme wore the air of a frieze-coated yeoman sittingamongst broadcloth and silk. The reader glanced from time to time at theclock. When the small glittering hand on the porcelain face pointed totwenty minutes past five, the lady took her book and her paper-knifeinto a front room on the floor below. She sat down behind the loweredpersienne, and every now and then lifted her eyes from the page andpeered out between the tiny slits. As the time went on she looked outoftener. More than once she half rose and seemed about to abandon allhope of the mysterious visitor when a hansom dashed up to the door. Oneswift glance: 'They go in cabs!'--and Miss Levering ran to the bell. 

A few moments after, she was again established in her sofa corner, andthe door of her sitting-room opened. 'The lady, miss. ' Into the wide, harmonious space was ushered a hot and harassed-looking woman, in a lankalpaca gown and a tam-o'-shanter. Miss Claxton's clothes, like herself, had borne the heat and burden of the day. She frowned as she gave herhand. 

'I am late, but it was very difficult to get away at all. '

Miss Levering pushed towards her one of the welcoming great easy-chairsthat stood holding out cool arms and a lap of roses. The tired visitor, with her dusty clothes and brusque manner, sat down without relaxing tothe luxurious invitation. Her stiffly maintained attitude and directlook said as plain as print, Now what excuse have you to offer forasking me to come here? It may have been recollection of Mrs. Fox-Moore's fear of 'the thin end of the wedge' that made Miss Leveringsmile as she said--

'Yes, I've been expecting you for the last half hour, but it's very goodof you to come at all. '

Miss Claxton looked as if she quite agreed. 

'You'll have some tea?' Miss Levering was moving towards the bell. 

'No, I've had my tea. '

The queer sound of 'my' tea connoting so much else! The hostess subsidedon to the sofa. 

'I heard you speak the other day as I told you in my note. But all thesame I came away with several unanswered questions--questions that Iwanted to put to you quietly. As I wrote you, I am not what _you_ wouldcall a convert. I've only got as far as the inquiry stage. '

Miss Claxton waited. 

'Still, if I take up your time, I ought not to let you be out of pocketby it. '

The hostess glanced towards the little spindle-legged writing-table, where, on top of a heap of notes, lay the blue oblong of a cheque-book. 

'We consider it part of every day's business to answer questions, ' saidMiss Claxton. 

'I suppose I can make some little contribution without--without itscommitting me to anything?'

'Committing you----'

'Yes; it wouldn't get into the papers, ' she said, a little shamefaced, 'or--or anything like that. '

'It wouldn't get into the papers unless you put it in. '

The lady blinked. There was a little pause. She was not easy to talkto--this young woman. Nor was she the ideal collector of contributions. 

'That was a remarkable meeting you had in Hyde Park last Sunday. '

'Remarkable? Oh, no, they're all pretty much alike. '

'Do they all end like that?'

'Oh, yes; people come to scoff, and by degrees we get hold of them--eventhe Hyde Park loafers. '

'I mean, do they often crowd up and try to hustle the speakers?'

'Oh, they are usually quite good-natured. '

'You handled them wonderfully. '

'We're used to dealing with crowds. '

Her look went round the room, as if to say, 'It's this kind of thing I'mnot used to, and I don't take to it over-kindly. '

'In the crush at the end, ' said Miss Levering, 'I overheard a scrap ofconversation between two men. They were talking about you. "Very goodfor a woman, " one said. '

Miss Claxton smiled a scornful little smile. 

'And the other one said, "It would have been very good for a man. Andpersonally, " he said, "I don't know many men who could have kept thatcrowd in hand for two hours. " That's what two men thought of it. '

She made no answer. 

'It doesn't seem to me possible that your speakers average as good asthose I heard on Sunday. '

'We have a good many who speak well, but we look upon Ernestine Blunt asour genius. '

'Yes, she seems rather a wonderful little person, but I wrote to youbecause--partly because you are older. And you gave me the impression ofbeing extremely level-headed. '

'Ernestine Blunt is level-headed too, ' said Miss Claxton, warily. 

She was looking into the lady's face, frowning a little in that way ofhers, intent, even somewhat suspicious. 

'Oh, I dare say, but she's such a child!'

'We sometimes think Ernestine Blunt has the oldest head among us. '

'Really, ' said Miss Levering. 'When a person is as young as that, youdon't know how much is her own and how much borrowed. '

'She doesn't need to borrow. '

'But _you_. I said to myself, "That woman, who makes other things soclear, she can clear up one or two things for me. "'

'Well, I don't know. ' More wary than ever, she suspended judgment. 

'I noticed none of you paid any attention when the crowd calledout--things about----'

Miss Claxton's frown deepened. It was plain she heard the echo of thatinsistent, never-answered query of the crowd, 'Got your dog-whip, miss?'She waited. 

It looked as though Miss Levering lacked courage to repeat it in all itsviolent bareness. 

'----when they called out things--about the encounters with the police. It's those stories, as I suppose you know, that have set so many againstthe movement. '

No word out of Miss Claxton. She sat there, not leaning back, nor anylonger stiffly upright, but hunched together like a creature ready tospring. 

'I believed those stories too; but when I had watched you, and listenedto you on Sunday, ' Miss Levering hastened to add, a little shamefaced atthe necessity, 'I said to myself, not' (suddenly she stopped and smiledwith disarming frankness)--'I didn't say, "That woman's toowell-behaved, or too amiable;" I said, "She's too intelligent. Thatwoman never spat at a policeman. '"

'Spit? No, ' she said grimly. 

'"Nor bit, nor scratched, nor any of those things. And since the papershave lied about that, " I said to myself, "I'll go to headquarters forinformation. "'

'What papers do you read?'

'Oh, practically all. This house is like a club for papers andmagazines. My brother-in-law has everything. '

'The _Clarion_?'

'No, I never saw the _Clarion_. '

'The _Labour Leader_?'

'No. '

'The _Labour Record_?'

'No. '

'It is the organ of our party. '

'I--I'm afraid I never heard of any of them. '

Miss Claxton smiled. 

'I'll take them in myself in future, ' said the lady on the sofa. 'Was itreading those papers that set you to thinking?'

'Reading papers? Oh, no. It was----' She hesitated, and puckered up herbrows again as she stared round the room. 

'Yes, go on. That's one of the things I wanted to know, if you don'tmind--how you came to be identified with the movement. '

A little wearily, without the smallest spark of enthusiasm at theprospect of imparting her biography, Miss Claxton told slowly, evendully, and wholly without passion, the story of a hard life metsingle-handed from even the tender childhood days--one of those recitalsthat change the relation between the one who tells and the one wholistens--makes the last a sharer in the life to the extent that the twocan never be strangers any more. Though they may not meet, nor write, nor have any tangible communication, there is understanding betweenthem. 

At the close Miss Levering stood up and gave the other her hand. Neithersaid anything. They looked at each other. 

After the lady had resumed her seat, Miss Claxton, as under somecompulsion born of the other's act of sympathy, went on--

'It is a newspaper lie--as you haven't needed to be told--about thespitting and scratching and biting--but the day I was arrested; the dayof the deputation to Effingham, I saw a policeman knocking some of ourpoorer women about very roughly' (it had its significance, the tone inwhich she said 'our poorer women'). 'I called out that he was not to dothat again. He had one of our women like this, and he was banging heragainst the railings. I called out if he didn't stop I would make him. He kept on'--a cold glitter came into the eyes--'and I struck him. Istruck the coward in the face. '

The air of the mild luxurious room grew hot and quivered. The lady onthe sofa lowered her eyes. 

'They must be taught, ' the other said sternly, 'the police must betaught, they are not to treat our women like that. On the whole thepolice behave well. But their power is immense and almost entirelyunchecked. It's a marvel they are as decent as they are. How should_they_ be expected to know how to treat women? What example do theyhave? Don't they hear constantly in the courts how little it costs a manto be convicted of beating his own wife?' She fired the questions at theinnocent person on the sofa, as if she held her directly responsible forthe need to ask them. 'Stealing is far more dangerous; yes, even if aman's starving. That's because bread is often dear and women are alwayscheap. '

She waited a moment, waited for the other to contradict or at leastresent the dictum. The motionless figure among the sofa cushions, whosevery look and air seemed to proclaim 'some of us are expensive enough, 'hardly opened her lips to say, as if to herself--

'Yes, women are cheap. '

Perhaps Miss Claxton thought the agreement lacked conviction, for shewent on with a harsh hostility that seemed almost personal--

'We'd rather any day be handled by the police than by theself-constituted stewards of political meetings. '

Partly the words, even more the look in the darkening face, made MissLevering say--

'That brings me to something else I wanted to be enlightened about. Onereason I wrote to ask for a little talk with _you_ specially, wasbecause I couldn't imagine your doing anything so futile as to pit yourphysical strength--considerable as it may be--but to pit your muscleagainst men's is merely absurd. And I, when I saw how intelligent youwere, I saw that you know all that quite as well as I. Why, then, carrya whip?'

The lowered eyelids of the face opposite quivered faintly. 

'You couldn't think it would save you from arrest. '

'No, not from arrest. ' The woman's mouth hardened. 

'I know'--Miss Levering bridged the embarrassment of the pause--'I knowthere must be some rational explanation. '

But if there were it was not forthcoming. 

'So you see your most indefensible and even futile-appearing action gavethe cue for my greatest interest, ' said Vida, with a mixture of anxietyand bluntness. 'For just the woman you were, to do so brainless athing--what was behind? That was what I kept asking myself. '

'It--isn't--only--_rough_ treatment one or two of us have met'--shepulled out the words slowly--'it's sometimes worse. ' They both waited ina curious chill embarrassment. 'Not the police, but the stewards atpolitical meetings, and the men who volunteer to "keep the women inorder, " they'--she raised her fierce eyes and the colour rose in hercheeks--'as they're turning us out they punish us in ways the publicdon't know. ' She saw the shrinking wonder in the woman opposite, and shedid not spare her. 'They punish us by underhand maltreatment--of thekind most intolerable to a decent woman. '

'Oh, no, no!' The other face was a flame to match. 

'Yes!' She flung it out like a poisoned arrow. 

'How _dare_ they!' said Vida in a whisper. 

'They know we dare not complain. '

'Why not?'

A duller red overspread the face as the woman muttered, 'Nobody, nowoman, wants to talk about it. And if we did they'd only say, "See!you're killing chivalry. " _Chivalry!_' She laughed. It was not good tohear a laugh like that. 

The figure on the sofa winced. 'I assure you people don't know, ' saidVida. 

'It's known well enough to those who've had to suffer it, and it's knownto the brutes of men who----'

'Ah, but you _must_ realize'--Miss Levering jumped to her feet--'youmust admit that the great mass of men would be indignant if they knew. '

'You think so?' The question was insulting in its air of forbearancewith a fairy-tale view of life. 

'Think so? I _know_ it. I should be sorry for my own powers of judgmentif I believed the majority of men were like the worst specimens--likethose you----'

'Oh, well, we don't dwell on that side. It's enough to remember thatwomen without our incentive have to bear worse. It's part of a wholesystem. '

'I shall never believe that!' exclaimed Vida, thinking what was meantwas an organized conspiracy against the Suffragettes. 

'Yes, it's all part of the system we are in the world to overturn. Whyshould we suppose we'd gain anything by complaining? Don't hundreds, thousands of meek creatures who have never defied anybody, don't theyhave to bear worse ignominies? Every man knows that's true. Who troubleshimself? What is the use, we say, of crying about individual pains andpenalties? No. The thing is to work day and night to root out the systemthat makes such things possible. '

'I still don't understand--why you thought it would be a protection tocarry----'

'A man's fear of ridicule will restrain him when nothing else will. Ifone of them is publicly whipped, _and by a woman_, it isn't likely to beforgotten. Even the fear of it--protects us from some things. After anexperience some of the women had, the moment our committee decided onanother demonstration, little Mary O'Brian went out, without consultinganybody, and bought me the whip. "If you will go, " she said, "you shan'tgo unarmed. If we have that sort of cur to deal with, the only thing isto carry a dog-whip. "'

Miss Claxton clenched her hands in their grey cotton gloves. There wassilence in the room for several seconds. 

'What we do in asking questions publicly--it's only what men doconstantly. The greatest statesman in the land stops to answer a man, even if he's a fool naturally, or half drunk. They treat thoseinterrupters with respect, they answer their questions civilly. They aremen. They have votes. But women: "Where's the chucker out?"'

'Are you never afraid that all you're going through may be in vain?'

'No. We are quite certain to succeed. We have found the right way atlast. '

'You mean what are called your tactics?'

'I mean the spirit of the women. I mean: not to mind the price. Whenyou've got people to feel like that, success is sure. '

'But it comes very hard on those few who pay with the person, as theFrench say, pay with prison--and with----'

'Prison isn't the worst!'

A kind of shyness came over the woman on the sofa; she dropped her eyesfrom the other's face. 

'Of course, ' the ex-prisoner went on, 'if more women did a little itwouldn't be necessary for the few to do so much. '

'I suppose you are in need of funds to carry on the propaganda. '

'Money isn't what is most needed. One of our workers--a little millgirl--came up from the country with only two pounds in her pocket torouse London. And she did it!' her comrade exulted. 'But there's a classwe don't reach. If only'--she hesitated and glanced reflectively at thewoman before her. 

'Yes?' Miss Levering's eye flew to the cheque-book. 

'If only we could get women of influence to understand what's at stake, 'said Miss Claxton, a little wistfully. 

'They don't?'

'Oh, some. A few. As much as can be expected. '

'Why do you say that?'

'Well, the upper-class women, I don't say all' (she spoke as oneexercising an extreme moderation); 'but many of them are such sexlesscreatures. '

Miss Levering opened wide eyes--a glint of something like amazedlaughter crossed her face, as she repeated--

'_They_ are sexless, you think?'

'We find them so, ' said the other, firmly. 

'Why'--Miss Levering smiled outright--'that's what they say of you. '

'Well, it's nonsense, like the rest of what they say. '

The accusation of sexlessness brought against the curled darlings ofsociety by these hard-working, hard-hitting sisters of theirs was notthe least ironic thing in the situation. 

'Why do you call them----?'

'Because we see they have no sex-pride. If they had, they couldn't dothe things they do. '

'What sort of things?'

'Oh, I can't go into that. ' She stood up and tugged at her wrinkledcotton gloves. 'But it's easy for us to see they're sexless. ' She seemedto resent the unbelief in the opposite face. 'Lady Caterham sent for methe other day. You may have heard of Lady Caterham. '

Miss Levering suppressed the fact of how much, by a vague-sounding--

'Y--yes. '

'Well, she sent for me to---- Oh, I suppose she was curious!'

'Like me, ' said the other, smiling. 

'_She's_ a very great person in her county, and she _said_ shesympathized with the movement--only she didn't approve of our tactics, she said. We are pretty well used by now to people who don't approve ofour tactics, so I just sat and waited for the "dog-whip. "'

It was obvious that the lady without influence in her county winced atthat, almost as though she felt the whip on her own shoulders. She wasindeed a hard-hitter, this woman. 

'I don't go about talking of why I carry a whip. I _hate_ talking aboutit, ' she flung the words out resentfully. 'But I'd been sent to try toget that woman to help, and so I explained. I told her when she askedwhy it seemed necessary'--again the face flushed--'I told her!--morethan I've told you. And will you believe it, she never turned a hair. Just sat there with a look of cool curiosity on her face. Oh, they haveno sex-pride, those upper-class women!'

'Lady Caterham probably didn't understand. '

'Perfectly. She asked questions. No, it just didn't matter much to herthat a woman should suffer that sort of thing. She didn't feel theindignity of it. Perhaps if it had come to her, _she_ wouldn't havesuffered, ' said the critic, with a grim contempt. 

'There may be another explanation, ' said Miss Levering, a little curtly, but wisely she forbore to present it. 

If the rough and ready reformer had chilled her new sympathizer by thisbitterness against 'the parasite class, ' she wiped out the memory of itby the enthusiasm with which she spoke of those other women, herfellow-workers. 

'Our women are wonderful!' she lifted her tired head. 'I knew they'dnever had a chance to show what they were, but there are some things----No! I didn't think women had it in them. '

She had got up and was standing now by the door, her limp gown clinginground her, her weather-beaten Tam on one side. But in the confident lookwith which she spoke of 'our women, ' the brow had cleared. You saw thatit was beautiful. Miss Levering stood at the door with an anxious eye onthe stair, as if fearful of the home-coming of 'her fellow-coward, ' or, direr catastrophe--old Mr. Fox-Moore's discovering the damning fact ofthis outlaw's presence under his roof! Yet, even so, torn thus betweendread and desire to pluck out the heart of the new mystery, 'themilitant woman, ' Miss Levering did not speed the parting guest. Asthough recognizing fully now that the prophesied use was not going to bemade of the 'thin end of the wedge, ' she detained her with--

'I wonder when I shall see you again. '

'I don't know, ' said the other, absently. 

'When is the next meeting?'

'Next Sunday. Every Sunday. '

'I shall be glad to hear you speak again; but--you'll come and seeme--here. '

'I can't. I'm going away. '

'Oh! To rest, I hope. '

'Rest?' She laughed at an idea so comic. 'Oh, no. I'm going to workamong the women in Wales. We have great hopes of those West-countrywomen. They're splendid! They're learning the secret of co-operation, too. Oh, it's good stuff to work on--the relief of it after London!'

Miss Levering smiled. 'Then I won't be seeing you very soon. '

'No. ' She seemed to be thinking. 'It's true what I say of the Welshwomen, and yet we oughtn't to be ungrateful to our London women either. 'She seemed to have some sense of injustice on her soul. 'We've beenseeing just recently what they're made of, too!' She paused on thethreshold and began to tell in a low voice of women 'new to the work, 'who had been wavering, uncertain if they could risk imprisonment--poorwomen with husbands and children. 'When they heard _what it mightmean_--this battle we're fighting--they were ashamed not to help us!'

'You mean----' Vida began, shrinking. 

'Yes!' said the other, fiercely. 'The older women saw they ought to savethe younger ones from having to face that sort of thing. That was how wegot some of the wives and mothers. '

She went on with a stern emotion that was oddly contagious, tellingabout a certain scene at the Headquarters of the Union. Against the greyand squalid background of a Poor Women's movement, stood out in thosenext seconds a picture that the true historian who is to come will notneglect. A call for recruits with this result--a huddled group, all new, unproved, ignorant of the ignorant. The two or three leaders, conscience-driven, feeling it necessary to explain to the untried womenthat if they shared in the agitation, they were not only facingimprisonment, but unholy handling. 

'It was only fair to let them know the worst, ' said the woman at thedoor, 'before they were allowed to join us. '

As the abrupt sentences fell, the grim little scene was reconstituted;the shrinking of the women who had offered their services ignorant ofthis aspect of the battle--their horror and their shame. At the memoryof that hour the strongly-controlled voice shook. 

'They cried, those women, ' she said. 

'But they came?' asked the other, trembling, as though for her, too, itwas vital that these poor women should not quail. 

'Yes, ' answered their leader a little hoarsely, 'they came!'

CHAPTER XII

One of the oddest things about these neo-Suffragists was the simplicitywith which they accepted aid--the absence in the responsible ones ofconventional gratitude. This became matter for both surprise andinstruction to the outsider. It no doubt had the effect of chilling andalienating the 'philanthropist on the make. ' Even to the lessungenerous, not bargainers for approbation or for influence, even intheir case the deep-rooted suspicion we have been taught to cultivatefor one another, makes the gift of good faith so difficult that it canbe given freely only to people like these, people who plainly and dailysuffered for their creed, who stood to lose all the things most of usstrive for, people who valued neither comfort, nor money, nor theworld's good word. That they took help, and even sacrifice, as a matterof course, seemed in them mere modesty and sound good sense; tantamountto saying, 'I am not so silly or self-centred as to suppose you do thisfor _me_. You do it, of course, for the Cause. The Cause is yours--isall Women's. You serve humanity. Who am I that I should thank you?'

This attitude extended even to acts that were in truth prompted less byconcern for the larger issue than by sheer personal interest. 

Vida Levering's first experience of this 'new attitude' came one lateafternoon while on her way to leave cards on some people in GrosvenorRoad. Driving through Pimlico about half-past six, she lifted up hereyes at the sound of many voices and beheld a mob of men and boys in theact of pursuing a little group of women, who were fleeing up a sidestreet away from the river. The natural shrinking and disgust of 'thesheltered woman' showed in the face of the occupant of the brougham asshe leaned forward and said to the coachman--

'Not this way! Don't you see there's some disturbance? Turn back. '

The man obeyed. The little crowd had halted. It looked as if the thief, or drunken woman, or what not, had been surrounded and overwhelmed. Theend of the street abutted on Pimlico Pier. Two or three knots of peoplewere still standing about, talking and looking up the street at thelittle crowd of shouting, gesticulating rowdies. A woman with aperambulator, making up her mind at just the wrong moment to cross theroad, found herself almost under the feet of the Fox-Moore horses. Thecoachman pulled up sharply, and before he had driven on, the lady's eyeshad fallen on an inscription in white chalk on the flagstone--

 'VOTES FOR WOMEN. 

 'Meeting here to-night at a quarter to six. '

The occupant of the carriage turned her head sharply in the direction ofthe 'disturbance, ' and then--

'After all, I must go up that street. Drive fast till you get near thosepeople. Quick!'

'Up _there_, miss?'

'Yes, yes. Make haste!' For the crowd was moving on, and still no signof a policeman. 

By the time the brougham caught up with them, the little huddle of folkhad nearly reached the top of the street. In the middle of the _mêlée_ afamiliar face. Ernestine Blunt!

'Oh, Henderson!'--Miss Levering put her head out of the window--'thatgirl! the young one! She's being mobbed. '

'Yes, miss. '

'But something must be done! Hail a policeman. '

'Yes, miss. '

'Do you _see_ a policeman?'

'No, miss. '

'Well, stop a moment, ' for even at this slowest gait the brougham hadpassed the storm centre. 

The lady hanging out of the window looked back and saw that Ernestine'sface, very pink as to cheeks, very bright as to eyes, was turned quiteunruffled on the rabble. 

'Can't you see the meeting's over?' she called out. 'You boys go homenow and think about what we've told you. '

The reply to that was a laugh and a concerted 'rush' that all butcarried the girl and her companions off their feet. To Henderson'spetrifaction, the door of the brougham was hastily opened and thenslammed to, leaving Miss Levering in the road, saying to him over hershoulder--

'Wait just round the corner, unless I call. '

With which she hurried across the street, her eyes on the little facethat, in spite of its fresh colouring, looked so pathetically tired. Making her way round the outer fringe of the crowd, Vida saw on theother side--near where Ernestine and her sore-beset companions stoodwith their backs to the wall--an opening in the dingy ranks. Fleet offoot, she gained it, thrust an arm between the huddled women, and, taking the foolhardy girl by the sleeve, said, _sotto voce_--

'Come! Come with me!'

Ernestine raised her eyes, fixed them for one calm instant on VidaLevering's face, and then, turning round, said--

'Where's Mrs. Brown?'

'Never mind Mrs. Brown!' whispered the strange lady, drawing off as therowdy young men came surging round that side. 

There was another rush and a yell, and Vida fled. When next she turnedto look, it was to see two women making a sudden dash for liberty. Theyhad escaped through the rowdy ranks, and they tore across the street, running for their lives and calling for help as they ran. 

Vida, a shade or two paler, stood transfixed. What was going to happen?But there was the imperturbable Ernestine holding the forsaken position, still the centre of the pushing, shouting little mob who had jeeredfrantically as the other women fled. 

It was too much. Not Ernestine's isolation alone, the something childishin the brilliant face would have enlisted a less sympathetic observer. Asingle moment's wavering and the lady made for the place where thebesiegers massed less thick. She was near enough now to call out overthe rowdies' heads--

'Come. Why do you stay there?'

Faces turned to look at her; while Ernestine shouted back the crypticsentence--

'It wasn't my bus!'

_Bus?_ Had danger robbed her of her reason? The boys were cheering nowand looking past Miss Levering: she turned, bewildered, to see 'Mrs. Brown' and a sister reformer mounting the top of a sober London Roadcar. They had been running for that, then--and not for life! MissLevering raised her hand and her voice as she looked back at Ernestine--

'I've got a trap. Come!'

'Where?'

Ernestine stepped out from the vociferating, jostling crowd and followedthe new face as simply as though she had been waiting for just thatsummons. The awful moment was when, with a shout, the tail of rowdiesfollowed after. Miss Levering had not bargained for that. Her agitatedglance left the unsavoury horde at her heels and went nervously up anddown the street. It was plainly not only, nor even chiefly, thehooligans she feared, but the amazéd eye of some acquaintance. Badenough to meet Henderson's!

'Jump in!' she said hastily to the girl, and then, 'Go on!' she calledout desperately, flying in after Ernestine and slamming the door. 'Drive_fast_!' She thrust her head through the window to add, '_Anywhere!_'And she sank back. 'How dreadful that was!'

'What was?' said the rescued one, glancing out of the carriage with anair of suddenly renewed interest. 

'Why, the attack of those hooligans on a handful of defenceless women. '

'Oh, they weren't attacking us. '

'What were they doing?'

'Oh, just running after us and screaming a little. '

'But I _saw_ them--pushing and jostling and----'

'Oh, it was all quite good-natured. '

'You mean you weren't frightened?'

'There's nothing to be frightened at. ' She was actually saying it in asoothing, 'motherly' sort of way, calculated to steady the lady'snerves--reassuring the rescuer. 

Vida's eye fell on the festoon of braid falling from the dark clothskirt. 

'Well, the polite attentions of your friends seem to have rather damagedyour gown. '

Over a big leather portfolio that she held clasped in her arms, Ernestine, too, looked down at the torn frock. 

'That foolish trimming--it's always getting stepped on. '

Miss Levering's search had produced a pin. 

'No; I'll just pull it off. '

Ernestine did so, and proceeded to drop a yard of it out of the window. Miss Levering began to laugh. 

'Which way are we going?' says Miss Blunt, looking out. 'I have to be atBattersea at----'

'What were you doing at Pimlico Pier?'

'Holding a meeting for the Government employees--the people who work forthe Army and Navy Clothing Department. '

'Oh. And you live at Battersea?'

'No; but I have a meeting there to-night. We had a very good one at theDocks, too. ' Her eyes sparkled. 

'A Suffrage meeting?'

'Yes; one of the best we've had----'

'When was that?'

'During the dinner hour. The men stood with their pails and ate whilethey listened. They were quite nice and understanding, those men. '

'What day was that?'

'This morning. '

'And the Battersea meeting?'

'That's not for another hour; but I have to be there first--to arrange. '

'When do you dine?'

'Oh, I'll get something either before the meeting or after--wheneverthere's time. '

'Isn't it a pity not to get your food regularly? Won't you last longerif you do?'

'Oh, I shall last. ' She sat contentedly, hugging her big portfolio. 

The lady glanced at the carriage clock. 'In the house where I live, dinner is a sort of sacred rite. If you are two seconds late you aredisgraced, so I'm afraid I can't----'

'There's the bus I was waiting for!' Ernestine thrust her head out. 'Stop, will you!' she commanded the astonished Henderson. 'Good-bye. 'She nodded, jumped out, shut the door, steadied her hat, and was gone. 

It was so an acquaintance began that was destined to make a differenceto more than one life. Those days of the summer that Miss Claxton spentindoctrinating the women of Wales, and that Mrs. Chisholm utilized in'organizing Scotland, ' were dedicated by Ernestine and her friends tostirring up London and the various dim and populous worlds of thesuburbs. 

Much oftener than even Mrs. Fox-Moore knew, her sister, instead of beingin the houses where she was supposed to be, and doing the things she wasexpected to be doing, might have been seen in highly unexpected hauntsprosecuting her acquaintance with cockney crowds, never learningErnestine's fearlessness of them, and yet in some way fascinated almostas much as she was repelled. At first she would sit in a hansom at safedistance from the turmoil that was usually created by the expounders ofwhat to the populace was a 'rum new doctrine' invented by Ernestine. Miss Levering would lean over the apron of the cab hearing only scraps, till the final, 'Now, all who are in favour of Justice, hold up theirhands. ' As the crowd broke and dissolved, the lady in the hansom wouldthrow open the doors, and standing up in front of the dashboard, shewould hail and carry off the arch-agitator, while the crowd surgedround. Several times this programme had been carried out, when oneafternoon, after seeing the girl and her big leather portfolio safe inthe cab, and the cab safe out of the crowd, Vida heaved a sigh ofrelief. 

'_There!_ Now tell me, what did you do yesterday?'--meaning, How in theworld did you manage without me to take care of you?

'Yesterday? We had a meeting down at the Woolwich Arsenal. And wedistributed handbills for two hours. And we had a debate in the eveningat the New Reform Club. '

'Oh, you didn't hold a meeting here in the afternoon?'

'Yes we did. I forgot that. ' She seemed also to have forgotten that hernew friend had been prevented from appearing to carry her off. 

Miss Levering smiled down at her. 'What a funny little person you are. Do you know who I am?'

'No. '

'It hasn't ever occurred to you to ask?'

The face turned to her with a half roguish smile. 'Oh, I thought youlooked all right. '

'I'm the person who had the interview with your friend, Miss Claxton. 'As no recollection showed in the face, 'At Queen Anne's Gate, ' sheadded. 

'I don't think I knew about that, ' said Ernestine, absently. Then alert, disdainful, 'Fancy the member for Wrotton saying---- Yes, we went to seehim this morning. '

'Oh, that is very exciting! What was he like?'

'Quite a feeble sort of person, I thought. '

'Really!' laughed Miss Levering. 

'He talked such nonsense to us about that old Plural Voting Bill. Hisidea seemed to be to get us to promise to behave nicely while theoverworked House of Commons considered the iniquity of some men havingmore than one vote--they hadn't a minute this session to consider themuch greater iniquity of no women having any vote at all! Of course hesaid he _had_ been a great friend to Woman Suffrage, until he gotshocked with our tactics. ' She smiled broadly. 'We asked him what he'dever done to show his friendship. '

'Well?'

'He didn't seem to know the answer to that. What strikes me most aboutmen is their being so illogical. '

 * * * * *

Lady John Ulland had been openly surprised, even enthusiasticallygrateful, at discovering before this that Vida Levering was ready tohelp her with some of the unornamental duties that fall to the lot ofthe 'great ladies' of England. 

'I don't know what that discontented creature, her sister, means bysaying Vida is so unsympathetic about charity work. '

Neither could Lady John's neighbour, the Bishop, understand Mrs. Fox-Moore's reproach. Had not his young kinswoman's charity concertshelped to rebuild the chantry?

'Such a _nice creature_!' was Lord John's contribution. Then, showingthe profundity of his friendly interest, 'Why doesn't she find some nicefella to marry her?'

'People don't marry so early nowadays, ' his wife reassured him. 

Lord Borrodaile, to whom Vida still talked freely, he alone had someunderstanding of the changed face life was coming to wear for her. Whenhe found that laughing at her failed of the desired effect, he offeredtouching testimony to his affection for her by trying to understand. Itwas no small thing for a man like Borrodaile, who, for the rest, foundit no easier than others of his class rightly to interpret the modernscene as looked down upon from the narrow lancet of the mediæval towerwhich was his mind. 

When she got him to smile at her report of the humours of the populace, he did so against his will, shaking his long Van Dyke head, and saying--

'It spoils the fun for me to think of your being there. I have a quiteunconquerable distrust of eccentricity. '

'There's nothing the least original about my mixing with "The People, "as my sister would call them. The women of my world would often goslumming. The only difference between me and them may be that I, perhaps, shall go a little farther, that's all. '

'Well, I devoutly hope you won't!' he said, with unusual emphasis. 'Letthe proletariat attend to the affairs of the proletariat. They don'tneed a woman like you. '

'They not only need--what's more, they are getting, all kinds! It'sthat, more than anything else, that shows their strength. The miracle itis, to see the way they all work together! Women, the poorest and mostignorant (except of hardship), working shoulder to shoulder with womenof substance and position. Oh, yes, they are winning over that sort, teachers and university graduates--a whole group who would be calledIntellectuals if they were men--all doing what men have said women couldnever do--pulling together. And, oh! that reminds me, ' she saidsuddenly, smiling as one who has thought of a capital joke at hercompanion's expense: 'it's my duty to warn you. I went with yourdaughter to lunch at her Country Club, and they were all discussing theSuffrage! A good dozen! And Sophia--well, Sophia came out in a newlight. I want you, please, to believe _I've_ never talked to her. '

'Oh, ' said Borrodaile, with an unconscious arrogance, 'Sophia doesn'twait to be talked to. She takes her own line. Politics are a traditionwith our women. I found her reading the parliamentary debates when shewas fourteen. '

'And your boys, are they equally----?'

He sighed. 'The world has got very topsy-turvy. All my girls areboys--and all my boys are girls. '

'Well, Sophia can take care of the Country Club! I remember how wescoffed when she organized it. '

'It's had precisely the effect I expected. Takes her away from her ownhome, where she ought to be----'

'Who wants her at home?'

Unblushingly he answered, '_I_ do. '

'Why, you're never there yourself. ' He blinked. 'When you aren't in yourgarden you're----'

'Here?' he laughed. 

'I don't myself, ' she went on, '_I_ don't belong to any clubs----'

'I should hope not, indeed! Where should I go for tea and for news ofthe workings of the Zeitgeist?' he mocked. 

'But I begin to see what women's clubs are for. '

'They're for the dowdy, unattached females to meet and gossip in, tohold feeble little debates in, to listen to pettifogging littlelectures, and imagine they're _dans le mouvement_. '

'They are to accustom women to thinking and acting together. While youand I have been laughing at them, they've been building up a hugemachinery of organization, ready to the hand of the chief engineer whois to come. '

'Horrible thought!'

'Well, horrible or not, I don't despise clubs any more. They're largelyresponsible for the new corporate spirit among women. '

He pulled himself out of the cavernous comfort of his chair, and stoodglooming in front of the screen that hid the fireless grate. 

'Clubs, societies, leagues, they're all devices for robbing people oftheir freedom. It's no use to talk to me. I'm one of the fewindividualists left in the world. I never wanted in my life to belong toany body. ' Her pealing laughter made him explain, smiling, 'To anycorporation, was what I meant. '

'No, no. You got it right the first time! The reason that, in spite ofmy late perversities, you don't cast me off is because I'm one of thefew women who don't make claims. '

'It is the claim of the community that I resent. I want to keep clear ofall complication. I want to be really free. I could never have pledgedmyself to any Church or any party. '

'Perhaps'--she smiled at him--'perhaps that's why you are a beautifuland ineffectual angel. '

'The reason I never did is because I care about liberty--the thingitself. You are in danger, I see, of being enamoured of the name. Inthought women are always half a century or so behind. What patriot'svoice is heard in Europe or America to-day? Where is the modern Kossuth, Garibaldi? What poet goes out in these times to die at Missolonghi? Justas men are finding out the vanity of the old dreams, the women seem tobe seizing on them. The mass of intelligent men have no longing forpolitical power. If a sort of public prominence is thrust on men'--heshrugged as if his shoulders chafed under some burden--'_in theirhearts_ they curse their lot. I suppose it's all so new to the woman sheis amused. She even--I'm _told_'--his lifted hand, with the closedfingers suddenly flung open, advertised the difficulty a sane personfound in crediting the uncanny rumour--'I'm _told_ that women even likepublic dinners. '

'Well, you do. '

'I?'

'You go--to all the most interesting ones. '

'Part of my burden! Unlike your new friends, there's nothing I hate somuch, unless it is having to make a speech. '

'Well, now, shall I stop "playing at ma'ams" and just say that when Ihear a man like you explaining in that superior way how immensely he_doesn't care_, I seem to see that that is precisely the worstindictment against your class. If special privilege breeds that----'

It merely amused him to see that she was forgetting herself. He sat downagain. He stretched out his long legs and interlaced his fingers acrosshis bulging shirt front. His air of delicate mockery supplied the whip. 

'If, ' Vida went on with shining eyes, 'if to be able to care and to workand to sacrifice, if to get those impulses out of life, you must carryyour share of the world's burden, then no intelligent creature can besorry the day is coming when all men will have to----' She took breath, a little frightened to see where she was going. 

'Have to----?' he encouraged her, lazily smiling. 

'Have to work, or else not eat. '

'Even under your hard rule I wouldn't have to work much. My appetite ismercifully small. '

'It would grow if you sweated for your bread. '

'Help! help!' he said, not above his usual tone, but slowly he turnedhis fine head as the door opened. He fixed the amused grey-green eyes onold Mr. Fox-Moore: 'A small and inoffensive pillar of the Upper House isin the act of being abolished. '

'What, is she talking politics? She never favours me with her views, 'said Fox-Moore, with his chimpanzee smile. 

When Borrodaile had said good-bye, Vida followed him to the top of thestairs. 

'It's rather on my mind that I--I've not been very nice to you. '

'"I would not hear thine enemy say so. "'

'Yes, I've been rather horrid. I went and Trafalgar-Squared you, when Iought to have amused you. '

'But you have amused me!' His eyes shone mischievously. 

'Oh, very well. ' She took the gibe in good part, offering her handagain. 

'Good-bye, my dear, ' he said gently. 'It's great fun having you in theworld!' He spoke as though he had personally arranged this provisionagainst dulness for his latter end. 

 * * * * *

The next evening he came up to her at a party to ask why she hadabsented herself from a dinner the night before where he expected tofind her. 

'Oh, I telephoned in the morning they weren't to expect me. '

'What were you doing, I should like to know?'

'No, you wouldn't like to know. But you couldn't have helped laughing ifyou'd seen me. '

'Where?'

'Wandering about the purlieus of Battersea. '

'Bless me! Who with?'

'Why, with that notorious Suffragette, Miss Ernestine Blunt. Oh, you'dhave stared even harder if you'd seen us, I promise you! She with aleather portfolio under one arm--a most business-like apparatus, and adinner-bell in one hand. '

'A _dinner_ bell!' He put his hand to his brow as one who feels reasonreeling. 

'Yes, holding fast to the clapper so that we shouldn't affright the isleout of season. I, if you please, carrying an armful of propagandistliterature. '

'Good Lord! _Where_ do you say these orgies take place?'

'Near the Fire Station on the far side of Battersea Park. '

'I think you are in great need of somebody to look after you, ' helaughed, but no one who knew him could mistake his seriousness. 'Comeover here. ' He found a sofa a little apart from the crush. 'Who goeswith you on these raids?'

'Why, Ernestine--or rather, I go with her. '

'But who takes care of you?'

'Ernestine. '

'Who knows you're doing this kind of thing?'

'Ernestine--and you. It's a secret. '

'Well, if I'm the only sane person who knows--it's something of aresponsibility. '

'I won't tell you about it if it oppresses you. '

'On the contrary, I insist on your telling me. '

Vida smiled reflectively. 'The mode of procedure strikes one as highlyoriginal. It is simple beyond anything in the world. They select an openspace at the convergence of several thoroughfares--if possible, near anomnibus centre. For these smaller meetings they don't go to the lengthof hiring a lorry. Do you know what a lorry is?'

'I regret to say my education in that direction leaves something to bedesired. '

'Last week I was equally ignorant. To-day I can tell you all about it. Alorry is a cart or a big van with the top off. But such elegancies arefor the parks. In Battersea, you go into some modest little restaurant, and you say, "Will you lend me a chair?" This is a surprise for theBattersea restaurateur. '

'Naturally--poor man!'

'Exactly. He refuses. But he also asks questions. He is amazed. He isagainst the franchise for women. "You'll _never_ get the vote!" "Well, we must have something, " says Ernestine. "I'm sure it isn't against yourprinciples to lend a woman a chair. " She lays hands on one. "I neversaid you could have one of my----" "But you meant to, didn't you? Isn'ta chair one of the things men have always been ready to offer us? Thankyou. I'll take good care of it and bring it back quite safe. " Outmarches Ernestine with the enemy's property. She carries the chair intothe road and plants it in front of the Fire Station. Usually there aretwo or three "helpers. " Sometimes Ernestine, if you please, carries themeeting entirely on her own shoulders--those same shoulders being aboutso wide. Yes, she's quite a little thing. If there are helpers she sendsthem up and down the street sowing a fresh crop of handbills. WhenErnestine is ready to begin she stands up on that chair, in the openstreet and, as if she were doing the most natural thing in the world, she begins ringing that dinner bell. Naturally people stop and stare anddraw nearer. Ernestine tells me that Battersea has got so used now tothe ding-dong and to associating it with "our meeting, " that as far offas they hear it the inhabitants say, "It's the Suffragettes! Comealong!" and from one street and another the people emerge laughing andrunning. Of course as soon as there is a little crowd that attractsmore, and so the snowball grows. Sometimes the traffic is impeded. Oh, it's a much odder world than I had suspected!' For a moment laughterinterrupted the narrative. '"The Salvation Army doesn't _quite_ approveof us, " Ernestine says, "and the Socialists don't love us either! Wealways take their audiences away from them--poor things, " saysErnestine, with a sympathetic air. "_You_ do!" I say, because'--Vidanodded at Lord Borrodaile--'you must know Ernestine is a beguiler. '

'Oh, a beguiler. I didn't suppose----'

'No, it's against the tradition, I know, but it's true. She herself, however, doesn't seem to realize her beguilingness. "It isn't any one inparticular they come to hear, " she says, "it's just that a woman makinga speech is so much more interesting than a man making a speech. " Itsurprises you? So it did me. '

'Nothing surprises me!' said Borrodaile, with a wave of his long hands. 

'Last night she was wonderful, our Ernestine! Even I, who am used toher, I was stirred. I was even thrilled. She had that crowd in thehollow of her hand! When she wound up, "The motion is carried. Themeeting is over!" and climbed down off her perch, the mob cheered andpressed round her so close that I had to give up trying to join her. Iextricated myself and crossed the street. She is so little that, unlessshe's on a chair, she is swallowed up. For a long time I couldn't seeher. I didn't know whether she was taking the names and addresses of thepeople who want to join the Union, or whether she had slipped away andgone home, till I saw practically the whole crowd moving off after herup the street. I followed for some distance on the off-side. She wentcalmly on her way, a tiny figure in a long grey coat between twohelpers, the Lancashire cotton-spinner and the Cockney working woman, with that immense tail of boys and men (and a few women) all followingafter--quite quiet and well-behaved--just following, because it didn'toccur to them to do anything else. In a way she was still exercising herhold over her meeting. I saw, presently, there was one person in frontof her--a great big fellow--he looked like a carter--he was carryinghome the chair!'

They both laughed. 

'Well, she's found a thick-and-thin advocate in you apparently, ' saidBorrodaile. 

'Ah! if only you could _see_ her! trudging along, apparently quiteoblivious of her quaint following, dinner bell in one hand, leather casepiled high with "tracts" on the other arm, some of the leaflets slidingoff, tumbling on to the pavement. ' Vida laughed as she recalled thescene. 'Then dozens of hands darting out to help her to recover herprecious property! After the chair had been returned the crowd thinned, and I crossed over to her. '

'You in that _mêlée_!' Borrodaile ejaculated. 'Well, Ernestine hadn'tthe quaintness all to herself. '

'No. Oh, no, ' Vida agreed. 'I thought of you, and how you'd look if youhad come on us suddenly. After the crowd had melted and the helpers hadvanished into the night, we went on together--all the way, from theBattersea Fire Station to Sloane Square, did Ernestine and I walk, talking reform last night. You laugh? So do I; but not at Ernestine. She's a most wonderful person. I sometimes ask myself if the world willever know half how wonderful. You, for instance, you haven't, after allI've said, you haven't _an idea_!'

'Oh, I don't doubt--I don't think I ever doubted that women have afacility in speech--no, no, I'm not gibing! I don't even doubt they can, as you say, sway and control crowds. But I maintain it is very bad forthe women. '

'How is it bad?'

'How can it fail to be! All that horrible publicity. All thatconcentrating of crude popular interest on themselves! Believe me, nobody who watches a public career carefully but sees the demoralizingeffect the limelight has even on men's characters. And I suppose you'lladmit that men are less delicately organized than women. '

'I can only say I've seen the sort of thing you mean in our world, wherea good many women have only themselves to think about. I've looked invain for those evil effects among the Suffrage women. It almost seems, on the contrary, as if there were something ennobling in working for apublic cause. '

'Personally, I can't say I've observed it--not among the political womenof my acquaintance!'

'But you only know the old kind. Yes, the kind whose idea of influenceis to make men fall in love with them, whose idea of working is to puton a smart gown and smile their prettiest. No, I agree that _isn't_necessarily ennobling!'

'I see, it's the new taste in manners and the new arts of persuasionthat make the ideal women and'--with an ironic little bow--'theimpassioned convert. '

'I'm bound to admit, ' she said stoutly, 'that I think the Suffragemovement in England has the advantage of being engineered by a veryremarkable set of women. Not in ability alone, but in dignity ofcharacter. People will never know, I sometimes think, how much themovement has owed to being taken in hand by just these particular women. I don't pretend they're the average. They're very far above the average. And what the world will owe to them I very much doubt if even the futurewill know. But I seem to be the only one who minds. ' She laughed. 'Icould take my oath _they_ never give the matter a thought. Onething----' She leaned forward and then checked herself. 'No, I've talkedabout them enough!'

She opened her fan and looked about the crowded room. 

'Say what you were going to. I'm reconciled. I see what's coming. '

'What's coming?'

'Yes. Go on. '

She looked at him a little perplexed over the top of her fan. 

'I was only going to say that what struck me particularly in that girl, for instance, is her inaccessibility to flattery. I've watched her withmen. '

'Of course! She knew you were watching her. She no doubt thinks the eyesof the world are upon her. '

'On the contrary, it's her unselfconsciousness that's the mostsurprising thing about her. Or, no! It's something more interestingeven than that. She is conscious, in a way, of the hold she hason the public. But it hasn't any of the deteriorating effect youwere deprecating. I've been moved once or twice to congratulate her. She takes it as unmoved as a child. It's just as if you said to alittle thing of three, "What a clever baby you are!" or, "You've got themost beautiful eyes in the world. " The child would realize that youmeant well, that you were being pleasant, but it wouldn't think abouteither its cleverness or its eyes. It's like that with Ernestine. When Isaid to her, "You made an astoundingly good speech to-night. The bestI've heard even you make, " she looked at me with a sort ofhalf-absent-minded, half-wondering expression, without a glimmer ofpersonal vanity. When I was so ill-advised as not to drop the subject, when I ventured to say something more about that great gift of hers, sheinterrupted me with a little laugh, "It's a sign of grace in you not toget tired of our speeches, " she said. "I suppose we repeat ourselves agood deal. You see that's just what we've got to do. We've got to_hammer it in_. " But the fact is that she doesn't repeat herself, thatshe's always fresh and stimulating, because--I suppose it's becauseshe's always thinking of the Great Impersonal Object, and talking aboutit out of her own eager heart. Ernestine? She's as unhackneyed as aspring morning!'

'Oh, very well. I'll go. '

'Go? Where?' for he still sat there. 

'Why, to hear your paragon. I've seen that was what you were leading upto. '

'N--no. I don't think I want you to go. '

'Oh, yes, you do. I knew you'd make me sooner or later. '

'No, don't be afraid. ' She stood up. 

'I'm not afraid. I'm eager, ' he laughed. 

She shook her head. 'No, I'll never take you. '

'Why not?'

'Because--it isn't all Ernestine and skittles. And because you'd make mekeenly alive again to all sorts of things that I see now don'tmatter--things that have lost some of their power to trouble me, butthat I should feel for you. '

'What sort of----'

'Oh, oddities, uglinesses--things that abound, I'm told, at all men'smeetings, and that yet, somehow, we'd like to eliminate from women'squite on the old angel theory. No, I won't take you!'

CHAPTER XIII

The following afternoon, at half-past five, the carelessly dressed, rather slouching figure of Lord Borrodaile might have been seen walkingalong the Thames Embankment in the neighbourhood of Pimlico Pier. Hepassed without seeing the only other person visible at that quiethour--one of the 'unemployed, ' like himself, but save in that respectsufficiently unlike the Earl of Borrodaile was the grimy, unshaven trampcollapsed in one corner of the double-seated municipal bench. LordBorrodaile's fellow-citizen leaned heavily on one of the stout scrollsof ironwork which, repeated at regular intervals on each side, dividedthe seat into six compartments. No call for any one to notice such aman--there are so many of them in these piping times of peace andprosperity. Then, too, they go crawling about our world protected fromnotice, as the creatures are who take their colouring from bark or leafor arctic snows. So these other forms of life, weather-beaten, smoke-begrimed, subdued to the hues of the dusty roads they travel, andthe unswept spaces where they sleep--over these the eye glides unseeing. 

As little interested in the gentleman as the gentleman was in him, thewastrel contemplated the river with grimly speculative eye. But whensuddenly Borrodaile's sauntering figure came to a standstill near thelower end of the bench, the tramp turned his head and watched dully thegloveless hands cross one over the other on the knob of the plantedumbrella; the bent head; one hand raised now, groping about thewaistcoat, lighting upon what it sought and raising a pince-nez, throughwhich he read the legend scrawled in chalk upon the pavement. With afaint saturnine smile Lord Borrodaile dropped the glass, and took hisbearings. He consulted his watch, and walked on. 

Upon his return a quarter of an hour later, he viewed the samelittle-alluring prospect from the opposite side of the street. The trampstill stared at the river, but on his side of the bench, at the otherend, sat a lady reading a book. Between the two motionless figures andthe parapet, a group of dirty children were wrangling. Lord Borrodailecrossed the wide street and paused a moment just behind the lady. Heleaned forward as if to speak to her across the middle division of thebench. But he reconsidered, and turning his back to her, sat down anddrew an evening paper out of his pocket. He was so little like thatglittering figment, the peer of popular imagination, that the carelesssobriety of dress and air in the person of this third occupant of thecapacious double bench struck an even less arresting note than the frankwretchedness of the other man. 

Presently one of the children burst out crying, and continued to howllustily till the lady looked up from her page and inquired what was thematter. The unwashed infant stared open-mouthed at this intruder uponher grief. Instead of answering, she regarded the lady with a boredastonishment, as who should say: What are you interrupting me for, justin the middle of a good yell? She then took up the strain as nearly aspossible where she had left off. She was getting on very well with thissecond attempt at a demonstration until Miss Levering made some mentionof a penny, whereupon the infant again suspended her more violentmanifestations, though the tears kept rolling down. 

After various attempts on the lady's part, the little girl was inducedto come and occupy the middle place on the river side of the bench, between Vida and the tramp. While the lady held the penny in her hand, and cross-examined the still weeping child, Borrodaile sat quietlylistening behind his paper. When the child couldn't answer thosequestions that were of a general nature, the tramp did, and the threewere presently quite a pleasant family party. The only person 'out ofit' was the petrified gentleman on the other side. 

A few minutes before the arrival of the Suffragettes, two nondescriptyoung men, in a larky mood, appeared with the announcement that they'dseen 'one of them' at the top of Ranelagh Street. 

'That'll be the little 'un, ' said the tramp to nobody. 'You don't ketch'er bein' late!'

'Blunt! No--cheeky little devil, ' remarked one of the young men, offering a new light upon the royal virtue of punctuality; but from theenthusiasm with which they availed themselves of the rest of LordBorrodaile's side of the bench, it was obvious they had hurried to thespot with the intention of securing front seats at the show. 

'Of course it ain't goin' to be as much fun as the 'Yde Park Sundayaufternoons. Jim Wrightson goes to them. Keeps things lively--'e does. '

'Kicks up a reg'lar shindy, don't 'e?'

'Yes. We can't do nothin' 'ere--ain't enough'--whether of space or ofspirited young men he did not specify. 

As they lit their cigarettes the company received further additions--oneobviously otherwise employed than with politics. Her progress--was itsymbolic?--was necessarily slow, for a small child clung to her skirt, and she trundled a sickly boy in a go-cart. The still sniffling personin possession of the middle seat on the other side (her anxious andwatery eye fixed on the penny) was told by Miss Levering to make roomfor the new-comers. The child's way of doing so was to crowd closer tothe neighbourhood of the fascinating coin. But that mandate to 'makeroom' had proved a conversational opening through which poured--ortrickled rather--the mother's sorry little history. Her husband wasemployed in the clothing department of the Army and Navy Stores--yes, nine years now. He was considered very lucky to keep his place when thestaff was reduced. But the costliness of raising the children! It waswell that three were dead. If she had it all to do over again--no! no!

The seeming heartlessness with which she envisaged the non-existence ofher babies contrasted strangely with her patient tenderness to thequerulous boy in the go-cart. 

Meanwhile Miss Levering had not forgotten her earlier acquaintance. Asthe wan mother watched the end of the transaction which left thesniffler now quite consoled, in possession of the modest coin, she saidnaïvely--

'When anybody gives one of my children a penny, I always save half of itfor them the next day. '

Vida Levering turned her head away, and in so doing met LordBorrodaile's eyes over the back of the bench. She gave a faint start ofsurprise, and then--

'She saves half of it!' was all she said. 

Borrodaile, glancing shrewdly over the further augmented gathering, asked the invariable question--

'How do you account for the fact that so few women are here to showtheir interest in a matter that's supposed to concern them so much?'Vida craned her head. 'Beside you, only one!' Borrodaile's mocking voicewent on. 'Isn't this an instance of your sex's indifference to the wholething? Isn't it equally an instance of man's keenness about publicquestions?' He couldn't forbear adding in a whisper, 'Even such aquestion, and such men?'

Vida still craned, searching in vain for refutation in female form. Butshe did not take her failure lying down. 

'The men who are here, ' she said, 'the great majority of men at allopen-air meetings seem to be loafers. Woman--whatever else she may ormay not be--isn't a loafer!' Through Borrodaile's laugh she persisted. 'A woman always seems to have something to do, even if it's of thesilliest description. Yes, and if she's a decent person at all, she'snot hanging about at street corners waiting for some diversion!'

'Not bad; not bad! I see you are catching the truly martial spirit. '

'That's them, ain't it?' One of the young men jumped up. 

Vida turned her head in time to see the meeting between two girls and awoman arriving from opposite directions. 

'Yes, ' she whispered; 'that's Ernestine with the pile of handbills onher arm. '

The lady sent out smiles and signals of welcome with a lifted hand. Thebusy propagandist took no notice. She was talking to her two companions, one of whom, the younger with head on one side, kept shooting outglances half provocative, half appealing, towards Lord Borrodaile andthe young men. She seemed as keenly alive to the fact of these malepresences as the two other women seemed oblivious. 

'Which is the one, ' asked Lord Borrodaile, 'that you were telling meabout?'

'Why, Ernestine Blunt--the pink-cheeked one in the long alpaca coat. '

'She doesn't look so very devilish, ' he laughed. After an impatientmoment's hope that devilishness might develop, he said, 'She hasn't seenyou yet. '

'Oh, yes, she has. '

'Then she isn't as overjoyed as she ought to be. '

'She'd be surprised to know she was expected to be overjoyed. '

'Why? Aren't you very good to her?'

'No. She's been rather good to me, though she doesn't take very muchstock in me. '

'Why doesn't she?'

'Oh, there are only two kinds of people that interest Ernestine. Thosewho'll be active in carrying on the propaganda, and those who have yetto be converted. '

'Well, I'm disappointed, ' he teased, perceiving how keen his friend wasthat he should not be. 'The other one would be more likely to convert_me_. '

'Oh, you only say that because the other one's tall, and makes eyes!'Vida denounced him, to his evident diversion. 

Whatever his reasons were, the young men seemed to share his preference. They were watching the languishing young woman, who in turn keptglancing at them. Ernestine, having finished what she was saying, madeher way to where Miss Levering sat, not, it would appear, for anypurpose so frivolous as saying good evening, but to deposit what wereleft of the handbills and the precious portfolio in the care of one wellknown by now to have a motherly oversight of such properties. 

Lord Borrodaile's eyes narrowed with amusement as he watched the hurriedpantomime. 

Instead of 'Thank you, ' as Vida meekly accepted the incongruous and byno means light burden: 'We are short of speakers, ' said Ernestine. 'You'll help us out, won't you?' As though it were the simplest thing inthe world. 

Lord Borrodaile half rose in protest. 

'No, ' said Vida. 'I won't speak till I have something to say. '

'I should have thought there was plenty to _say_!' said the girl. 

'Yes, for you. You know such a lot, ' smiled her new friend. 'I must getsome first-hand knowledge, too, before I try to stand up and speechify. '

'It's now we need help. By-and-by there'll be plenty. But I'm not goingto worry you, ' she caught herself up. Then, confidentially, 'We've gotone new helper that we've great hopes of. She joined to-day. '

'Some one who can speak?'

'Oh, she'll speak, I dare say, by and by. '

'What does she do in the meantime--to----' (to account for yourenthusiasm, was implied) 'to show she's a helper? Subscribes?'

'I expect she'll subscribe, too. She takes such an interest. Plenty ofcourage, too. '

'How do you know?'

'Well'--the voice dropped--'she's _all right_, but she belongs to ratherstodgy people. Bothers about respectability, and that sort of thing. Butshe came along with me this afternoon distributing handbills all overthe City for two hours! Not many women of her kind are ready to do_that_ the first thing. '

'No, I dare say not, ' said Vida, humbly. 

'And one thing I thought a very good sign'--Ernestine bent lower in herenthusiasm--'when we got to Finsbury Circus she said'--Ernestine pausedas if struck afresh by the merits of the new recruit--'she said, "_Giveme a piece of chalk!_"'

'Chalk! What did she want with----?'

Borrodaile, too, leaned nearer. 

'She saw me beginning to write meeting notices on the stones. Of course, the people stopped and stared and laughed. But she, instead of gettingshy, and pretending she hadn't anything to do with me, she took thechalk and wrote, "Votes for Women!" all over the pavement of FinsburyCircus. ' Ernestine paused a moment that Miss Levering might applaud thenew 'helper. ' 'I thought that a very good sign in such a respectableperson. '

'Oh, yes; a most encouraging sign. Is it the one in mauve who did that?'

'No, that's--I forget her name--oh, Mrs. Thomas. She's new, too. I'llhave to let her speak if you won't, ' she said, a trifle anxiously. 

'Mrs. Thomas, by all means, ' murmured Borrodaile, as Ernestine, seeingher plea was hopeless, turned away. 

Vida caught her by the coat. 'Where are the others? The rest of your_good_ speakers?'

'Scattered up and down. Getting ready for the General Election. That'swhy we have to break in new people. Oh, she sent me some notes, thatgirl did. I must give them back to her. '

Ernestine stooped and opened the portfolio on Miss Levering's lap. Sherummaged through the bulging pockets. 

'I thought, ' said Miss Levering, with obvious misgiving, 'I thought Ihadn't seen that affected-looking creature before. '

'Oh, she'll get over all that, ' Ernestine whispered. 'You haven't muchopinion of our crowds, but they can teach people a lot. '

'Teach them not to hold their heads like a broken lily?'

'Yes, knock all sorts of nonsense out and stiffen them up wonderfully. '

She found the scrap of paper, and shut the portfolio with a snap. 

'Now!'

She stood up, took in the fact of the audience having increased and apoliceman in the offing. She summoned her allies. 

'It's nearly time for those Army and Navy workers to come out. The menwill come first, ' she said, 'and five minutes after, they let the womenout. I'll begin, and then I think you'd better speak next, ' she said, handing the die-away young woman her notes. 'These seem all right. '

'Oh, but, Miss Blunt, ' she whispered, 'I'm so nervous. How am I ever toface all those men?'

'You'll find it quite easy when once you are started, ' said Ernestine, in a quiet undertone. 

'But I'm so afraid that, just out of pure nervousness, I'll say thewrong thing. '

'If you do, I'll be there, ' returned the chairman, a little grimly. 

'But it's the very first time in my life----'

'Now, look here----'

Ernestine reached out past this person who was luxuriating in her ownemotions, and drew the ample mauve matron into the official group closeto where Miss Levering sat nursing the handbills. 

'It's easy enough talking to these little meetings. They're quite goodand quiet--not a bit like Hyde Park. ' (One of the young men poked theother. They exchanged looks. ) 'But there are three things we all agreeit's just as well to keep in mind: Not to talk about ourselves'--shemeasured off the tit-bits of wisdom with a slim forefinger--'not to sayanything against the press, and, if possible, remember to praise thepolice. '

'Praise the police!' ejaculated the mauve matron. 

'Sh!' said Ernestine, softly. But not so easily was the tide ofindignation stemmed. 

'I saw with my own eyes----' began the woman. 

'Yes, yes, but----' she lowered her voice, Borrodaile had to strain tocatch what she said, 'you see it's no use beating our heads against astone wall. A movement that means to be popular must have the police onits side. After all, they do very well--considering. '

'Considering they're men?' demanded the matron. 

'Anyhow, ' Ernestine went on, 'even if they behaved ten times worse, it'snot a bit of good to antagonize the police or the press. If they aren'tour friends, we've got to make them our friends. They're both _much_better than they were. They must be encouraged!' said the wise youngDaniel, with a little nod. Then as she saw or felt that the big matronmight elude her vigilance and break out into indiscretion, 'Why, we hada reporter in from the _Morning Magnifier_ only to-day. He said, "Thepublic seems to have got tired of reading that you spit and scratch andprod policemen with your hatpins. Now, do you mind saying what is it youreally do?" I told him to come here this afternoon. Now, when I'veopened the meeting, _you'll_ tell him!'

'Oh, _dear_!' the young woman patted her fringe, 'do you suppose we'llbe in the _Magnifier_ to-morrow? How dreadful!'

During this little interchange a procession of men streaming homeward intheir hundreds came walking down the Embankment in twos and threes orsingly, shambling past the loosely gathered assemblage about the bench. 

The child on the riverward side still clutching its penny wasunceremoniously ousted. As soon as Ernestine had mounted the seat theslackly held gathering showed signs of cohesion. The waiting units drewcloser. The dingy procession slowed--the workmen, looking up at theyoung face with the fluttering sycamore shadows printed on its pink andwhite, grinned or frowned, but many halted and listened. Through theearly part of the speech Miss Levering kept looking out of the corner ofher eye to see what effect it had on Borrodaile. But Borrodaile gave nosign. Ernestine was trying to make it clear what a gain it would be, especially to this class, if women had the vote. An uphill task to catchand hold the attention of those tired workmen. They hadn't stopped thereto be made to think--if they weren't going to be amused, they'd go home. A certain number did go home, after pausing to ask the young Reformer, more or less good-humouredly, why she didn't get married. LordBorrodaile had privately asked for enlightenment on the same score. Vidahad only smiled. One man varied the monotony by demanding why, if itwould be a good thing for the working class to have women voting, whydidn't the Labour Party take up the question. 

'Some of the Labour Party have, ' Ernestine told them, 'but the othersare afraid. They've been told that women are such slaves toconvention--such timid creatures! They know their own women aren't, butthey're doubtful about the rest. The Labour Party, you know'--she spokewith a condescending forbearance--'the Labour Party is young yet, andknows what it's like to feel timid. Some of the Labour men have the wildnotion that women would all vote Conservative. '

'So they would!'

But Ernestine shook her head. 'While we are trying to show the peoplewho say that, that even if they were right, it would be no excusewhatever for denying our claim to vote whichever way we thought best. While we are going to the root of the principle of the thing, anotherlot of logical gentlemen are sure to say, "Oh, it would never do to havewomen voting. They'd be going in for all sorts of new-fangled reforms, and the whole place would be turned upside down!" So between the men whothink we'd all turn Tory and the men who are sure we'd all beSocialists, we don't seem likely to get very far, unless we do somethingto show them we mean to have it for no better reason than just thatwe're human beings!'

'Isn't she delightfully--direct!' whispered Miss Levering, eager to cullsome modest flower of praise. 

'Oh, direct enough!' His tone so little satisfied the half-maternalpride of the other woman that she was almost prepared for the slightingaccent in which he presently asked, 'Is this the sort of thing that'ssupposed to convert people to a great constitutional change?'

'It isn't our women would get the vote, ' a workman called out. 'It's therich women. '

'Is it only the rich men who have the vote?' demanded Ernestine. 'Youknow it isn't. We are fighting to get the franchise on precisely thesame terms as men. '

For several moments the wrangle went on. 

'Would wives have a vote?'

She showed how that could be made a matter of adjustment. She quoted thelodger franchise and the latch-key decision. 

Vida kept glancing at Borrodaile. As still he made no sign, 'Of course, 'the lady whispered across the back of the bench, 'of course, you thinkshe's an abomination, but----?' she paused for a handsome disavowal. Borrodaile looked at the eager face--Vida's, for Miss Blunt's was calmas a May morning. As he did not instantly speak, 'But you can't denyshe's got extremely good wits. '

He seemed to relent before such persuasiveness. 'She's got a deliciouslittle face, ' he admitted, thinking to say the most. 

'Oh, her _face_! That's scarcely the point. '

'It's always the point. '

'It's the principle that's at stake, ' Ernestine was saying. 'The mostout-and-out Socialist among us would welcome the enfranchisement of sixduchesses or all the women born with red hair; we don't care on whatplea the entering wedge gets in. But let me tell you there aren't anypeople on earth so blind to their own interests as just you working menwhen you oppose or when you are indifferent to women's having votes. Allwomen suffer--but it's the women of your class who suffer most. _Isn't_it? Don't you men know--why, it's notorious!--that the women of theworking class are worse sweated even than the men?'

'So they are!'

'If you don't believe me, _ask_ them. Here they come. '

It was well contrived--that point! It struck full in the face of thehomeward-streaming women who had just been let out. 

'We know, and you men know----' the speaker nailed her advantage, 'thateven the Government that's being forced to become a model employer wheremen are concerned, the very _Government_ is responsible for sweatingthousands of women in State employments! We know and you know that inthose work-rooms over yonder these very women have been sitting weigheddown by the rumour of a reduction in their wages already so much belowthe men's. They've sat there wondering whether they can risk a strike. Women--it's notorious, ' she flung it out on a wave of passion, 'womeneverywhere suffer most from the evils of our social system. Why not?They've had no hand in it! Our social system is the work of men! Yet wemust work to uphold it! this system that crushes us. We must swell thebudget, we must help to pay the bill! What _fools_ we've all been! Whatfools we are if we don't do something!'

'Gettin' up rows and goin' to 'Olloway's no good. '

While she justified the course that led to Holloway--

'Rot! Piffle!' they interjected. One man called out: 'I'd have somerespect for you if you'd carried a bomb into the House of Commons, but amiserable little scuffle with the police!'

'Here's a gentleman who is inciting us to carry bombs. Now, that shocksme. '

The crowd recovered its spirits at the notion of the champion-shockershocked. 

'We've been dreadfully browbeaten about our tactics, but that gentlemanwith his bad advice makes our tactics sound as innocent and reasonableas they actually are. When you talk in that wild way about bombs--you--Imay be a hooligan'--she held up the delicate pink-and-white face withexcellent effect--'but you do shock me. '

It wore well this exquisitely humorous jest about shocking aSuffragette. The whole crowd was one grin. 

'I'm specially shocked when I hear a _man_ advocating such a thing! Youmen have other and more civilized ways of getting the Government to payattention to abuses. Now listen to what I'm saying: for it's thejustification of everything we are going to do in the future, _unless_we get what we're asking for! It's this. Our justification is that men, even poor men, have that powerful leverage of the vote. You men have noright to resort to violence; you have a better way. We have _no_ way butagitation. A _Liberal_ Government that refuses----'

'Three cheers for the Liberals! Hip, hip----'

'My friend, I see you are young, ' says Ernestine. 

'Lord, wot are you?' the young man hurled back. 

'Before I got my political education, when _I_ was young and innocent, like this gentleman, who still pins his faith to the Liberals, I, too, hoped great things from them. My friends, it's a frame of mind weoutlive!'--and her friends shrieked with delight. 

'Well, it's one way for a girl to amuse herself till she gets married, 'said Borrodaile. 

'Why, that's just what the hooligans all say!' laughed Vida. 'And, likeyou, they think that if a woman wants justice for other women she musthave a grievance of her own. I've heard them ask Ernestine inBattersea--she has valiant friends there--"Oo's 'urt _your_ feelin's?"they say. "Tell me, and I'll punch 'is 'ead. " But you aren't here tolisten to _me_!' Vida caught herself up. 'This is about the deputationof women that waited on the Prime Minister. '

'Didn't get nothin' out of him!' somebody shouted. 

'Oh, yes, we did! We got the best speech in favour of Woman's Suffragethat any of us ever heard. '

'Haw! Haw! Clever ol' fox!'

''E just buttered 'em up! But 'e don't do nothin'. '

'Oh, yes, he did something!'

'What?'

'He gave us advice!' They all laughed together at that in the mostfriendly spirit in the world. 'Two nice pieces, ' Ernestine held up eachhand very much like a school child rejoicing over slices of cake. 'Onewe are taking'--she drew in a hand--'the other we aren't'--she let itfall. 'He said we must win people to our way of thinking. We're doingit; at a rate that must astonish, if it doesn't even embarrass him. Theother piece of distinguished advice he gave us was of a more doubtfulcharacter. ' Her small hands took it up gingerly. Again she seemed toweigh it there in the face of the multitude. 'The Prime Minister said we"must have patience. " She threw the worthless counsel into the air andtossed contempt after it. 'It is man's oldest advice to woman!'

'All our trouble fur nothin'!' groaned an impish boy. 

'We see now that patience has been our bane. If it hadn't been for thissame numbing slavish patience we wouldn't be standing before the worldto-day, political outcasts--catalogued with felons and lunatics----'

'And peers!' called a voice. 

'We are _done_ with patience!' said Ernestine, hotly; 'and for thatreason there is at last some hope for the women's cause. Now MissScammell will speak to you. '

A strange thing happened when Miss Scammell got up. She seemed to leaveher attractiveness, such as it was, behind when she climbed up on thebench. Standing mute, on a level with the rest, her head deprecatinglyon one side, she had pleased. Up there on the bench, presuming to teach, she woke a latent cruelty in the mob. They saw she couldn't take care ofherself, and so they 'went for her'--the very same young men who had gotup and given her a choice of the seats they had been at the pains tocome early to secure. To be sure, when, with a smile, she had sat downonly a quarter of an hour before, in the vacated place of one of them, the other boy promptly withdrew with his pal. It would have been toocompromising to remain alongside the charmer. But when Miss Scammellstood up on that same bench, she was assumed to have left the realm ofsmiles and meaning looks where she was mistress and at home. She hadventured out into the open, not only without the sword of pointedspeech--that falls to few--but this young lady had not even the armourof absolute earnestness. When she found that smiling piteously wouldn'tdo, she proceeded, looking more and more like a scared white rabbit, totell about the horrible cases of lead-poisoning among the girls incertain china and earthenware works. All that she had to say was trueand significant enough. But it was no use. They jeered and howled herdown for pure pleasure in her misery. She trembled and lost her thread. She very nearly cried. Vida wondered that the little chairwoman didn'tfly to the rescue. But Ernestine sat quite unmoved looking in her lap. 

'Lamentable exhibition!' said Borrodaile, moving about uneasily. 

The odd thing was that Miss Scammell kept on with her prickly task. 

'Why don't you make her sit down?' Vida whispered to Miss Blunt. 

'Because I've got to see what she's made of. '

'But surely you see! She's awful!'

'Not half so bad as lots of men when they first try. If she weathersthis, she'll be a speaker some day. '

At last, having told her story through the interruptions--told it badly, brokenly, but to the end--having given proofs that lead-poisoning amongwomen was on the increase and read out from her poor crumpled, shakingnotes, the statistics of infant and still-birth mortality, the unhappynew helper sat down. 

Miss Blunt leaned over, and whispered, 'That's all right! I was wrong. This is nearly as bad as Hyde Park, ' and with that jumped up to give thecrowd a piece of her mind. 

They sniggered, but they quieted down, all but one. 

'Yes, you are the gentleman, you there with the polo cap, who doesn'tbelieve in giving a fair hearing. I would like to ask that man whothinks himself so superior, _that_ one in the grey cap, whether he iscapable of standing up here on this bench and addressing the crowd. '

'Hear, hear. '

'Yes! Get on the bench. Up with him. '

A slight scrimmage, and an agitated man was observed to be seekingrefuge on the outskirts. 

'Bad as Miss Scammell was, she made me rather ashamed of myself, ' Vidaconfided to Borrodaile. 

'Yes, ' he said sympathetically, 'it always makes one ratherashamed--even if it's a man making public failure. '

'Oh, that wasn't what I meant. _She_ at least tried. But I--I feel I'm atype of all the idle women the world over. Leaving it to the poor andthe ill-equipped to----'

'To keep the world from slipping into chaos?' he inquired genially. 

She hadn't heard. Her eyes were fastened on the chairwoman. 

'After all, they've got Ernestine, ' Vida exulted under her breath. 

Borrodaile fell to studying this aspect of the face whose every changehe had thought he knew so well. What was the new thing in it? Notadmiration merely, not affection alone--something almost fierce behindthe half-protecting tenderness with which she watched the chairman'sduel with the mob. Borrodaile lifted a hand--people were far tooengrossed, he knew, to notice--and he laid it on Vida's, which hadtightened on the back of the bench. 

'My dear!' he said wondering and low as one would to wake a sleepwalker. 

She answered without looking at him, 'What is it?'

He seemed not to know quite how to frame his protest. 

'She can carry _you_ along at least!' he grumbled. 'You forget everybodyelse!'

Vida smiled. It was so plain whom he meant by 'everybody. ' LordBorrodaile gave a faint laugh. He probably knew that would 'bring herround. ' It did. It brought her quick eyes to his face; it brought lowwords. 

'_Please!_ Don't let her see you--laughing, I mean. '

'You can explain to her afterwards that it was you I was laughing at. 'As that failed of specific effect, 'You really are a little ridiculous, 'he said again, with the edge in his voice, 'hanging on the lips of thatBackfisch as if she were Demosthenes. '

'We don't think she's a Demosthenes. We know she is something much moresignificant--for _us_. '

'What?'

'She's Ernestine Blunt. '

Clean out of patience, he turned his back. 

'Am I alone?' she whispered over his shoulder, as if in apology. 'Lookat all the other women. Some of them are very intelligent. Our interestin our fellow-woman seems queer and unnatural to you because you don'trealize Mrs. Brown has always been interested in Mrs. Jones. '

'Oh, has she?'

'Yes. She hasn't said much to Mr. Brown about it, ' Vida admitted, smiling, because a man's interest in woman is so limited. '

Borrodaile laughed. 'I didn't know that was his failing!'

'I mean his interest is of one sort. It's confined to the woman he findsinteresting in _that_ way at _that_ minute. Other women bore him. Butother women have always been mightily interesting to us! Now, sh! let'slisten. '

'I can understand those callow youths, ' unwarily he persisted; 'she'spink and pert and all the rest, but _you_----'

'Oh, will you _never_ understand? Don't you know women are morecivilized than men?'

'Woman! she'll be the last animal domesticated. ' It seemed as if hepreferred to have her angry rather than oblivious of him. 

But not for nothing did she belong to a world which dares to saywhatever it wants to say. 

'We are civilized enough, at all events'--there was an ominous sparklein her eye--'to listen to men speakers clever or dull--we listen quietlyenough. But men!--a person must be of your own sex for you to be ableto regard him without distraction. If the woman is beautiful enough, youare intoxicated. If she's plain enough, you are impatient. All you seein any woman is her sex. You can't _listen_. '

'Whew!' remarked Borrodaile. 

'But _I_ must listen--I haven't got over being ashamed to find how muchthis girl can teach me. '

'I'm sorry for you that any of Miss Scammell's interesting speech waslost, ' the chairman was saying. 'She was telling you just the kind ofthing that you men ought to know, the kind of thing you get littlechance of knowing about from men. Yet those wretched girls who die youngof lead-poisoning, or live long enough to bring sickly babies into theworld, those poor working women look to you working men for help. Arethey wrong to look to you, or are they right? You working men representthe majority of the electorate. _You_ can change things if you will. Ifyou don't, don't think the woman will suffer alone. We shall all suffertogether. More and more the masters are saying, "We'll get rid of thesemen--they're too many for us with their unions and their political pull. We'll get women. We'll get them for two-thirds of what we pay the men. Good business!" say the masters. But it's bad business----'

'For all but the masters, ' muttered the tramp. 

'Bad for the masters, too, ' said the girl, 'only they can't see it, orelse they don't care what sort of world they leave to their children. Ifyou men weren't so blind, you'd see the women will be in politics whatthey are in the home--your best friends. '

'Haw! haw! Listen at 'er!'

'_With_ the women you would be strong. Without them you are--what youare!'

The ringing contempt in her tone was more than one gentleman could putup with. 

'How do you think the world got on before you came to show it _how_?'

'It got on very badly. Not only in England--all over the world men haveinsisted on governing alone. What's the result? Misery and degradationto the masses, and to the few--the rich and high-placed--for themcorruption and decline. '

'That's it, always 'ammering away at the men--pore devils!'

'Some people are so foolish as to think we are working against the men. '

'So you are!'

'It's just what the old-school politicians would like you to think. Butit's nonsense. Nobody knows better than we that the best interests ofmen and women are identical--they _can't be separated_. It's trying toseparate them that's made the whole trouble. '

'Oh, you know it all!'

'Well, you see'--she put on her most friendly and reasonable air--'menhave never been obliged to study women's point of view. But we've beenobliged to study the men's point of view. It's natural we shouldunderstand you a great deal better than you understand us. And thoughyou sometimes disappoint us, we don't lose hope of you. '

'Thanks awfully. '

'We think that if we can only make you understand the meaning of thisagitation, then you'll help us to get what we want. We believe the daywill come when the old ideal of men standing by the women--when thatideal will be realized. For don't believe it ever _has_ been realized. It never has! Now our last speaker for to-day will say a few words toyou. Mrs. Thomas. '

'Haven't you had about enough?' said Borrodaile, impatiently. 

'Don't wait for me, ' was all her answer. 

'Shall you stay, then, till the bitter end?'

'It will only be a few moments now. I may as well see it out. '

He glanced at his watch, detached it, and held it across the back of theseat. 

She nodded, and repeated, 'Don't wait. '

His answer to that was to turn not only a bored but a slightly injuredface towards the woman who had, not without difficulty, balanced herrotund form on the bench at the far end. She might have been thecomfortable wife of a rural grocer. She spoke the good English you maynot infrequently hear among that class, but it became clear, as she wenton, that she was a person of a wider cultivation. 

'You'd better go. She'll be stodgy and dull. ' Vida spoke with a realsympathy for her friend's sufferings. 'Oh, portentous dull. '

'And no waist!' sighed Borrodaile, but he sank back in his corner. 

Presently his wandering eye discovered something in his companion'saspect that told him subtly she was not listening to the mauve matron. Neither were some of the others. A number had moved away, and the littlelane their going left was not yet closed, for the whole generalattention was obviously slackened. This woman wasn't interesting enougheven to boo at. The people who didn't go home began to talk to oneanother. But in Vida's face--what had brought to it that stillintensity? Borrodaile moved so that he could follow the fixed look. Oneof the infrequently passing hansoms had stopped. Was she looking atthat? Two laughing people leaning out, straining to catch what the mauveorator was saying. Suddenly Borrodaile pulled his slack figure together. 

'Sophia!' he ejaculated softly, 'and Stonor!--by the beard of theprophet!' He half rose, whether more annoyed or amazed it would be hardto tell. 'We're discovered!' he said, in a laughing whisper. As heturned to add 'The murder's out, ' he saw that Vida had quietly avertedher face. She was leaning her head on her hand, so that it masked herfeatures. Even if the woman who was speaking had not been the object ofsuch interest as the people in the hansom had to bestow, even had eitherof them looked towards Vida's corner, only a hat and a gauze rufflewould have been seen. 

Borrodaile took the hint. His waning sense of the humour of thesituation revived. 

'Perhaps, after all, if we lay low, ' he said, smiling more broadly. 'Itwould be nuts for Stonor to catch us sitting at the feet of Mrs. Thomas. ' He positively chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. Hehad slipped back into his corner, but he couldn't help craning his neckto watch those two leaning over the door of the hansom, while theydiscussed some point with animation. Several times the man raised hishand as if to give an order through the trap door. Each time Sophialaughingly arrested him. 'He wants to go on, ' reported Borrodaile, sympathetically. 'She wants him to wait a minute. Now he's jumped out. What's he--looking for another hansom? No--now _she's_ out. Bless me, she's shaking hands with him. He's back in the hansom!--driving away. Sophia's actually---- 'Pon my soul, I don't know what's come over thewomen! I'm rather relieved on the whole. ' He turned round and spokeinto Vida's ear. 'I've been a little sorry for Sophia. She's never hadthe smallest interest in any man but that cousin of hers--and, ofcourse, it's quite hopeless. '

Vida sat perfectly motionless, back to the speaker, back to thedisappearing hansom, staring at the parapet. 

'You can turn round now--quite safe. Sophia's out of range. PoorSophia!' After a little pause, 'Of course you know Stonor?'

'Why, of course. '

'Oh, well, my distinguished cousin used not to be so hard to get holdof--not in the old days when we were seeing so much of your father. '

'That must have been when I was in the schoolroom--wasn't it?'

He turned suddenly and looked at her. 'I'd forgotten. You know Geoffrey, and you don't like him. I saw that once before. '

'Once before?' she echoed. 

He reminded her of the time she hurried away from Ulland House toBishopsmead. 

'_I_ wasn't deceived, ' he said, with his look of smiling malice. 'Youdidn't care two pins about your Cousin Mary and her influenza. '

Vida moved her expressionless face a little to the right. 'I can seeSophia. But she's listening to the speech;' and Vida herself, withsomething of an effort, seemed now to be following the sordidexperiences of a girl that the speaker had befriended some years before. It was through this girl, the mauve matron said, that she herself hadcome into touch with the abject poor. She took a big barrack of a housein a poverty-stricken neighbourhood, and it became known that there shereceived and helped both men and women. 'I sympathized with the men, butit was the things the women told me that appalled me. They were too badto be entirely believed, but I wrote them down. They haunted me. Iinvestigated. I found I had no excuse for doubting those stories. '

'This woman's a find, ' Vida whispered to the chairman. 

Ernestine shook her head. 

'Why, she's making a first-rate speech!' said Vida, astonished. 

'There's nobody here who will care about it. '

'Why do you say that?'

'Oh, all she's saying is a commonplace to these people. Lead-poisoningwas new, to _them_--something they could take hold of. '

'Well, I stick to it, you've got a good ally in this woman. Let herstand up in Somerset Hall, and tell the people----'

'It wouldn't do, ' said the young Daniel, firmly. 

'You don't believe her story?'

'Oh, I don't say the things aren't true. But'--she moved uneasily--'thesubject's too prickly. '

'Too prickly for you!'

The girl nodded with an anxious eye on the speaker. 'We sometimes make apassing reference--just to set men thinking, and there leave it. But italways makes them furious, of course. It does no good. Either peopleknow and just accept it, or else they won't believe, and it only getsthem on the raw. I'll have to stop her if----' She leaned forward. 

'It's odd your taking it like this. I suppose it's because you're soyoung, ' said Vida, wondering. 'It must be because for you it isn'treal. '

'No, it's because I see no decent woman can think much about it and keepsane. That's why I say this one won't be any good to us. She'll never beable to see anything clearly but that one thing. She'll always beforgetting the main issue. '

'What do you call the main issue?'

'Why, political power, of course. '

'Oh, wise young Daniel!' she murmured, as Miss Blunt touched thespeaker's sleeve and interjected a word into the middle of a piece ofdepressing narrative. 

Mrs. Thomas stopped, faltered, and pulled herself up with, 'Well, as Isay, with my own verifications these experiences form a body oftestimony that should stir the conscience of the community. I _myself_felt'--she glanced at Ernestine--'I felt it was too ghastly to publish, but it ought to be used. Those who doubted the evidence should examineit. I went to a lady who is well known to be concerned about publicquestions; her husband is a member of Parliament, and a person ofinfluence. You don't know, perhaps, but she did, that there's aParliamentary Commission going to sit here in London in a few weeks forthe purpose of inquiring into certain police regulations which greatlyconcern women. Who do you think are invited to serve on thatCommission? Men. All men. Not a woman in England is being consulted. Thehusband of the lady I went to see--he was one of the Commissioners. Isaid to her, "_You_ ought to be serving on that board. " She said, "Oh, no, " but that women like her could influence the men who sat on theCommission. '

'This is better!' whispered the ever-watchful Ernestine, with a smile. 

'So I told her about my ten years' work. I showed her some of myrecords--not the worst, the average, sifted and verified. She couldhardly be persuaded to glance at what I had been at so much pains tocollect. You see'--she spoke as though in apology for the lady--'you seeI had no official or recognized position. '

'Hear, hear, ' said Ernestine. 

'I was simply a woman whose standing in the community was all right, butI had nothing to recommend me to serious attention. I had nothing butthe courage to look wrong in the face, and the conscience to report ithonestly. When I told her certain things--things that are so stinging adisgrace that no decent person can hear them unmoved--when I told her ofthe degrading discomforts, the cruelties, that are practised againsthomeless women even in some of the rate-supported casual wards and themixed lodging-houses, that lady said--sitting there in her pleasantdrawing-room--she said it could not be true! My reports wereexaggerated--women were sentimental--the authorities managed theseplaces with great wisdom. They are so horrible, I said, they drive womento the streets. She assured me I was mistaken. I asked her if she hadever been inside a mixed lodging-house. She never had. But the casualwards she knew about. They were so well managed she herself wouldn'tmind at all spending a night in one of these municipal provisions forthe homeless. Then I said, "You are the woman I am looking for! Comewith me one night and try it. What night shall it be?" She said she wasengaged in writing a book. She could not interrupt her work. But I said, if those rate-supported places are so comfortable, it won't interferewith your work. She _turned the conversation_. She talked about theCommission. The Commission was going to make a thorough scientificinvestigation. Nothing amateur about the Commission. The lady wassincere'--Mrs. Thomas vouched for it--'she had a comfortable faith inthe Commission. But, I say'--the woman leaned forward in herearnestness--'I say that Commission will waste its time! I don't deny itwill investigate and discuss the position of the outcast women of thiscountry. Their plight, which is the work of men, will once more beinquired into by men. I say there should be women on that Commission. Ifthe middle and upper class women have the dignity and influence menpretend they have, why aren't they represented there? Nobody pretendsthe matter doesn't concern the mothers of the nation. It concerns themhorribly. Nobody can think so ill of them as to suppose they don't care. It's monstrous that men should sit upon that committee alone. Women havehad to think about these things. We believe this evil can be met--if menwill let us try. It may be that only women comprehend it, since menthrough the ages have been helpless before it. Why, then, once again, this Commission of _men_? The mockery of it! Setting men to make theirreport upon this matter to men! I am not a public speaker, but I am awife and a mother. Do you wonder that hearing about that Commission gaveme courage to take the first opportunity to join these brave sisters ofmine who are fighting for political liberty?'

She seemed for the first time to notice that a little group ofsniggerers were becoming more obstreperous. 

'We knew, of course, that whatever we say some of you will laugh andjeer; but, speaking for myself, no mockery that you are able to fling atus, can sting _me_ like the thought of the hypocrisy of that Commission!Do you wonder that when we think of it--you men who have power and don'tuse it!--do you wonder that women come out of their homes--young, andold, and middle-aged--that we stand up here in the public places andgive you scorn for scorn?'

As the unheroic figure trembling stepped off the bench, she found VidaLevering's hand held out to steady her. 

'Take my seat, ' said the younger woman. 

She stood beside her, for once oblivious of Ernestine, who was callingfor new members, and giving out notices. 

Vida bent over the shapeless mauve bundle. 'You asked that woman to gowith you. I wish you'd take me. '

'Ah, my dear, _I_ don't need to go again. I thought to have that ladysee it would do good. Her husband has influence, you see. '

'But you've just said the men are useless in this matter. '

She had no answer. 

'But, I believe, ' Vida went on, 'if more women were like you--if theylooked into the thing----'

'Very few could stand it. '

'But don't hundreds of poor women "stand" much worse?'

'No; they drink and they die. I was ill for three months after my firstexperience even of the tramp ward. '

'Was that the first thing you tried?'

'No. The first thing I tried was putting on a Salvation Army bonnet, andfollowing the people I wanted to help into the public-houses, sellingthe _War Cry_. '

'May one wear the uniform who isn't a member of the Army?'

'It isn't usual, ' she said slowly. And then, as though to give the _coupde grace_ to the fine lady's curiosity, 'But that was child's play. Before I sampled the tramp ward, I covered myself with Keating's powderfrom head to foot. It wasn't a bit of good. '

'When may I come and talk to you?'

'Hello, Mrs. Thomas!' Vida turned and found the Lady Sophia at her side. 'Why, father!--Oh, I see, Miss Levering. Well'--she turned to the womanin the corner--'how's the House of Help?'

'Do you know about Mrs. Thomas's work?' Vida asked. 

'Well, rather! I collect rents in her district. '

'Oh, do you? You never told me. '

'Why should I tell you?'

Ernestine was dismissing the meeting. 

'You are very tired, ' said Lord Borrodaile, looking at Vida Levering'sface. 

'Yes, ' she said. 'I'll go now. Come, Sophia!'

'We shall be here on Thursday, ' Ernestine was saying, 'at the same hour, and we hope a great many of you will want to join us. '

'In a trip to 'Olloway? No, thank you!'

Upon that something indistinguishable to the three who were withdrawingwas said in the group that had sniggered through Mrs. Thomas's speech. Another one of that choice circle gave a great guffaw. There were stillmore who were amused, but less indiscreetly. Three men, looking likegentlemen, paused in the act of strolling by. They, too, were smiling. 

'You laugh!' Ernestine's voice rang out. 

'Wait a moment, ' said Vida to her companions. 

She looked back. It was plain, from Ernestine's face, she was not goingto let the meeting break up on that note. 

'Don't you think it a little strange, considering the well-knownchivalry among men--don't you think it strange that against no reformthe world has ever seen----?'

'Reform! Wot rot!'

'If you don't admit it's reform, call it revolt!' She threw the red-hotword out among the people as if its fire scorched her. 'Against norevolt has there ever been such a torrent of ridicule let loose asagainst the Women's Movement. It almost seems as if--in spite of men'swell-known protecting tenderness towards woman--it almost seems as ifthere's nothing in this world so funny to a man as a woman!'

'Haw! Haw! Got it right that time!'

Borrodaile was smiling, too. 

'Do you know, ' Vida asked, 'who those men are who have just stopped?'

'No. '

'I believe Ernestine does. '

'Oh, perhaps they're bold bad members of Parliament. '

'Some of us, ' she was saying, 'have read a little history. We have readhow every struggle towards freedom has met with opposition and abuse. Weexpected to have our share of those things. But we find that no movementbefore ours has ever had so much laughter to face. ' Through the renewedmerriment she went on: 'Yes, you wonder I admit that. We don't denyanything that's true. And I'll tell you another thing! We aren't madeany prouder of our men-folk by the discovery that behind their oldtheory of woman as "half angel, half idiot, " is a sneaking feeling that"woman is a huge joke. "'

'Or just a little one for a penny like you!'

'Men have imagined--they imagine still, that we have never noticed howridiculous _they_ can be. You see'--she leaned over and spokeconfidentially--'we've never dared break it to them. '

'Haw! Haw!'

'We know they _couldn't bear it_. '

'Oh-h!'

'So we've done all our laughing in our sleeves. Yes--and some years oursleeves had to be made--like balloons!' She pulled out the loose alpacaof her own while the workmen chuckled with appreciation. 

'I bet on Ernestine any'ow', said a young man, with an air of admittinghimself a bold original fellow. 

'Well, open laughter is less dangerous laughter. It's even a guide; ithelps us to find out things some of us wouldn't know otherwise. Lots ofwomen used to be taken in by that talk about feminine influence andabout men's immense respect for them! But any number of women have cometo see that underneath that old mask of chivalry was a broad grin. --Weare reminded of that every time the House of Commons talks about us. 'She flung it at the three supercilious strangers. 'The dullest gentlemanthere can raise a laugh if he speaks of the "fair sex. " Suchjokes!--even when they are clean such poor little feeble efforts thateven a member of Parliament couldn't laugh at them unless he had grownup with the idea that woman was somehow essentially funny--and that_he_, oh, no! there was nothing whatever to laugh at in man. Thosemembers of Parliament don't have the enlightenment that you men have--ofhearing what women _really_ think when we hear men laugh as you did justnow about our going to prison. They don't know that we find it just alittle strange'--she bent over the scattering rabble and gathered itinto a sudden fellowship--'doesn't it strike you, too, as strange thatwhen a strong man goes to prison for his convictions it is thought to besomething rather fine (I don't say it is myself--though it's the generalimpression). But when a weak woman goes for _her_ convictions, men findit very humorous indeed. Our prisoners have to bear not only thehardships of Holloway Gaol, but they have to bear the worse pains andpenalties inflicted by the general public. You, too, you laugh! and yetI say'--she lifted her arms and spread them out above the people--'I sayit was not until women were found ready to go to prison--not till thenwas the success of the cause assured. ' Her bright eyes were shiningbrighter still with tears. 

'If prison's so good fur the cause, why didn't _you_ go?'

'Here's a gentleman who asks why I didn't go to prison. The answer tothat is, I did go. '

She tossed the information down among the cheers and groans as lightlyas though it had no more personal significance for her than a droppedleaflet setting forth some minor fact. 

'That delicate little girl!' breathed Vida. 

'You never told _me_ that item in her history, ' said Borrodaile. 

'She never told me--never once spoke of it! They put her in prison!' Itwas as if she couldn't grasp it. 

'Of course one person's going isn't of much consequence, ' Ernestine waswinding up with equal spirit and _sang-froid_. 'But the fact that dozensand scores--all sorts and conditions--are ready to go--_that_ matters!And that's the place our reprehensible tactics have brought the movementto. The meeting is closed. '

 * * * * *

They dropped Sophia at her own door, but Lord Borrodaile said he wouldtake Vida home. They drove along in silence. 

When they stopped before the tall house in Queen Anne's Gate, Vida heldout her hand. 

'It's late. I won't ask you in. '

'You are over-tired. Go to bed. '

'I wish I could. I'm dining out. '

He looked at her out of kind eyes. 'It begins to be dreadfully stuffy intown. I'm glad, after all, we're going on that absurd yachting trip. '

'I'm not going, ' she said. 

'Oh, nonsense! Sophia and I would break our hearts. '

'I'm sure about Sophia. '

'It will do you good to come and have a look at the Land of the MidnightSun, ' he said. 

'I'm going to have a look at the Land of Midnight where there's no sun. And everybody but you and Sophia and my sister will think I'm inNorway. '

When she explained, he broke out:

'It's the very wildest nonsense that ever---- It would kill you. ' Theintensity of his opposition made him incoherent. 'You, of all women inthe world! A creature who can't even stand people who say "serviette"instead of "table-napkin"!'

'Fancy the little Blunt having been in prison!'

'Oh, let the little Blunt go to----' He checked himself. 'Be reasonable, child. ' He turned and looked at her with an earnestness she had neverseen in his eyes before. 'Why in heaven should _you_----'

'Why? You heard what that woman said. '

'I heard _nothing_ to account for----'

'That's partly, ' she interrupted, 'why I must make this experiment. Whena man like you--as good a man as you'--she repeated with slowwonder--'when you and all the other good men that the world is fullof--when you all know everything that that woman knows--and more! andyet see nothing in it to account for what she feels, and what I--I too, am beginning to feel----!' she broke off. 'Good-bye! If I go far on thisnew road, it's you I shall have to thank. '

'I?'

He shrugged drearily at the absurd charge, making no motion to take theoffered hand, but sat there in the corner of the hansom looking ratherold and shrunken. 

'You and one other, ' she said. 

That roused him. 'Ah, he has come, then. '

'Who?'

'The other. The man who is going to count. '

Her eyelids drooped. 'The man who was to count most for me came a longwhile ago. And a long while ago--he went. '

Borrodaile looked at her. 'But this---- Who is the gentleman who shareswith me the doubtful, I may without undue modesty say the undeserved, honour of urging you to disappear into the slums? Who is it?'

'The man who wrote this. '

It was the book he had seen in her hands before the meeting. He read onthe green cover, 'In the Days of the Comet. '

'Oh, that fellow! Well, he's not my novelist, but it's the keenestintelligence we have applied to fiction. '

'He _is_ my novelist. So I've a right to be sorry he knows nothingabout women. See here! Even in his most rationalized vision of the NewTime, he can't help betraying his old-fashioned prejudice in favour ofthe "dolly" view of women. His hero says, "I prayed that night, let meconfess it, to an image I had set up in my heart, an image that stillserves with me as a symbol for things inconceivable, to a MasterArtificer, the unseen captain of all who go about the building of theworld, the making of mankind----"' Vida's finger skipped, lifting tofall on the heroine's name. '"Nettie... She never came into the templeof that worshipping with me. "' Swiftly she turned the pages back. 'Where's that other place? Here! The man says to the heroine--to hisideal woman he says, "Behind you and above you rises the coming City ofthe World, and I am in that building. Dear heart! you are onlyhappiness!" That's the whole view of man in a nutshell. Even the highesttype of woman such an imagination as this can conjure up----' She shookher head. '"You are only happiness, dear"--a minister of pleasure, negligible in all the nobler moods, all the times of wider vision orexalted effort! Tell me'--she bent her head and looked into hercompanion's face with a new passion dawning in her eyes--'in thebuilding of that City of the Future, in the making of it beautiful, shall women really have no share?'

'My dear, I only know that I shall have no share myself. '

'Ah, we don't speak of ourselves. ' She opened the hansom doors and hercompanion got out. 'But this Comet man, ' she said as she followed, '_he_might have a share if only he knew why all the great visions have neveryet been more than dreams. That this man should think foundations can bewell and truly laid when the best of one half the race are "onlyhappiness, dear!"' She turned on the threshold. '_Whose_ happiness?'

CHAPTER XIV

The fall of the Liberal Ministry was said by the simple-minded to havecome as a bolt from the blue. Certainly into the subsequent GeneralElection were entering elements but little foreseen. 

Nevertheless, the last two bye-elections before the crash had resultedin the defeat of the Liberal candidate not by the Tory antagonist, butin one case by the nominee of the Labour party, in the other by anindependent Socialist. Both these men had publicly thanked theSuffragettes for their notable share in piling up those triumphant andhighly significant majorities. Now the country was facing an electionwhere, for the first time in the history of any great nation, women wereplaying a part that even their political enemies could hardly with easyminds call subordinate. 

Only faint echoes of the din penetrated the spacious quiet of UllandHouse. Although the frequent week-end party was there, the great hall onthis particular morning presented a deserted appearance as the tallclock by the staircase chimed the hour of noon. The insistence of theancient timepiece seemed to have set up a rival in destruction of theSunday peace, for no sooner had the twelfth stroke died than a bellbegan to ring. The little door in the wainscot beyond the clock wasopened. An elderly butler put his head round the huge screen of Spanishleather that masked the very existence of the modest means ofcommunication with the quarters of the Ulland domestics. So little was aring at the front door expected at this hour that Sutton was stillslowly getting into the left sleeve of his coat when his mistressappeared from the garden by way of the French window. The old butlerwithdrew a discreet instant behind the screen to put the last touches tohis toilet, but Lady John had seen that he was there. 

'Has Miss Levering gone for a walk?' she inquired of the servant. 

'I don't know, m'lady. '

'She's not in the garden. Do you think she's not down yet?'

'I haven't seen her, m'lady, ' said Sutton, emerging from his retirementand approaching the wide staircase on his way to answer the front-doorbell. 

'Never mind'--his mistress went briskly over to a wide-wingedwriting-table and seated herself before a litter of papers--'I won'thave her disturbed if she's resting, ' Lady John said, adding half toherself, 'she certainly needs it. '

'Yes, m'lady, ' said Sutton, adjusting the maroon collar of his liverywhich had insisted upon riding up at the back. 

'But I want her to know'--Lady John spoke while glancing through aletter before consigning it to the wastepaper basket--'the moment shecomes down she must be told that the new plans arrived by the morningpost. '

'Plans, m'la----'

'She'll understand. There they are. ' The lady held up a packet aboutwhich she had just snapped an elastic band. 'I'll put them here. It'svery important she should have them in time to look over before shegoes. '

'Yes, m'lady. '

Sutton opened a door and disappeared. A footstep sounded on the marblefloor of the lobby. 

Over her shoulder Lady John called out, 'Is _that_ Miss Levering?'

'_No_, m'lady. Mr. Farnborough. '

'I'm afraid I'm scandalously early. ' In spite of his words the young manwhipped off his dust coat and flung it to the servant with as muchprecipitation as though what he had meant to say was 'scandalouslylate. ' 'I motored up from Dutfield. It didn't take me nearly so long asLord John said. '

The lady had given the young man her hand without rising. 'I'm afraid myhusband is no authority on motoring--and he's not home yet from church. '

'It's the greatest luck finding _you_. ' Farnborough sat himself down inthe easy-chair on the other side of the wide writing-table undaunted byits business-like air or the preoccupied look of the woman before it. 'Ithought Miss Levering was the only person under this roof who was everallowed to observe Sunday as a real day of rest. '

'If you've come to see Miss Levering----' began Lady John. 

'Is she here? I give you my word I didn't know it. '

'Oh?' said the lady, unconvinced. 

'I thought she'd given up coming. '

'Well, she's begun again. She's helping me about something. '

'Oh, helping you, is she?' said Farnborough with absent eyes; and thensuddenly 'all there, ' 'Lady John, I've come to ask you to help _me_. '

'With Miss Levering?' said Hermione Heriot's aunt. 'I can't do it. '

'No, no--all that's no good. She only laughs. '

'Oh, ' breathed the lady, relieved, 'she looks upon you as a boy. '

'Such nonsense, ' he burst out suddenly. 'What do you think she said tome the day before she went off yachting?'

'That she was four years older than you?'

'Oh, I knew that. No. She said _she_ knew she was all the charmingthings I'd been saying, but there was only one way to prove it, and thatwas to marry some one young enough to be her son. She'd noticed, shesaid, that was what the _most_ attractive women did--and she namednames. '

Lady John laughed. '_You_ were too old!'

He nodded. 'Her future husband, she said, was probably just enteringEton. '

'Exactly like her. '

'No, no. ' Dick Farnborough waived the subject away. 'I wanted to see youabout the secretaryship. '

'You didn't get it then?'

'No. It's the grief of my life. '

'Oh, if you don't get one you'll get another. '

'But there _is_ only one, ' he said desperately. 

'Only one vacancy?'

'Only one man I'd give my ears to work for. '

Lady John smiled. 'I remember. '

He turned his sanguine head with a quick look. 'Do I _always_ talk aboutStonor? Well, it's a habit people have got into. '

'I forget, do you know Mr. Stonor personally, or'--she smiled hergood-humoured tolerant smile--'or are you just dazzled from afar?'

'Oh, I know him! The trouble is he doesn't know me. If he did he'drealize he can't be sure of winning his election without my valuableservices. '

'Geoffrey Stonor's re-election is always a foregone conclusion. '

Farnborough banged his hand on the arm of the chair. 'That the great manshares that opinion is precisely his weak point'--then breaking into apleasant smile as he made a clean breast of his hero-worship--'his_only_ weak point!'

'Oh, you think, ' inquired Lady John, lightly, 'just because the Liberalsswept the country the last time, there's danger of their----'

'How can we be sure _any_ Conservative seat is safe, after----' as LadyJohn smiled and turned to her papers again. 'Forgive me, ' said the youngman, with a tolerant air, 'I know you're not interested in politics_qua_ politics. But this concerns Geoffrey Stonor. '

'And you count on my being interested in him like all the rest?'

He leaned forward. 'Lady John, I've heard the news. '

'What news?'

'That your little niece, the Scotch heiress, is going to marry him. '

'Who told you that?'

She dropped the paper she had picked up and stared. No doubt about hishaving won her whole attention at last. 

'Please don't mind my knowing. '

But Lady John was visibly perturbed. 'Jean had set her heart on having afew days with just her family in the secret, before the flood ofcongratulation broke loose. '

'Oh, _that's_ all right, ' he said soothingly. 'I always hear thingsbefore other people. '

'Well, I must ask you to be good enough to be very circumspect. ' LadyJohn spoke gravely. 'I wouldn't have my niece or Mr. Stonor think thatany of us----'

'Oh, of course not. '

'She'll suspect something if you so much as mention Stonor; and youcan't help mentioning Stonor!'

'Yes, I can. Besides I shan't see her!'

'But you will'--Lady John glanced at the clock. 'She'll be here in anhour. '

He jumped up delighted. 'What? To-day. The future Mrs. Stonor!'

'Yes, ' said his hostess, with a harassed air. 'Unfortunately we had oneor two people already asked for the week and----'

'And I go and invite myself to luncheon! Lady John. ' He pushed back thearmchair like one who clears the field for action. He stood before herwith his legs wide apart, and a look of enterprise on his face. 'You canbuy me off! I'll promise to remove myself in five minutes if you'll putin a word for me. '

'Ah!' Lady John shook her head. 'Mr. Stonor inspires a similarenthusiasm in so many young----'

'They haven't studied the situation as I have. ' He sat down to explainhis own excellence. 'They don't know what's at stake. They don't go tothat hole Dutfield, as I did, just to hear his Friday speech. '

'But you were rewarded. My niece, Jean, wrote me it was "glorious. "'

'Well, you know, I was disappointed, ' he said judicially. 'Stonor's toocontent just to criticize, just to make his delicate pungent fun of themen who are grappling--very inadequately of course--still _grappling_with the big questions. There's a carrying power'--he jumped to his feetagain and faced an imaginary audience--'some of Stonor's friends oughtto point it out--there's a driving power in the poorest constructivepolicy that makes the most brilliant criticism look barren. '

She regarded the budding politician with good-humoured malice. 

'Who told you that?'

'You think there's nothing in it because _I_ say it. But now that he'scoming into the family, Lord John or somebody really ought to pointout--Stonor's overdoing his rôle of magnificent security. '

The lady sat very straight. 'I don't see even Lord John offering toinstruct Mr. Stonor, ' she said, with dignity. 

'Believe me, that's just Stonor's danger! Nobody saying a word, everybody hoping he's on the point of adopting some definite line, something strong and original, that's going to fire the publicimagination and bring the Tories back into power----'

'So he will. '

'Not if he disappoints meetings, ' said Farnborough, hotly; 'not if hegoes calmly up to town, and leaves the field to the Liberals. '

'When did he do anything like that?'

'Yesterday!' Farnborough flung out the accusation as he strode up anddown before the divan. 'And now he's got this other preoccupation----'

'You mean----?'

'Yes, your niece--the spoilt child of fortune. ' Farnborough stoppedsuddenly and smacked his forehead. 'Of _course_!'--he wheeled round uponLady John with accusing face--'I understand it now. _She_ kept him fromthe meeting last night! _Well!_'--he collapsed in the nearest chair--'ifthat's the effect she's going to have, it's pretty serious!'

'You are, ' said his hostess. 

'I can assure you the election agent's more so. He's simply tearing hishair. '

She had risen. 'How do you know?' she asked more gravely. 

'He told me so himself, yesterday. I scraped acquaintance with theagent, just to see if--if----'

'I see, ' she smiled. 'It's not only here that you manoeuvre for thatsecretaryship!'

As Lady John moved towards the staircase she looked at the clock. Farnborough jumped up and followed her, saying confidentially--

'You see, you can never tell when your chance might come. The electionchap's promised to keep me posted. Why, I've even taken the trouble toarrange with the people at the station to receive any message that mightcome over from Dutfield. '

'For you?' She smiled at his self-importance. 

Breathlessly he hurried on: 'Immense unexpected pressure of work, youknow--now that we've forced the Liberals to appeal to the country----'

He stopped as the sound of light steps came flying through the lobby, and a young girl rushed into the hall calling out gaily--

'Aunt Ellen! Here I----'

She stopped precipitately, and her outstretched arms fell to her sides. A radiant, gracious figure, she stood poised an instant, the light ofgladness in her eyes only partially dimmed by the horrid spectacle of aninterloper in the person of a strange young man. 

'My darling Jean!'

Lady John went forward and kissed her at the moment that the master ofthe house came hurrying in from the garden with a cheerful--

'I _thought_ that was you running up the avenue!'

'Uncle, dear!'

The pretty vision greeted him with the air of a privileged child of thehouse, interrupting only for an instant the babel of cross-purposeexplanation about carriages and trains. 

Lord John had shaken hands with Dick Farnborough and walked him towardsthe window, saying through the torrent--

'Now they'll tell each other for the next ten minutes that she's an hourearlier than we expected. '

Although young Farnborough had looked upon the blooming addition to theparty with an undisguised interest, he readily fell in with Lord John'sdiplomatic move to get him out of the way. He even helped towards hisown effacement, looking out through the window with--

'The Freddy Tunbridges said they were coming to you this week. '

'Yes, they're dawdling through the park with the Church Brigade. '

'Oh, I'll go and meet them;' and Farnborough disappeared. 

As Lord John turned back to his two ladies he offered it as hisopinion--

'That discreet young man will get on. '

'But _how_ did you get here?' Lady John was still wondering. 

Breathless, the girl answered, 'He motored me down. '

'Geoffrey Stonor?'

She nodded, beaming. 

'Why, where is he then?'

'He dropped me at the end of the avenue, and went on to see a supporterabout something. '

'You let him go off like that!' Lord John reproached her. 

'Without ever----' Lady John interrupted herself to take Jean's twohands in hers. 'Just tell me, my child, is it all right?'

'My engagement? Absolutely. '

Such radiant security shone in the soft face that the older woman, drawing the girl down beside her on the divan, dared to say--

'Geoffrey Stonor isn't going to be--a little too old for you. '

Jean chimed out the gayest laugh in the world. 'Bless me! am I such achicken?'

'Twenty-four used not to be so young, but it's become so. '

'Yes, we don't grow up so quick, ' she agreed merrily. 'But, on the otherhand, we _stay_ up longer. '

'You've got what's vulgarly called "looks, " my dear, ' said her uncle, 'and that will help to _keep_ you up. '

'I know what Uncle John's thinking, ' she turned on him with a pretty airof challenge. 'But I'm not the only girl who's been left "what'svulgarly called" money. '

'You're the only one of our immediate circle who's been left sobeautifully much. '

'Ah! but remember, Geoffrey could--everybody _knows_ he could havemarried any one in England. '

'I am afraid everybody does know it, ' said her ladyship, faintly ironic, 'not excepting Mr. Stonor. '

'Well, how spoilt is the great man?' inquired Lord John, mischievously. 

'Not the least little bit in the world. You'll see! He so wants to knowmy best-beloved relations better. ' She stopped to bestow another embraceon Lady John. 'An orphan has so few belongings, she has to make the mostof them. '

'Let us hope he'll approve of us on further acquaintance. '

'Oh, he will! He's an angel. Why, he gets on with my grandfather!'

'Does he?' said her aunt, unable to forbear teasing her a little. 'Youmean to say Mr. Geoffrey Stonor isn't just a tiny bit "superior" aboutDissenters. '

'Not half as much so as Uncle John, and all the rest of you! Mygrandfather's been ill again, you know, and rather difficult--bless him!but Geoffrey----' she clasped her hands to fill out her wordless contentwith him. 

'Geoffrey _must_ have powers of persuasion, to get that old Covenanterto let you come in an abhorred motor-car, on Sunday, too!'

Jean pursed her red lips and put up a cautionary finger with a drolllittle air of alarm. 

'Grandfather didn't know!' she half whispered. 

'Didn't know?'

'I honestly meant to come by train, ' she hastened to exculpate herself. 'Geoffrey met me on my way to the station. We had the most glorious run!Oh, Aunt Ellen, we're so happy!' She pressed her cheek against LadyJohn's shoulder. 'I've so looked forward to having you to myself thewhole day just to talk to you about----'

Lord John turned away with affected displeasure. 'Oh, very well----'

She jumped up and caught him affectionately by the arm. '_You'd_ find itdreffly dull to hear me talk about Geoffrey the whole blessed day!'

'Well, till luncheon, my dear----' Lady John had risen with a glance atthe clock. 'You mustn't mind if I----' She broke off and went to thewriting-table, saying aside to her husband, 'I'm beginning to feel alittle anxious; Miss Levering wasn't only tired last night, she wasill. '

'I thought she looked very white, ' said Lord John. 

'Oh, dear! Have you got other people?' demanded the happy egoist. 

'One or two. Your uncle's responsible for asking that old cynic, St. John Greatorex, and I'm responsible for----'

Jean stopped in the act of taking off her long gloves. 'Mr. Greatorex!He's a Liberal, isn't he?' she said with sudden gravity. 

'Little Jean!' Lord John chuckled, 'beginning to "think in parties!"'

'It's very natural now that she should----'

'I only meant it was odd he should be _here_. Of course I'm not sosilly----'

'It's all right, my child, ' said her uncle, kindly. 'We naturally expectnow that you'll begin to think like Geoffrey Stonor, and to feel likeGeoffrey Stonor, and to talk like Geoffrey Stonor. And quite proper, too!'

'Well, '--Jean quickly recovered her smiles--'if I _do_ think with myhusband, and feel with him--as of course I shall--it will surprise me ifI ever find myself talking a tenth as well!' In her enthusiasm shefollowed her uncle to the French window. 'You should have heard him atDutfield. ' She stopped short. 'The Freddy Tunbridges!' she exclaimed, looking out into the garden. A moment later her gay look fell. 'What?Not Aunt Lydia! Oh-h!' She glanced back reproachfully at Lady John, tofind her making a discreet motion of 'I couldn't help it!' as the partyfrom the garden came in. 

The greetings of the Freddys were cut short by Mrs. Heriot, who embracedher niece with a significant warmth. 

'_I_ wasn't surprised, ' she said _sotto voce_. 'I always prophesied----'

'Sh--_Please_----' the girl escaped. 

'We haven't met since you were in short skirts, ' said the young man whohad been watching his opportunity. 'I'm Dick Farnborough. '

'Oh, I remember. ' Jean gave him her hand. 

Mrs. Freddy was looking round and asking where was the Elusive One?

'Who is the Elusive One?' Jean demanded. 

'Lady John's new ally in good works!' said Mrs. Freddy. 'Why, you mether one day at my house before you went back to Scotland. '

'Oh, you mean Miss Levering. '

'Yes; nice creature, isn't she?' said Lord John, benevolently. 

'I used rather to love her, ' said Mrs. Freddy, brightly, 'but shedoesn't come to us any more. She seems to be giving up going anywhere, except here, so far as I can make out. '

'She knows she can rest here, ' said Lady John. 

'What does she do to tire her?' demanded Mr. Freddy. 'Hasn't she beenamusing herself in Norway?'

'Since she came back she's been helping my sister and me with a schemeof ours, ' said Lady John. 

'She certainly knows how to juggle money out of the men!' admitted Mrs. Heriot. 

'It would sound less equivocal, Lydia, if you added that the money is tobuild baths in our Shelter for Homeless Women. '

'Homeless women?' echoed Mr. Freddy. 

'Yes; in the most insanitary part of Soho. '

'Oh--a--really. ' Mr. Freddy stroked his smart little moustache. 

'It doesn't sound quite in Miss Levering's line, ' Farnborough hazarded. 

'My dear boy, ' said his hostess, 'you know as little about what's in awoman's line as most men. '

'Oh, I say!' Mr. Freddy looked round with a laugh. 

Lord John threw out his chest and dangled his eyeglass with an indulgentair. 

'Philanthropy, ' he said, 'in a woman like Miss Levering, is a form ofrestlessness. But she's a _nice_ creature. All she needs is to get some"nice" fella to marry her!'

Mrs. Freddy laughingly hooked herself on her husband's arm. 

'Yes; a woman needs a balance wheel, if only to keep her from flyingback to town on a hot day like this. '

'Who, ' demanded the host, 'is proposing anything so----'

'The Elusive One, ' said Mrs. Freddy. 

'Not Miss----'

'Yes; before luncheon. '

Dick Farnborough glanced quickly at the clock, and then his eyes wentquesting up the great staircase. Lady John had met the chorus ofdisapproval with--

'She must be in London by three, she says. '

Lord John stared. '_To-day?_ Why she only came late last night! Whatmust she go back for, in the name of----'

'Well, _that_ I didn't ask her. But it must be something important, orshe would stay and talk over the plans for the new Shelter. '

Farnborough had pulled out his cigarette case and stepped out throughthe window into the garden. But he went not as one who means to take astroll and enjoy a smoke, rather as a man on a mission. 

A few minutes after, the desultory conversation in the hall was arrestedby the sound of voices near the windows. 

They were in full view now--Vida Levering, hatless, a cool figure inpearl-grey with a red umbrella; St. John Greatorex, wearing a Panamahat, talking and gesticulating with a small book, in which his fingersstill kept the place; Farnborough, a little supercilious, looking on. 

'I protest! Good Lord! what are the women of this country coming to? I_protest_ against Miss Levering being carried indoors to discussanything so revolting. '

As Lord John moved towards the window the vermilion disk of the umbrellaclosed and dropped like a poppy before it blooms. As the owner of itentered the hall, Greatorex followed in her wake, calling out--

'Bless my soul! what can a woman like you _know_ about such a thing?'

'Little enough, ' said Miss Levering, smiling and scatteringgood-mornings. 

'I should think so indeed!' He breathed a sigh of relief and recoveredhis waggishness. 'It's all this fellow Farnborough's wickedjealousy--routing us out of the summer-house where we were sitting, _perfectly_ happy--weren't we?'

'Ideally, ' said the lady. 

'There. You hear!'

He interrupted Lord John's inquiry as to the seriousness of MissLevering's unpopular and mysterious programme for the afternoon. But thelady quietly confirmed it, and looked over her hostess's shoulder at theplan-sheet that Lady John was silently holding out between two extendedhands. 

'Haled indoors on a day like this'--Greatorex affected a mighty scorn ofthe document--'to talk about--Public Sanitation, forsooth! Why, Godbless my soul, do you realize that's _drains_!'

'I'm dreadfully afraid it is, ' said Miss Levering, smiling down at thearchitectural drawing. 

'And we in the act of discussing Italian literature!' Greatorex held outthe little book with an air of comic despair. 'Perhaps you'll tell methat isn't a more savoury topic for a lady. '

'But for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness--don't youthink--than baths?' She took the book from him, shutting herhandkerchief in the place where his finger had been. 

'No, no'--Greatorex, Panama in hand, was shaking his piebald head--'Ican't understand this morbid interest in vagrants. You're too--muchtoo---- Leave it to others!'

'What others?'

'Oh, the sort of woman who smells of india-rubber, ' he said, withsmiling impertinence. 'The typical English spinster. You've seen her. Italy's full of her. She never goes anywhere without a mackintosh and acollapsible bath--_rubber_. When you look at her it's borne in upon youthat she doesn't only smell of rubber. She is rubber, too. '

They all laughed. 

'Now you frivolous people go away, ' Lady John said. 'We've only got afew minutes to talk over the terms of the late Mr. Barlow's munificencebefore the carriage comes for Miss Levering. '

In the midst of the general movement to the garden, Mrs. Freddy askedFarnborough did he know she'd got that old horror to give Lady John£8000 for her charity before he died?

'Who got him to?' demanded Greatorex. 

'Miss Levering, ' answered Lady John. 'He wouldn't do it for me, but shebrought him round. '

'Bah-ee Jove!' said Freddy. 'I expect so. '

'Yes. ' Mrs. Freddy beamed in turn at her lord and at Farnborough as shestrolled with them through the window. '_Isn't_ she wonderful?'

'Too wonderful, ' said Greatorex to the lady in question, lowering hisvoice, 'to waste your time on the wrong people. '

'I shall waste less of my time after this. ' Miss Levering spokethoughtfully. 

'I'm relieved to hear it. I can't see you wheedling money for sheltersand rot of that sort out of retired grocers. '

'You see, you call it rot. We couldn't have got £8000 out of _you_. '

Speaking still lower, 'I'm not sure, ' he said slyly. 

She looked at him. 

'If I gave you that much--for your little projects--what would you giveme?' he demanded. 

'Barlow didn't ask that. ' She spoke quietly. 

'Barlow!' he echoed, with a truly horrified look. 'I should think not!'

'Barlow!' Lord John caught up the name on his way out with Jean. 'Youtwo still talking Barlow? How flattered the old beggar'd be! Did youhear'--he turned back and linked his arm in Greatorex's--'did you hearwhat Mrs. Heriot said about him? "So kind, so munificent--so _vulgar_, poor soul, we couldn't know him in London--but we shall meet him inheaven!"'

The two men went out chuckling. 

Jean stood hesitating a moment, glancing through the window at thelaughing men, and back at the group of women, Mrs. Heriot seatedmagisterially at the head of the writing-table, looking with inimicaleyes at Miss Levering, who stood in the middle of the hall with headbent over the plan. 

'Sit here, my dear, ' Lady John called to her. Then with a glance at herniece, 'You needn't stay, Jean; this won't interest you. '

Miss Levering glanced over her shoulder as she moved to the chairopposite Lady John, and in the tone of one agreeing with the dictum justuttered, 'It's only an effort to meet the greatest evil in the world, 'she said, and sat down with her back to the girl. 

'What do you call the greatest evil in the world?' Jean asked. 

A quick look passed between Mrs. Heriot and Lady John. 

Miss Levering answered without emphasis, 'The helplessness of women. '

The girl still stood where the phrase had arrested her. 

After a moment's hesitation, Lady John went over to her and put an armabout her shoulder. 

'I know, darling, you can think of nothing but "him, " so just go----'

'Indeed, indeed, ' interrupted the girl, brightly, 'I can think ofeverything better than I ever did before. He has lit up everything forme--made everything vivider, more--more significant. '

'Who has?' Miss Levering asked, turning round. 

As though she had not heard, Jean went on, 'Oh, yes, I don't care aboutother things less but a thousand times more. '

'You _are_ in love, ' said Lady John. 

'Oh, that's it. I congratulate you. ' Over her shoulder Miss Leveringsmiled at the girl. 

'Well, now'--Lady John returned to the outspread plan--'_this_, you see, obviates the difficulty you raised. '

'Yes, it's a great improvement, ' Miss Levering agreed. 

Mrs. Heriot, joining in for the first time, spoke with emphasis--

'But it's going to cost a great deal more. '

'It's worth it, ' said Miss Levering. 

'But we'll have nothing left for the organ at St. Pilgrim's. '

'My dear Lydia, ' said Lady John, 'we're putting the organ aside. '

'We can't afford to "put aside" the elevating influence of music. ' Mrs. Heriot spoke with some asperity. 

'What we must make for, first, is the cheap and humanely conductedlodging-house. '

'There are several of those already; but poor St. Pilgrim's----'

'There are none for the poorest women, ' said Miss Levering. 

'No; even the excellent Barlow was for multiplying Rowton Houses. Youcan never get men to realize--you can't always get women----'

'It's the work least able to wait, ' said Miss Levering. 

'I don't agree with you, ' Mrs. Heriot bridled, 'and I happen to havespent a great deal of my life in works of charity. '

'Ah, then, '--Miss Levering lifted her eyes from the map to Mrs. Heriot'sface--'you'll be interested in the girl I saw dying in a tramp ward alittle while ago. _Glad_ her cough was worse, only she mustn't diebefore her father. Two reasons. Nobody but her to keep the old man outof the workhouse, and "father is so proud. " If she died first, he wouldstarve--worst of all, he might hear what had happened up in London tohis girl. '

With an air of profound suspicion, Mrs. Heriot interrupted--

'She didn't say, I suppose, how she happened to fall so low?'

'Yes, she did. She had been in service. She lost the train back oneSunday night, and was too terrified of her employer to dare to ring himup after hours. The wrong person found her crying on the platform. '

'She should have gone to one of the Friendly Societies. '

'At eleven at night?'

'And there are the Rescue Leagues. I myself have been connected with onefor twenty years----'

'Twenty years!' echoed Miss Levering. 'Always arriving "after thetrain's gone, "--after the girl and the wrong person have got to thejourney's end. '

Mrs. Heriot's eyes flashed, but before she could speak Jean asked--

'Where is she now?'

'Never mind. ' Lady John turned again to the plan. 

'Two nights ago she was waiting at a street corner in the rain. 

'Near a public-house, I suppose?' Mrs. Heriot threw in. 

'Yes; a sort of public-house. She was plainly dying. She was told sheshouldn't be out in the rain. "I mustn't go in yet, " she said. "_This_is what he gave me, " and she began to cry. In her hand were two penniessilvered over to look like half-crowns. '

'I don't believe that story!' Mrs. Heriot announced. 'It's just the sortof thing some sensation-monger trumps up. Now, who tells you these----?'

'Several credible people. I didn't believe them till----'

'Till?' Jean came nearer. 

'Till I saw for myself. '

'_Saw?_' exclaimed Mrs. Heriot. 'Where----?'

'In a low lodging-house not a hundred yards from the church you want anew organ for. '

'How did _you_ happen to be there?'

'I was on a pilgrimage. '

'A pilgrimage?' echoed Jean. 

Miss Levering nodded. 'Into the Underworld. '

'_You_ went!' Even Lady John was aghast. 

'How could you?' Jean whispered. 

'I put on an old gown and a tawdry hat----' She turned suddenly to herhostess. 'You'll never know how many things are hidden from a woman ingood clothes. The bold free look of a man at a woman he believes to bedestitute--you must _feel_ that look on you before you can understand--agood half of history. '

Mrs. Heriot rose as her niece sat down on the footstool just below thewriting-table. 

'Where did you go--dressed like that?' the girl asked. 

'Down among the homeless women, on a wet night, looking for shelter. '

'Jean!' called Mrs. Heriot. 

'No wonder you've been ill, ' Lady John interposed hastily. 

'And it's like _that_?' Jean spoke under her breath. 

'No, ' came the answer, in the same hushed tone. 

'No?'

'It's so much worse I dare not tell about it, even if you weren't here Icouldn't. '

But Mrs. Heriot's anger was unappeased. 'You needn't suppose, darling, that those wretched creatures feel it as we would. '

Miss Levering raised grave eyes. 'The girls who need shelter and workaren't _all_ serving-maids. '

'We know, ' said Mrs. Heriot, with an involuntary flash, 'that all thewomen who make mistakes aren't. '

'That is why _every_ woman ought to take an interest in this, ' said MissLevering, steadily; 'every girl, too. '

'Yes. Oh, yes!' Jean agreed. 

'No. ' Lady John was very decisive. 'This is a matter for us older----'

'Or for a person who has some special knowledge, ' Mrs. Heriot amended, with an air of sly challenge. '_We_ can't pretend to have access to suchsources of information as Miss Levering. '

'Yes, you can'--she met Mrs. Heriot's eye--'for I can give you access. As you suggest, I have some personal knowledge about homeless girls. '

'Well, my dear'--with a manufactured cheerfulness Lady John turned itaside--'it will all come in convenient. ' She tapped the plan. 

Miss Levering took no notice. 'It once happened to me to take offence atan ugly thing that was going on under my father's roof. Oh, _years_ ago!I was an impulsive girl. I turned my back on my father's house. '

'That was ill-advised. ' Lady John glanced at her niece. 

'So all my relations said'--Miss Levering, too, looked at Jean--'and Icouldn't explain. '

'Not to your mother?' the girl asked. 

'My mother was dead. I went to London to a small hotel, and tried tofind employment. I wandered about all day and every day from agency toagency. I was supposed to be educated. I'd been brought up partly inParis, I could play several instruments and sing little songs in fourdifferent tongues. '

In the pause Jean asked, 'Did nobody want you to teach French or singthe little songs?'

'The heads of schools thought me too young. There were people ready tolisten to my singing. But the terms, they were too hard. Soon my moneywas gone. I began to pawn my trinkets. _They_ went. '

'And still no work?'

'No; but by that time I had some real education--an unpaid hotel bill, and not a shilling in the world. Some girls think it hardship to have toearn their living. The horror is not to be allowed to. '

Jean bent forward. 'What happened?'

Lady John stood up. 'My dear, ' she asked her visitor, 'have your thingsbeen sent down?'

'Yes. I am quite ready, all but my hat. '

'Well?' insisted Jean. 

'Well, by chance I met a friend of my family. '

'That was lucky. '

'I thought so. He was nearly ten years older than I. He said he wantedto help me. ' Again she paused. 

'And didn't he?' Jean asked. 

Lady John laid her hand on Miss Levering's shoulder. 

'Perhaps, after all, he did, ' she said. 'Why do I waste time overmyself? I belonged to the little class of armed women. My body wasn'tborn weak, and my spirit wasn't broken by the _habit_ of slavery. But, as Mrs. Heriot was kind enough to hint, I do know something about thepossible fate of homeless girls. What was true a dozen years ago is trueto-day. There are pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our greatrich London, and not one single place where destitute women can be sureof work that isn't killing, or food that isn't worse than prison fare. That's why women ought not to sleep o' nights till this Shelter standsspreading out wide arms. '

'No, no, ' said the girl, jumping up. 

'Even when it's built, '--Mrs. Heriot was angrily gathering up hergloves, her fan and her Prayer-book--'you'll see! Many of thosecreatures will prefer the life they lead. They _like_ it. A woman toldme--one of the sort that knows--told me many of them like it so muchthat they are indifferent to the risk of being sent to prison. "_Itgives them a rest_, "' she said. 

'A rest!' breathed Lady John, horror-struck. 

Miss Levering glanced at the clock as she rose to go upstairs, whileLady John and Mrs. Heriot bent their heads over the plan covertlytalking. 

Jean ran forward and caught the tall grey figure on the lower step. 

'I want to begin to understand something of----, ' she began in abeseeching tone. 'I'm horribly ignorant. '

Miss Levering looked down upon her searchingly. 'I'm a rather busyperson, ' she said. 

'I have a quite special reason for wanting _not_ to be ignorant. I'll goto town to-morrow, ' said Jean, impulsively, 'if you'll come and lunchwith me--or let me come to you. '

'Jean!' It was Aunt Lydia's voice. 

'I must go and put my hat on, ' said Miss Levering, hurrying up thestair. 

Mrs. Heriot bent towards her sister and half whispered, 'How little sheminds talking about horrors!'

'They turn me cold. Ugh! I wonder if she's signed the visitor's book. 'Lady John rose with harassed look. 'Such foolishness John's new plan ofkeeping it in the lobby. It's twice as likely to be forgotten. '

'For all her Shelter schemes, she's a hard woman, ' said Aunt Lydia. 

'Miss Levering is!' exclaimed Jean. 

'Oh, of course _you_ won't think so. She has angled very adroitly foryour sympathy. '

'She doesn't look----' protested the girl. 

Lady John, glancing at her niece, seemed in some intangible way to takealarm. 

'I'm not sure but what she does. Her mouth--always like this--as if shewere holding back something by main force. '

'Well, so she is, ' slipped out from between Aunt Lydia's thin lips asLady John disappeared into the lobby. 

'Why haven't I seen Miss Levering before this summer?' Jean asked. 

'Oh, she's lived abroad. ' The lady was debating with herself. 'You don'tknow about her, I suppose?'

'I don't know how Aunt Ellen came across her, if that's what you mean. '

'Her father was a person everybody knew. One of his daughters made avery good marriage. But this one--I didn't bargain for you and Hermionegetting mixed up with her. '

'I don't see that we're either of us---- But Miss Levering seems to goeverywhere. Why shouldn't she?'

With sudden emphasis, 'You mustn't ask her to Eaton Square, ' said AuntLydia. 

'I have. '

Mrs. Heriot half rose from her seat. 'Then you'll have to get out ofit!'

'Why?'

'I am sure your grandfather would agree with me. I warn you I won'tstand by and see that woman getting you into her clutches. '

'Clutches? Why should you think she wants me in her clutches?'

'Just for the pleasure of clutching! She's the kind that's neversatisfied till she has everybody in the pitiful state your Aunt Ellen'sin about her. Richard Farnborough, too, just on the very verge of askingHermione to marry him!'

'Oh, is that it?' the girl smiled wisely. 

'No!' Too late Mrs. Heriot saw her misstep. 'That's _not_ it! And I amsure, if Mr. Stonor knew what I do, he would agree with me that you mustnot ask her to the house. '

'Of course I'd do anything he asked me to. But he would give me areason. And a very good reason, too!' The pretty face was very stubborn. 

Aunt Lydia's wore the inflamed look not so much of one who is angry asof a person who has a cold in the head. 

'I'll give you the reason!' she said. 'It's not a thing I should havepreferred to tell you, but I know how difficult you are to guide--so Isuppose you'll have to know. ' She looked round and lowered her voice. 'It was ten or twelve years ago. I found her horribly ill in a lonelyWelsh farmhouse. '

'Miss Levering?'

Mrs. Heriot nodded. 'We had taken the Manor for that August. Thefarmer's wife was frightened, and begged me to go and see what Ithought. I soon saw how it was--I thought she was dying. '

'_Dying?_ What was the----'

'I got no more out of her than the farmer's wife did. She had noletters. There had been no one to see her except a man down from London, a shady-looking doctor--nameless, of course. And then this result. Thefarmer and his wife, highly respectable people, were incensed. They werefor turning the girl out. '

'_Oh_! but----'

'Yes. Pitiless some of these people are! Although she had forfeited allclaim--still she was a daughter of Sir Hervey Levering. I insisted theyshould treat the girl humanely, and we became friends--that is, "sortof. " In spite of all I did for her----'

'What did you do?'

'I--I've told you, and I lent her money. No small sum either----'

'Has she never paid it back?'

'Oh, yes; after a time. But I _always_ kept her secret--as much as Iknew. '

'But you've been telling me----'

'That was my duty--and I never had her full confidence. '

'Wasn't it natural she----'

'Well, all things considered, she might have wanted to tell me who wasresponsible. '

'Oh, Aunt Lydia. '

'All she ever said was that she was ashamed'--Mrs. Heriot was fastlosing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of herauditor--'ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not theoriginal temptation, but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to gothrough with it, " as she said. '

With a shrinking look the girl wrinkled her brows. 'You are being sodelicate--I'm not sure I understand. '

'The only thing you need understand, ' said her aunt, irritably, 'is thatshe's not a desirable companion for a young girl. '

There was a pause. 

'When did you see her after--after----'

Mrs. Heriot made a slight grimace. 'I met her last winter at--of allplaces--the Bishop's!'

'They're relations of hers. '

'Yes. It was while you were in Scotland. They'd got her to help withsome of their work. Now she's taken hold of ours. Your aunt and uncleare quite foolish about her, and I'm debarred from taking any steps, atleast till the Shelter is out of hand. '

The girl's face was shadowed--even a little frightened. It was evidentshe was struggling not to give way altogether to alarm and repulsion. 

'I do rather wonder that after that, she can bring herself to talkabout--the unfortunate women of the world. '

'The effrontery of it!' said her aunt. 

'Or--the courage!' The girl put her hand up to her throat as if thesentence had caught there. 

'Even presumes to set _me_ right! Of course I don't _mind_ in the least, poor soul--but I feel I owe it to your dead mother to tell you abouther, especially as you're old enough now to know something about life. '

'And since a girl needn't be very old to suffer for her ignorance'--shespoke slowly, moving a little away. But she stopped on the finalsentence: 'I _felt_ she was rather wonderful!'

'_Wonderful!_'

'To have lived through _that_, when she was--how old?'

Mrs. Heriot rose with an increased irritation. 'Nineteen orthereabouts. '

'Five years younger than I!' Jean sat down on the divan and stared atthe floor. 'To be abandoned, and to come out of it like this!'

Mrs. Heriot went to her and laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. 

'It was too bad to have to tell you such a sordid story to-day of alldays. '

'It is a terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. I feel very sorryto-day for women who aren't happy. ' She started as a motor-horn wasfaintly heard. 'That's Geoffrey!' She jumped to her feet. 

'Mr. Stonor. What makes you think----?'

'Yes, yes. I'm sure. I'm sure!' Every shadow fled out of her face in thesudden burst of sunshine. 

Lord John hurried in from the garden as the motor-horn sounded louder. 

'Who do you think is coming round the drive?'

Jean caught hold of him. 'Oh, dear! are those other people all about?How am I ever going to be able to behave like a girl who--who isn'tengaged to the only man in the world worth marrying!'

'You were expecting Mr. Stonor all the time!' exclaimed Aunt Lydia. 

'He promised he'd come to luncheon if it was humanly possible. I wasafraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented. '

Lord John was laughing as he went towards the lobby. 'You felt wecouldn't have borne the disappointment!'

'I felt I couldn't, ' said the girl, standing there with a rapt look. 

CHAPTER XV

She did not look round when Dick Farnborough ran in from the garden, saying: '_Is_ it--is it really?' For just then on the opposite side ofthe great hall, the centre of a little buzz of welcome, Stonor's tallfigure appeared between host and hostess. 

'What luck!' Farnborough said under his breath. 

He hurried back and faced the rest of the party who were clusteredoutside the window trying to look unconcerned. 

'Yes, by Jove!' he set their incredulity at rest. 'It _is_!'

Discreetly they glanced and craned and then elaborately turned theirbacks, pretending to be talking among themselves. But, as though thegirl standing there expectant in the middle of the hall were well awareof the enormous sensation the new arrival had created, she herselfcontributed nothing to it. Stonor came forward, and she met him with asoft, happy look, and the low words: 'What a good thing you managed it!'Then she made way for Mrs. Heriot's far more impressive greeting, innocent of the smallest reminder of the last encounter!

It was Lord John who cut these amenities short by chaffing Stonor forbeing so enterprising all of a sudden. 'Fancy your motoring out of townto see a supporter on Sunday!'

'I don't know how we ever covered the ground in the old days, ' heanswered. 'It's no use to stand for your borough any more. The American, you know, he "runs" for Congress. By-and-by we shall all be flying afterthe thing we want. ' He smiled at Jean. 

'Sh!' She glanced over her shoulder and spoke low. 'All sorts ofirrelevant people here. '

One of them, unable any longer to resist the temptation, was making asecond foray into the hall. 

'How do you do, Mr. Stonor?' Farnborough stood there holding out hishand. 

The great man seemed not to see it, but he murmured, 'How do you do?'and proceeded to share with Lady John his dislike of any means oflocomotion except his own legs or those of a horse. 

It took a great deal to disconcert Farnborough. 'Some of us were arguingin the smoking-room last night, ' he said, 'whether it didn't hurt acandidate's chances going about in a motor. '

As Mr. Stonor, not deigning to reply to this, paused the merest instantin what he was saying to his hostess, Lord John came to the rescue ofthe audacious young gentleman. 

'Yes, we've been hearing a great many stories about the unpopularity ofmotor-cars--among the class that hasn't got 'em, of course. '

'I'm sure, ' Lady John put in, 'you gain more votes by being able toreach so many more of your constituents than we used----'

'Well, I don't know, ' said Stonor. 'I've sometimes wondered whether thecharm of our presence wasn't counterbalanced by the way we tear aboutsmothering our fellow-beings in dust and running down their pigs andchickens, --not to speak of their children. '

'What on the whole are the prospects?' Lord John asked. 

'We shall have to work harder than we realized, ' Stonor answeredgravely. 

Farnborough let slip an 'Ah, I said so!' meant for Lady John, and thenbefore Stonor's raised eyes, the over-zealous young politician retreatedtowards the window--but with hands in his pockets and head held high, like one who has made his mark. And so in truth he had. For Lady Johnlet drop one or two good-natured phrases--what he had done, hishero-worship, his mother had been a Betham--Yes, he was one of theFarnboroughs of Moore Abbey. Though Stonor made no comment beyond a dry, 'The staple product of this country, young men like that!'--it appearedlater that Lady John's good offices in favour of a probablenephew-in-law had not been invoked in vain. 

Despite the menace of 'the irrelevant' dotting the lawn immediatelyoutside the windows, the little group on the farther side of the hallstill stood there talking in low tones with the sense of intimacy whichbelongs to a family party. 

Jean had slipped her arm in her uncle's, and was smiling at Stonor--

'He says he believes I'll be able to make a real difference to hischances, ' she said, half aside. 'Isn't it angelic of him?'

'Angelic?' laughed the great man. 'Macchiavellian. I pin all my hopes onyour being able to counteract the pernicious influence of my opponent'sglib wife. '

'You want me to have a real share in it all, don't you, Geoffrey?'

'Of course I do. ' He smiled into her eyes. 

That moth Farnborough, whirling in the political effulgence, was againhovering on the outskirts. He even made conversation to Mrs. Heriot, asan excuse to remain inside the window. 

'But you don't mean seriously, ' Lord John asked his guest, 'you don'tmean, do you, that there's any possible complication about _your_ seat?'

'Oh, I dare say it's all right'--Stonor drew a Sunday paper out of hispocket. 'There's this agitation about the Woman Question. Oddly enough, it seems as if it might--there's just the off-chance--it _might_ affectthe issue. '

'Affect it? How? God bless my soul!' Lord John's transparent skinflushed up to his white hair. 'Don't tell me any responsible person isgoing even to consider the lunacy of tampering with the BritishConstitution----'

'We _have_ heard that suggested, though for better reasons, ' Stonorlaughed, but not Lord John. 

'Turn over the destinies of the Empire, ' he said hotly, 'to a lot ofignorant women just because a few of 'em have odious manners and violenttongues!' The sight of Stonor's cool impassivity calmed him somewhat. Hewent on more temperately. 'Every sane person sees that the only troublewith England to-day is that too many ignorant people have votesalready. '

'The penalty we pay for being more republican than the Republics. '

Lord John had picked up the Sunday paper and glanced down a column. 

'If the worst came to the worst, you can do what the other four hundredhave done. '

'Easily! But the mere fact that four hundred and twenty members havebeen worried into promising support--and then, once in the House, havelet the matter severely alone----'

'Let it alone?' Lord John burst out again. 'I should think so indeed!'

'Yes, ' laughed Stonor, 'only it's a device that's somewhat worn. '

'Still, ' Lord John put on a Macchiavellian air that sat ratherincongruously on his honest English face, 'Still, if they think they'regetting a future Cabinet Minister on their side----'

'It will be sufficiently embarrassing for the Cabinet Minister. '

Stonor caught sight of Farnborough approaching and lowered his voice. Heleaned his elbow on the end of the wide mantelpiece and gave hisattention exclusively to Lord John, seeming to ignore even the prettygirl who still stood by her uncle with a hand slipped through his arm. 

'Nobody says much about it, ' Stonor went on, 'but it's realized that thelast Labour member, and that Colne Valley Socialist--those men got inlargely through the tireless activity of the women. '

'The Suffragettes!' exclaimed the girl, '_they_ were able to do that?'

'They're always saying they don't favour _any_ party, ' said a voice. 

Stonor looked up, and, to Jean's obvious relief, refrained from snubbingthe irrepressible Farnborough. 

'I don't know what they _say_----' began Stonor. 

'Oh, _I_ do!' Farnborough interrupted. 'They're not _for_ anybody. They're simply agin the Government. '

'Whatever they say, they're all Socialists. ' Lord John gave a snort. 

'No, ' said Farnborough, with cool audacity. 'It only looks like that. '

Jean turned quite pink with anxiety. She, and all who knew him well, hadseen Stonor crush the cocksure and the unwary with an awful effectualness. But Farnborough, with the courage of enthusiasm--enthusiasm for himselfand his own future--went stoutly on. 

'There are Liberals and even Unionists among 'em. And they do manage tohold the balance pretty even. I go and hear them, you see!'

'And speaking from the height of your advantage, ' although Stonor wasslightly satirical, he was exercising an exceptional forbearance, 'doyou mean to tell me they are not more in sympathy with the Labour partythan with any other?'

'If they are, it's not because the Suffragists are all for Socialism. But because the Labour party is the only one that puts Women's Suffragein the forefront of its programme. '

Stonor took his elbow off the mantel. 'Whatever the reason, ' he saidairily, 'the result is momentarily inconvenient. Though I am one ofthose who think it would be easy to overestimate the importance----'

He broke off with an effect of dismissing both the matter and the man. As he turned away, he found himself without the smallest warning face toface with Vida Levering. She had come down the great staircaseunobserved and unobserving; her head bent, and she in the act of forcinga recalcitrant hatpin through her hat--doing it under certaindisadvantages, as she held her gloves and her veil in one hand. 

As she paused there, confronting the tall figure of the new-comer, although it was obvious that her unpreparedness was not less than hisown, there was to the most acute eye nothing in the remotest degreedramatic about the encounter--hardly more than a cool surprise, and yetthere was that which made Jean say, smiling--

'Oh, you know one another already?'

'Everybody in this part of the world knows Mr. Stonor, ' the lady said, 'but he doesn't know me. '

'This is Miss Levering. You knew her father, didn't you?'

Even before Lady John had introduced them, the people in the gardenseemed not to be able to support the prospect of Miss Levering'sthreatened monopoly of the lion. They swarmed in--Hermione Heriot andPaul Filey appearing for the first time since church--they overflowedinto the Hall, while Jean Dunbarton, with artless enthusiasm, wasdemanding of Miss Levering if the reason she knew Mr. Stonor was thatshe had been hearing him speak. 

'Yes, ' the lady met his eyes, 'I was visiting some relations nearDutfield. They took me to hear you. '

'Oh--the night the Suffragettes made their customary row----'

'They didn't attack _you_, ' she reminded him. 

'They will if we win the election!' he said, with a cynicalanticipation. 

It was a mark of how far the Women's Cause had travelled that, althoughthere was no man there (except the ineffectual Farnborough)--no one tospeak of it even with tolerance, there was also no one, not evenGreatorex, who any longer felt the matter to be much of a joke. Hereagain in this gathering was happening what the unprejudiced observerwas seeing in similar circumstances all over England. The mere mentionof Women's Suffrage in general society (rarest of happenings now)--thattopic which had been the prolific mother of so much merriment, bred inthese days but silence and constraint. The quickest-witted changed thetopic amid a general sense of grateful relief. The thing couldn't belaughed at any longer, but it could still be pretended it wasn't there. 

'You've come just in time to rescue me!' Mrs. Freddy said, sparkling atStonor. 

'You don't appear to be in any serious danger, ' he said. 

'But I am, or I _was_! They were just insisting I should go upstairs andchange my frock. '

'Is there anybody here so difficult as not to like that one?'

She made him a smart little curtsey. 'Although we're going to haveluncheon in less than an hour, somebody was going to insist (out of puremistaken philanthropy) in taking me for a walk. I've told Freddy thatwhen I've departed for realms of bliss, he is to put on my tombstone, "Died of changing her clothes. " I know the end will come some Sunday. Weappear at breakfast dressed for church. That's a long skirt. We areusually shooed upstairs directly we get back, to put on a short one, sothat we can go and look at the kennels or the prize bull. We come backmuddy and smelling of stables. We get into something fresh for luncheon. After luncheon some one says, "Walk!" Another short skirt. We come backdraggled and dreadful. We change. Something sweetly feminine for tea!The gong. We rush and dress for dinner! You've saved me one change, anyhow. You are my benefactor. Why don't you ask after my babies?'

'Well, how are the young barbarians?' He rubbed his hand over the lowerpart of his face. 'Your concern for personal appearance reminds me thata little soap and water after my dusty drive----'

Little as had fallen from him since his entrance, as he followed LordJohn upstairs, he left behind that sense of blankness so curiouslyindependent of either words or deeds. Greatorex, in his patent leathershoes and immaculate white gaiters, pattered over to Miss Levering, butshe unkindly presented her back, and sat down at the writing-table tomake a note on the abhorred Shelter plan. He showed his disapproval bymarching off with Mr. Freddy, and there was a general trickling backinto the garden in that aimless, before-luncheon mood. 

But Mrs. Heriot and Lady John sat with their heads close together on thesofa, discussing in undertones the absorbing subject of the prospectivenew member of the family. 

Mrs. Freddy perched on the edge of the writing-table between MissLevering, who sat in front of it, and Jean, whose chair was on the otherside. She was nearest Jean, but it was to her children's sworn friendthat she turned to say enthusiastically--

'Delightful his coming in like that!' And no one needed to be told whosecoming brought delight. 'We must tell Sara and Cecil. '

As Miss Levering seemed to be still absorbed in making notes on thatboring plan, the lively Mrs. Freddy turned to her other neighbour. 

'Penny for your thoughts, ' she demanded with such suddenness that JeanDunbarton started and reddened. 'Something very weighty, to judgefrom----'

'I believe I was thinking it was rather odd to hear two men like myuncle and Mr. Stonor talking about the influence of the Suffrage womenreally quite seriously. _Oh!_'--she clutched Mrs. Freddy's arm, laughingapologetically--'I beg your pardon. I forgot. Besides, I wasn't thinkingof your kind; I was thinking of the Suffragettes. '

'As the only conceivable ones to be exercising any influence. Thankyou. '

'Oh, no, no. Indeed, I didn't mean----'

'Yes, you did. You're like the rest. You don't realize how we preparedthe ground. All the same, ' she went on, with her unfailing good humour, 'it's frightfully exciting seeing the Question come into practicalpolitics at last. I only hope those women won't go and upset theapple-cart again. '

'How?'

'Oh, by doing something that will alienate all our good friends in bothparties. It's queer they can't see our only chance to get what we wantis by winning over the men. '

There was a low sound of impatience from the person at thewriting-table, and a rustle of paper as the plan was thrown down. 

'What's the matter?' said Mrs. Freddy. 

'"Winning over the men" has been the woman's way since the Creation. Doyou think the result should make us proud of our policy? Yes? Then goand walk in Piccadilly at midnight. '

Lady John and Mrs. Heriot rose as one, while Miss Levering was adding--

'No, I forgot----'

'Yes, ' interposed Mrs. Heriot, with majesty, 'it is not the first timeyou've forgotten. '

'What I forgot was the magistrate's ruling. He said no decent woman hadany business to be in London's main thoroughfares at night "_unless shehas a man with her_. " You can hear that in Soho, too. "You're obliged totake up with a chap!" is what the women say. '

In a highly significant silence, Mrs. Heriot withdrew with her niece andMrs. Freddy to where Hermione sat contentedly between two young men onthe window-step. Lady John, naturally somewhat ruffled, but still quitekind, bent over her indiscreet guest to say--

'What an odd mood you are in to-day, my dear. I think Lydia Heriot'sright. We oughtn't to do anything, or _say_ anything to encourage thisferment of feminism--and I'll tell you why: it's likely to bring a veryterrible thing in its train. '

'What terrible thing?'

'Sex-Antagonism. '

'It's here. '

'Don't say that!' Lady John spoke very gravely. 

'You're so conscious it's here, you're afraid to have it mentioned. '

Lady John perceived that Jean had quietly slipped away from the others, and was standing behind her. 

If Mrs. Heriot had not been too absorbed in Dick Farnborough andHermione she would have had a moment's pleasure in her handiwork--thathalf-shamed scrutiny in Jean Dunbarton's face. But as the young girlstudied the quiet figure, looked into the tender eyes that gazed sosteadily into some grey country far away, the effect of Mrs. Heriot'srevelation was either weakened or transmuted subtly to somethingstronger than the thing that it replaced. 

As the woman sat there leaning her head a little wearily on her hand, there was about the whole _Wesen_ an indefinable nobility that answeredquestions before they were asked. 

But Lady John, upon perceiving her niece, had said hurriedly--

'If what you say is so, it's the fault of those women agitators. '

'Sex-Antagonism wasn't their invention, ' Miss Levering answered. 'Nowoman begins that way. Every woman is in a state of naturalsubjection'--she looked up, and seeing Jean's face, smiled--'no, I'drather say "allegiance" to her idea of romance and her hope ofmotherhood; they're embodied for her in man. They're the strongestthings in life till man kills them. Let's be fair. If that allegiancedies, each woman knows why. '

Lady John, always keenly alive to any change in the social atmosphere, looked up and saw her husband coming downstairs with their guest. As shewent to meet them, Stonor stopped halfway down to say something. The twomen halted there deep in discussion. But scarcely deeper than thoseother two Lady John had left by the writing-table. 

'Who is it you are going to marry?' Miss Levering had asked. 

'It isn't going to be announced for a few days yet. ' And then Jeanrelented enough to say in an undertone, almost confidentially, 'I shouldthink you'd guess. '

'Guess what?' said the other, absent-mindedly, but again lifting hereyes. 

'Who I'm going to marry. '

'Oh, I know him, then?' she said, surprised. 

'Well, you've seen him. '

Miss Levering shook her head. 'There are so very many young men in theworld. ' But she looked with a moment's wondering towards the window, seeming to consider first Filey and then Farnborough. 

'What made you think of going on that terrible pilgrimage?' asked thegirl. 

'Something I heard at a Suffrage meeting. '

'Well, do you know, ever since that Sunday at the Freddys', when youtold us about the Suffragettes, I--I've been curious about them. '

'You said nothing would ever induce you to listen to such people. '

'I know, and it's rather silly, but one says a thing like that on thespur of the moment, and then one is bound by it. '

'You mean one imagines one is bound. '

'Then, too, I've been in Scotland ever since; but I've often thoughtabout you and what you said that day at the Freddys'!'

'And yet you've been a good deal absorbed----'

'You see, ' the girl put on a pretty little air of superiority, 'it isn'tas if the man I'm going to marry wasn't very broad-minded. He wants meto be intelligent about politics. Are those women holding meetings inLondon now as well as in the constituencies?'

They both became aware at the same moment that Lord John was comingslowly down the last steps, with Stonor still more slowly following, talking Land Tenure. As Miss Levering rose and hurriedly turned over thethings on the table to look for her veil, the handkerchief she had shutin her little Italian book dropped out. A further shifting of plans andpapers sent it unobserved to the floor. Jean put once more the questionthat had remained unanswered. 

'They collect too great crowds, ' Miss Levering answered her. 'Theauthorities won't let them meet in Trafalgar Square after to-day. Theyhave their last meeting there at three o'clock. '

'To-day! That's no use to people out of town--unless I could invent someexcuse----'

'Wait till you can go without inventions and excuses. '

'You think all that wrong!'

'I think it rather undignified. '

'So do I--but if I'm ever to go----'

Lord John came forward, leaving Stonor to his hostess. 'Still talkingover your Shelter plan?' he asked benevolently. 

'No, ' answered Miss Levering, 'we left the Shelter some time ago. '

He pinched his niece's ear with affectionate playfulness. 

'Then what's all this chatterment about?'

The girl, a little confused, looked at her fellow-conspirator. 

'The latest things in veils, ' said Miss Levering, smiling, as she caughtup hers. 

'The invincible frivolity of women!' said Lord John, with immensegeniality. 

'Oh, they're coming for you, ' Jean said. 'Don't forget your book. Whenshall I see you again, I wonder?'

But instead of announcing the carriage the servant held out a salver. Onit lay a telegraph form scribbled over in pencil. 

'A telephone message, miss. '

'For me?' said Jean, in surprise. 

'Yes, miss. I didn't know you was here, miss. They asked me to write itdown, and let you have it as soon as possible. '

'I knew how it would be if I gave in about that telephone!' Lord Johnarraigned his wife. Even Mr. Stonor had to sympathize. 'They won't leavepeople in peace even one day in the week. '

'I've got your book, ' Jean said, looking at Miss Levering over the topof the telegraph form, and then glancing at the title as she restoredthe volume to its owner. 'Dante! Whereabouts are you?' She opened itwithout waiting to hear. 'Oh, the Inferno. '

'No, I'm in a worse place, ' said the other, smiling vaguely as she drewon her gloves. 

'I didn't know there was a worse. '

'Yes, it's worse with the Vigliacchi. '

'I forget, were they Guelf or Ghibelline?'

'They weren't either, and that was why Dante couldn't stand them. Hesaid there was no place in Heaven nor in Purgatory--not even a corner inHell, for the souls who had stood aloof from strife. ' The smile faded asshe stood there looking steadily into the girl's eyes. 'He called them"wretches who never lived, " Dante did, because they'd never felt thepangs of partisanship. And so they wander homeless on the skirts oflimbo, among the abortions and off-scourings of Creation. '

The girl drew a fluttering breath. Miss Levering glanced at the clock, and turned away to make her leisurely adieux among the group at thewindow. 

Mrs. Heriot left it at once. 'What was that about a telephone message, Jean darling?'

The girl glanced at the paper, and then quite suddenly said to LadyJohn--

'Aunt Ellen, I've got to go to London!'

'Not to-day!'

'My dear child!'

'Nonsense!'

'Is your grandfather worse?'

'N--no. I don't think my grandfather is any worse. But I must go, allthe same. '

'You _can't_ go away, ' whispered Mrs. Heriot, 'when Mr. Stonor----'

'Back me up!' Jean whispered to Lady John. 'He said he'd have to leavedirectly after luncheon. And anyhow--all these people--please have usanother time. '

'I'll just see Miss Levering off, ' said Lady John, 'and then I'll comeback and talk about it. '

In the midst of the good-byeing that was going on over by the window, Jean suddenly exclaimed--

'There mayn't be another train! Miss Levering!'

But Stonor was standing in front of the girl barring the way. 'What ifthere isn't? I'll take you back in my motor, ' he said aside. 

'_Will_ you?' In her rapture at the thought Jean clasped her hands, andthe paper fluttered to the floor. 'But I must be there by three, ' shesaid. 

He had picked up the telegraph form as well as the handkerchief lyingnear. 

'Why, it's only an invitation to dine--Wednesday!'

'Sh!' She took the paper. 

'Oh! I see!' He smiled and lowered his voice. 'It's rather dear of youto arrange our going off like that. You _are_ a clever little girl!'

'It's not exactly that I was arranging. I want to hear those women inTrafalgar Square--the Suffragettes. '

He stared at her more than half incredulous, but smiling still. 

'How perfectly absurd! Besides, '--he looked across the room at LadyJohn--'besides, I expect she wouldn't like my carrying you off likethat. '

'Then she'll have to make an excuse, and come too. '

'Ah, it wouldn't be quite the same if she did that. '

But Jean had thought it out. 'Aunt Ellen and I could get back quite wellin time for dinner. '

The group that had closed about the departing guest dissolved. 

'Why are you saying good-bye as if you were never coming back?' LordJohn demanded. 

'One never knows, ' Miss Levering laughed. 'Maybe I shan't come back. '

'Don't talk as if you meant never!' said Mrs. Freddy. 

'Perhaps I do mean never. ' She nodded to Stonor. 

He bowed ceremoniously. 

'Never come back! What nonsense are you talking?' said Lady John. 

'Is it premonition of death, or don't you like us any more?' laughed herhusband. 

The little group trailed across the great room, escorting the guest tothe front door, Lady John leading the way. As they passed, GeoffreyStonor was obviously not listening very attentively to Jean'senthusiastic explanation of her plan for the afternoon. He kept his eyeslowered. They rested on the handkerchief he had picked up, but hardly asif, after all, they saw it, though he turned the filmy square fromcorner to corner with an air partly of nervousness, partly ofabstraction. 

'Is it mine?' asked Jean. 

He paused an instant. 'No. Yours, ' he said, mechanically, and held outthe handkerchief to Miss Levering. 

She seemed not to hear. Lord John had blocked the door a moment, insisting on a date for the next visit. Jean caught up the handkerchiefand went running forward with it. Suddenly she stopped, glancing down atthe embroidered corner. 

'But that's not an L! It's V--i----'

Stonor turned his back, and took up a magazine. 

Lady John's voice sounded clear from the lobby. 'You must let Vida go, John, or she'll miss her train. '

Miss Levering vanished. 

'I didn't know her name was Vida; how did you?' said Jean. 

Stonor bent his head silently over the book. Perhaps he hadn't heard. That deafening old gong was sounding for luncheon. 

CHAPTER XVI

The last of the Trafalgar Square meetings was half over when the greatchocolate-coloured motor, containing three persons besides thechauffeur, slowed up on the west side of the square. Neither of the twoladies in their all-enveloping veils was easily recognizable, still lessthe be-goggled countenance of the Hon. Geoffrey Stonor. When he took offhis motor glasses, he did not turn down his dust collar. He even pulledfarther over his eyes the peak of his linen cap. 

By coming at all on this expedition, he had given Jean a signal proof ofhis desire to please her--but it was plain that he had no mind to see inthe papers that he had been assisting at such a spectacle. While he gaveinstructions as to where the car should wait, Jean was staring at thevast crowd massed on the north side of the column. It extended backamong the fountains, and even escaped on each side beyond the vigilanceof the guardian lions. There were scores listening there who could notsee the speakers even as well as could the occupants of the car. Infront of the little row of women on the plinth a gaunt figure in brownserge was waving her arms. What she was saying was blurred in thegeneral uproar. 

'Oh, that's one!' Jean called out excitedly. 'Oh, let's hurry. '

But even after they left the car and reached the crowd, to hurry was athing no man could do. For some minutes the motor-party had onlyoccasional glimpses of the speakers, and heard little more thanfragments. 

'Who is that, Geoffrey?'

'The tall young fellow with the stoop? That appears to be the chairman. 'Stonor himself stooped--to the eager girl who had clutched his sleevefrom behind, and was following him closely through the press. 'Theartless chairman, I take it, is scolding the people for not giving thewoman a hearing!' They laughed together at the young man's foolishness. 

Even had an open-air meeting been more of a commonplace to Stonor, itwould have had for him that effect of newness that an old thing wearswhen seen by an act of sympathy through new eyes. 

'You must be sure and explain _everything_ to me, Geoffrey, ' said thegirl. 'This is to be an important chapter in my education. ' Merrily andwithout a shadow of misgiving she spoke in jest a truer word than shedreamed. He fell in with her mood. 

'Well, I rather gather that he's been criticizing the late Government, and Liberals have made it hot for him. '

'I shall never be able to hear unless we get nearer, ' said Jean, anxiously. 

'There's a very rough element in front there----'

'Oh, don't let us mind!'

'Most certainly I mind!'

'Oh, but I should be miserable if I didn't hear. '

She pleaded so bewitchingly for a front seat at the Show thatunwillingly he wormed his way on. Suddenly he stood still and staredabout. 

'What's the matter?' said Lady John. 

'I can't have you ladies pushed about in this crowd, ' he said under hisbreath. 'I must get hold of a policeman. You wait just here. I'll findone. '

The adoring eyes of the girl watched the tall figure disappear. 

'Look at her face!' Lady John, with her eyeglass up, was staring in theopposite direction. 'She's like an inspired charwoman!'

Jean turned, and in her eagerness pressed on, Lady John following. 

The agreeable presence of the young chairman was withdrawn from thefighting-line, and the figure of the working-woman stood alone. With herlean brown finger pointing straight at the more outrageous of the younghooligans, and her voice raised shrill above their impertinence--

'I've got boys of me own, ' she said, 'and we laugh at all sorts o'things, but I should be ashymed, and so would they, if ever they wus tobe'yve as you're doin' to-d'y. '

When they had duly hooted that sentiment, they were quieter for amoment. 

'People 'ave been sayin' this is a Middle-Class Woman's Movement. It'sa libel. I'm a workin' woman m'self, the wife of a workin' man----'

'Pore devil!'

'Don't envy 'im, m'self!'

As one giving her credentials, she went on, 'I'm a Pore LawGuardian----'

'Think o' that, now! Gracious me!'

A friendly person in the crowd turned upon the scoffer. 

'Shut up, cawn't yer. '

'Not fur you!

Further statements on the part of the orator were drowned by--

'Go 'ome and darn your ol' man's stockin's. '

'Just clean yer _own_ doorstep. '

She glowered her contempt upon the interrupters. ' It's a pore sort of'ousekeeper that leaves 'er doorstep till Sunday afternoon. Maybe that'swhen you would do your doorstep. I do mine in the mornin', before youmen are awake!' They relished that and gave her credit for a bull's eye. 

'You think, ' she went on quietly, seeing she had 'got them'--'you thinkwe women 'ave no business servin' on Boards and thinking aboutpolitics. ' In a tone of exquisite contempt, 'But wot's politics!' shedemanded. 'It's just 'ousekeepin' on a big scyle. ' Somebody applauded. 'Oo among you workin' men 'as the most comfortable 'omes? Those of youthat gives yer wives yer wyges. '

'That's it! That's it!' they roared with passion. 

'Wantin' our money. '

'That's all this agitation's about. '

'Listen to me!' She came close to the edge of the plinth. 'If it wusonly to use fur _our_ comfort, d'ye think many o' you workin' men wouldbe found turnin' over their wyges to their wives? No! Wot's the reasonthousands do--and the best and the soberest? Because the workin' manknows that wot's a pound to _'im_ is twenty shillins to 'is wife, andshe'll myke every penny in every one o' them shillins _tell_. She getsmore fur 'im out of 'is wyges than wot 'e can. Some o' you know wot the'omes is like w'ere the men _don't_ let the women manage. Well, the PoorLaws and the 'ole Government is just in the syme muddle because the men'ave tried to do the national 'ousekeepin' without the women!'

They hooted, but they listened, too. 

'Like I said to you before, it's a libel to say it's only the well-offwomen wot's wantin' the vote. I can tell you wot plenty o' the poorwomen think about it. I'm one o' them! And I can tell you we see there'sreforms needed. _We ought to 'ave the vote_; and we know 'ow toappreciate the other women 'oo go to prison for tryin' to get it forus!'

With a little final bob of emphasis, and a glance over her shoulder atthe old woman and the young one behind her, she was about to retire. Butshe paused as the murmur in the crowd grew into distinct phrases. 

''Inderin' policemen!'--'Mykin' rows in the street;' and a voice calledout so near Jean that the girl jumped, 'It's the w'y yer goes on asmykes 'em keep ye from gettin' votes. They see ye ain't fit to 'ave----'

And then all the varied charges were swallowed in a general uproar. 

'Where's Geoffrey? Oh, _isn't_ she too funny for words?'

The agitated chairman had come forward. 'You evidently don't know, ' hesaid, 'what had to be done by _men_ before the extension of suffrage in'67. If it hadn't been for demonstrations----' But the rest was drowned. 

The brown-serge woman stood there waiting, wavering a moment; andsuddenly her shrill note rose clear over the indistinguishable Babel. 

'You s'y woman's plyce is 'ome! Don't you know there's a third of thewomen in this country can't afford the luxury of stayin' in their 'omes?They _got_ to go out and 'elp make money to p'y the rent and keep the'ome from bein' sold up. Then there's all the women that 'aven't goteven miserable 'omes. They 'aven't got any 'omes _at all_. '

'You said _you_ got one. W'y don't you stop in it?'

'Yes, that's like a man. If one o' you is all right he thinks the restdon't matter. We women----'

But they overwhelmed her. She stood there with her gaunt armsfolded--waiting. You felt that she had met other crises of her life withjust that same smouldering patience. When the wave of noise subsidedagain, she was discovered to be speaking. 

'P'raps _your_ 'omes are all right! P'raps your children never goes'ungry. P'raps you aren't livin', old and young, married and single, inone room. '

'I suppose life is like that for a good many people, ' Jean Dunbartonturned round to say. 

'Oh, yes, ' said her aunt. 

'I come from a plyce where many fam'lies, if they're to go on livin' _atall_, 'ave to live like that. If you don't believe me, come and let meshow you!' She spread out her lean arms. 'Come with me to CanningTown--come with me to Bromley--come to Poplar and to Bow. No, you won'teven think about the over-worked women and the underfed children, andthe 'ovels they live in. And you want that _we_ shouldn't thinkneither----'

'We'll do the thinkin'. You go 'ome and nuss the byby. '

'I do nurse my byby; I've nursed seven. What have you done for yours?'She waited in vain for the answer. 'P'raps, ' her voice quivered, 'p'rapsyour children never goes 'ungry, and maybe you're satisfied--though Imust say I wouldn't a thought it from the look o' yer. '

'Oh, I s'y!'

'But we women are not satisfied. We don't only want better things forour own children; we want better things for all. _Every_ child is ourchild. We know in our 'earts we oughtn't to rest till we've mothered 'emevery one. '

'Wot about the men? Are _they_ all 'appy?'

There was derisive laughter at that, and 'No! No!' 'Not precisely!''_'Appy?_ Lord!'

'No, there's lots o' you men I'm sorry for, ' she said. 

'Thanks, awfully!'

'And we'll 'elp you if you let us, ' she said. 

''Elp us? You tyke the bread out of our mouths. '

'Now you're goin' to begin about us blackleggin' the men! _W'y_ does anywoman tyke less wyges than a man for the same work? Only because wecan't get anything better. That's part the reason w'y we're yere to-d'y. Do you reely think, ' she reasoned with them as man to man; 'do youthink, now, we tyke those low wyges because we got a likin' fur lowwyges? No. We're just like you. We want as much as ever we can get. '

''Ear! 'ear!'

'We got a gryte deal to do with our wyges, we women has. We got thechildren to think about. And w'en we get our rights, a woman's flesh andblood won't be so much cheaper than a man's that employers can get richon keepin' you out o' work and sweatin' us. If you men only could seeit, we got the syme cause, and if you 'elped us you'd be 'elpin'yerselves. '

'Rot!'

'True as gospel!' some one said. 

'Drivel!'

As she retired against the banner with the others, there was someapplause. 

'Well, now, ' said a man patronizingly, 'that wusn't so bad--fur awoman. '

'N--naw. Not fur a woman. '

Jean had been standing on tip-toe making signals. Ah, at last Geoffreysaw her! But why was he looking so grave?

'No policeman?' Lady John asked. 

'Not on that side. They seem to have surrounded the storm centre, whichis just in front of the place you've rather unwisely chosen. ' Indeed itwas possible to see, further on, half a dozen helmets among the hats. 

What was happening on the plinth seemed to have a lessened interest forJean Dunbarton. She kept glancing sideways up under the cap brim at theeyes of the man at her side. 

Lady John on the other hand was losing nothing. 'Is _she_ one of them?That little thing?'

'I--I suppose so, ' answered Stonor, doubtfully, though the chairman, with a cheerful air of relief, had introduced Miss Ernestine Blunt tothe accompaniment of cheers and a general moving closer to the monument. 

Lady John, after studying Ernestine an instant through her glass, turnedto a dingy person next her, who was smoking a short pipe. 

'Among those women up there, ' said Lady John, 'can you tell me, my man, which are the ones that a--that make the disturbances?'

The man removed his pipe and spat carefully between his feet. Then withdeliberation he said--

'The one that's doing the talking now--she's the disturbingest o' thelot. '

'Not that nice little----'

'Don't you be took in, mum;' and he resumed the consolatory pipe. 

'What is it, Geoffrey? Have I done anything?' Jean said very low. 

'Why didn't you stay where I left you?' he answered, without looking ather. 

'I couldn't hear. I couldn't even see. Please don't look like that. Forgive me, ' she pleaded, covertly seeking his hand. 

His set face softened. 'It frightened me when I didn't see you where Ileft you. '

She smiled, with recovered spirits. She could attend now to the thingshe had come to see. 

'I'm sorry you missed the inspired charwoman. It's rather upsetting tothink--do you suppose any of our servants have--views?'

Stonor laughed. 'Oh, no! Our servants are all too superior. ' He movedforward and touched a policeman on the shoulder. What was said was notaudible--the policeman at first shook his head, then suddenly he turnedround, looked sharply into the gentleman's face, and his whole mannerchanged. Obliging, genial, almost obsequious. 'Oh, he's recognizedGeoffrey!' Jean said to her aunt. 'They _have_ to do what a member tellsthem! They'll stop the traffic any time to let Geoffrey go by!' sheexulted. 

Stonor beckoned to his ladies. The policeman was forging a way in whichthey followed. 

'This will do, ' Stonor said at last, and he whispered again to thepoliceman. The man replied, grinning. 'Oh, really, ' Stonor smiled, too. 'This is the redoubtable Miss Ernestine Blunt, ' he explained over hisshoulder, and he drew back so that Jean could pass, and standing so, directly in front of him, she could be protected right and left, if needwere, by a barrier made of his arms. 

'Now can you see?' he asked. 

She looked round and nodded. Her face was without cloud again. Sheleaned lightly against his arm. 

Miss Ernestine had meanwhile been catapulting into election issues withall the fervour of a hot-gospeller. 

'What outrageous things she says about important people--people sheought to respect and be rather afraid of, ' objected Jean, ratherscandalized. 

'Impudent little baggage!' said Stonor. 

Reasons, a plenty, the baggage had why the Party which had so recentlyrefused to enfranchise women should not be returned to power. 

'You're in too big a hurry, ' some one shouted. 'All the Liberals want isa little time. '

'Time! You seem not to know that the first petition in favour of givingus the Franchise was signed in 1866. '

'How do _you_ know?'

She paused a moment, taken off her guard by the suddenness of theattack. 

'_You_ wasn't there!'

'That was the trouble. Haw! Haw!'

'That petition, ' she said, 'was presented forty years ago. '

'Give 'er a 'reain' now she _'as_ got out of 'er crydle. '

'It was presented to the House of Commons by John Stuart Mill. Give theLiberals time!' she echoed. 'Thirty-three years ago memorials in favourof the suffrage were presented to Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli. In1896, 257, 000 women of these British Isles signed an appeal to themembers of Parliament. Bills or Resolutions have been before the House, on and off, for the last thirty-six years. All that "time" thrown away!At the opening of this year we found ourselves with no assurance that ifwe went on in the same way, any girl born into the world in our timewould ever be able to exercise the rights of citizenship though shelived to be a hundred. That was why we said all this has been in vain. We must try some other way. How did you working men get the suffrage, weasked ourselves. Well, we turned up the records--and we _saw_. We don'twant to follow such a violent example. We would much rather not--but ifthat's the only way we can make the country see we're in earnest--we areprepared to show them!'

'An' they'll show _you_!'

'Give ye another month 'ard!'

In the midst of the laughter and interruptions, a dirty, beery fellow offifty or so, from whom Stonor's arm was shielding Jean, turned to thepal behind him with--

'Ow'd yer like to be _that_ one's 'usband? Think o' comin' 'ome to_that_!'

'I'd soon learn 'er!' answered the other, with a meaning look. 

'Don't think that going to prison again has any fears for us. We'd gofor life if by doing that we got freedom for the rest of the women. '

'Hear! Hear!'

'Rot!'

'W'y don't the men 'elp ye to get yer rights?'

'Here's some one asking why the men don't help. It's partly they don'tunderstand yet--they _will_ before we've done!' She wagged her head in asort of comical menace, and the crowd screamed with laughter--'partly, they don't understand yet what's at stake----'

'Lord!' said an old fellow, with a rich chuckle. 'She's a educatin' ofus!'

'--and partly that the bravest man is afraid of ridicule. Oh, yes, we'veheard a great deal all our lives about the timidity and thesensitiveness of women. And it's true--we _are_ sensitive. But I tellyou, ridicule crumples a man up. It steels a woman. We've come to knowthe value of ridicule. We've educated ourselves so that we welcomeridicule. We owe our sincerest thanks to the comic writers. Thecartoonist is our unconscious friend. Who cartoons people who are of noimportance? What advertisement is so sure of being remembered? If wedidn't know it by any other sign, the comic papers would tell us--_we'vearrived_!'

She stood there for one triumphant moment in an attitude of suchaudacious self-confidence, that Jean turned excitedly to her loverwith--

'I know what she's like! The girl in Ibsen's "Master Builder"!'

'I don't think I know the young lady. '

'Oh, there was a knock at the door that set the Master Builder's nervesquivering. He felt in his bones it was the Younger Generation coming toupset things. He _thought_ it was a young man----'

'And it was really Miss Ernestine Blunt? He has my sympathies. '

The Younger Generation was declaring from the monument--

'Our greatest debt of gratitude we owe to the man who called us femalehooligans!'

That tickled the crowd, too; she was such a charming little pink-cheekedspecimen of a hooligan. 

'I'm being frightfully amused, Geoffrey, ' said Jean. 

He looked down at her with a large indulgence. 'That's right, ' he said. 

'We aren't hooligans, but we hope the fact will be overlooked. Ifeverybody said we were nice, well-behaved women, who'd come to hear us?_Not the men. _'

The people dissolved in laughter, but she was grave enough. 

'Men tell us it isn't womanly for us to care about politics. How do theyknow what's womanly? It's for women to decide that. Let them attend tobeing manly. It will take them all their time. '

'Pore benighted man!'

'Some of you have heard it would be dreadful if we got the vote, becausethen we'd be pitted against men in the economic struggle. But it's toolate to guard against that. It's fact. But facts, we've discovered, arejust what men find it so hard to recognize. Men are so dreadfullysentimental. ' She smiled with the crowd at that, but she proceeded tohammer in her pet nail. 'They won't recognize those eighty-two women outof every hundred who are wage-earners. We used to believe men when theytold us that it was unfeminine--hardly respectable--for women to bestudents and to aspire to the arts that bring fame and fortune. But menhave never told us it was unfeminine for women to do the heavy drudgerythat's badly paid. That kind of work had to be done by somebody, and mendidn't hanker after it. _Oh_, no! Let the women scrub and cook and wash, or teach without diplomas on half pay. That's all right. But if theywant to try their hand at the better-rewarded work of the liberalprofessions--oh, very unfeminine indeed. '

As Ernestine proceeded to show how all this obsolete unfairness had itsroots in political inequality, Lady John dropped her glass with a sigh. 

'You are right, ' she said to Jean. 'This is Hilda, harnessed to apurpose. A portent to shake middle-aged nerves. '

With Jean blooming there before him, Stonor had no wish to prove his ownnerves middle-aged. 

'I think she's rather fun, myself. Though she ought to be taken home andwell smacked. '

Somebody had interrupted to ask, 'If the House of Commons won't give youjustice, why don't you go to the House of Lords?'

'What?' She hadn't heard, but the question was answered by some one whohad. 

'She'd 'ave to 'urry up. Case of early closin'!'

'You'll be allowed to ask any question you like, ' she said, 'at the endof the meeting. '

'Wot's that? Oh, is it question time? I s'y, miss, 'oo killed CockRobin?'

'I've got a question, too, ' a boy called through his hollowed hands. 'Are--you--married?'

'Ere's your chance. 'E's a bachelor. '

'Here's a man, ' says Ernestine, 'asking, "If the women get fullcitizenship, and a war is declared, will the women fight?"'

'Haw! haw!'

'Yes. '

'Yes. Just tell us _that_!'

'Well'--she smiled--'you know some say the whole trouble about us isthat we _do_ fight. But it's only hard necessity makes us do that. Wedon't want to fight--as men seem to--just for fighting's sake. Women arefor peace. '

'Hear! hear!'

'And when we have a share in public affairs there'll be less likelihoodof war. Wasn't it a woman, the Baroness von Suttner, whose book aboutpeace was the corner-stone of the Peace Congress? Wasn't it that bookthat converted the millionaire maker of armaments of war? Wasn't it theBaroness von Suttner's book that made Nobel offer those greatinternational prizes for the Arts of Peace? I'm not saying women can'tfight. But we women know all war is evil, and we're for peace. Ourpart--we're proud to remember it--our part has been to go about afteryou men in war time and _pick up the pieces_!'

A great shout went up as the truth of that rolled in upon the people. 

'Yes; seems funny, doesn't it? You men blow people to bits, and then wecome along and put them together again. If you know anything aboutmilitary nursing, you know a good deal of our work has been done in theface of danger; _but it's always been done_. '

'That's so. That's so. '

'Well, what of it?' said a voice. 'Women must do something for theirkeep. '

'You complain that more and more we're taking away from you men the workthat's always been yours. You can't any longer keep woman out of theindustries. The only question is, on what terms shall she continue to bein? As long as she's in on bad terms, she's not only hurting herself, she's hurting you. But if you're feeling discouraged about our competingwith you, we're willing to leave you your trade in war. Let the men takelife! We _give_ life!' Her voice was once more moved and proud. 'No onewill pretend ours isn't one of the dangerous trades either. I won't sayany more to you now, because we've got others to speak to you, and a newwoman helper that I want you to hear. '

With an accompaniment of clapping she retired to hold a hurriedconsultation with the chairman. 

Jean turned to see how Geoffrey had taken it. 'Well?'

He smiled down at her, echoing, 'Well?'

'Nothing so _very_ reprehensible in what she said, was there?'

'Oh, "reprehensible"!'

'It makes one rather miserable all the same. '

He pressed his guardian arm the closer. 'You mustn't take it as much toheart as all that. '

'I can't help it. I can't indeed, Geoffrey. I shall _never_ be able tomake a speech like that. '

He stared, considerably taken aback. 'I hope not indeed. '

'Why? I thought you said you wanted me to----'

'To make nice little speeches with composure? So I did. So I do----' ashe looked down upon the upturned face he seemed to lose his thread. 

She was for helping him to recover it. 'Don't you remember how yousaid----'

'That you have very pink cheeks? Well, I stick to it. '

She smiled. 'Sh! Don't tell everybody. '

'And you're the only female creature----'

'That's a most proper sentiment. '

'The only one I ever saw who didn't look a fright in motor things. '

'I'm glad you don't think me a fright. Oh!'--she turned at the sound ofapplause--'we're forgetting all about----'

A big sandy man, not hitherto seen, was rolling his loose-knit body upand down the platform, smiling at the people and mopping a great bonyskull, on which, low down, a few scanty wisps of colourless hair weregrowing. 

'If you can't afford a bottle of Tatcho, ' a boy called out, 'w'y don'tyou get yer 'air cut?'

He just shot out one hand and wagged it in grotesque greeting, not inthe least discomposed. 

'I've been addressin' a big meetin' at 'Ammersmith this morning, andw'en I told 'em I wus comin' 'ere this awfternoon to speak fur thewomen--well--then the usual thing began. '

An appreciative roar rose from the crowd. 

'Yes, ' he grinned, 'if you want peace and quiet at a public meetin', better not go mentionin' the lydies these times!'

He stopped, and the crowd filled in the hiatus with laughter. 

'There wus a man at 'Ammersmith, too, talkin' about Woman's sphere bein''Ome. 'Ome do you call it? _'Ome!_' and at the word his _bonhomie_suffered a singular eclipse. ''Ome!' he bellowed, as if some one hadstruck him in a vital spot, and the word was merely a roar of pain. '_'Ome!_ You've got a kennel w'ere you can munch your tommy. You got acorner w'ere you can curl up fur a few hours till you go out to workagain. But 'omes! No, my men, there's too many of you ain't able to_give_ the women 'omes fit to live in; too many of you in that fix furyou to go on jawin' at those o' the women 'oo want to myke the 'omes alittle more deservin' o' the name. '

'If the vote ain't done us any good, ' a man bawled up at him, ''ow'll itdo the women any good?'

'Look 'ere! See 'ere!' he rolled his shapeless body up and down thestone platform, taking in great draughts of cheer from some invisiblefountain. 'Any men here belongin' to the Labour Party?' he inquired. 

To an accompaniment of shouts and applause he went on, smiling andrubbing his hands in a state of bubbling Brotherliness. 

'Well, I don't need tell those men the vote 'as done us _some_ good. They _know_ it. And it'll do us a lot more good w'en you know 'ow to usethe power you got in your 'and. '

'Power!' grumbled an old fellow. 'It's those fellows at the bottom ofthe street'--he hitched his head toward St. Stephen's--'it's them that'sgot the power. '

The speaker pounced on him. 'It's you and men like you that give it tothem. Wot did you do last election? You carried the Liberals intoParliament Street on your own shoulders. You believed all their finewords. You never asked yerselves, "Wot's a Liberal, anyway?"'

In the chorus of cheers and booing some one sang out, 'He's a jolly goodfellow!'

'No 'e ain't, ' said the Labour man, with another wheel about and apounce. 'No 'e ain't, or, if 'e's jolly, it's only because 'e thinksyou're such a cod-fish you'll go swellin' 'is majority again. '

Stonor joined in that laugh. He rather liked the man. 

'Yes, it's enough to make any Liberal "jolly" to see a sheep like youlookin' on, proud and 'appy, while you see Liberal leaders desertin'Liberal principles. '

Through the roar of protest and argument, he held out those grotesquegreat hands of his with the suggestion--

'You show me a Liberal, and I'll show you a Mr. Facing-both-ways. Yuss. The Liberal, 'e sheds the light of his warm and 'andsome smile on theworkin' man, and round on the other side 'e's tippin' the wink to thegreat landowners. Yuss. That's to let 'em know 'e's standin' betweenthem and Socialists. Ha! the Socialists!' Puffing and flushed andperspiring he hurled it out again and again over the heads of thepeople. 'The Socialists! Yuss. _Socialists!_ Ha! ha!' When he and theaudience had a little calmed down, 'The Liberal, ' he said, with thatlook of sly humour, ''e's the judicial sort o' chap that sits in themiddle. '

'On the fence. '

He nodded. 'Tories one side, Socialists the other. Well, it ain't alwaysso comfortable in the middle. No. Yer like to get squeezed. Now, I saysto the women, wot I says is, the Conservatives don't promise you much, but wot they promise they _do_. ' He whacked one fist into the other withtremendous effect. 

'This fellow isn't half bad, ' Stonor said to Lady John. 

'But the Liberals, they'll promise you the earth and give you the wholeo' nothin'. '

There were roars of approval. Liberal stock had sunk rather low inTrafalgar Square. 

'Isn't it fun?' said Jean. 'Now aren't you glad I brought you?'

'Oh, this chap's all right!'

'We men 'ave seen it 'appen over and over. But the women can tyke an'int quicker 'n what we can. They won't stand the nonsense men do. Onlythey 'aven't got a fair chawnce even to agitate fur their rights. As Iwus comin' up ere, I 'eard a man sayin', "Look at this big crowd. W'y, we're all _men_! If the women want the vote, w'y ain't they here to s'yso?" Well, I'll tell you w'y. It's because they've 'ad to get the dinnerfur you and me, and now they're washin' up dishes. '

'D'you think we ought to st'y at 'ome and wash the dishes?'

He laughed with good-natured shrewdness. 'Well, if they'd leave it to usonce or twice per'aps we'd understand a little more about the WomanQuestion. I know w'y _my_ wife isn't here. It's because she _knows_ Ican't cook, and she's 'opin' I can talk to some purpose. Yuss, '--heacknowledged another possible view, --'yuss, maybe she's mistaken. Any'ow, here I am to vote for her and all the other women, and to----'

They nearly drowned him with '_Oh-h!_' and 'Hear! hear!'

'And to tell you men what improvements you can expect to see w'en women'as the share in public affairs they ought to 'ave!'

Out of the babel came the question, 'What do you know about it? Youcan't even talk grammar. '

His broad smile faltered a little. 

'Oh, what shame!' said Jean, full of sympathy. 'He's a dear--that funnycockney. '

But he had been dashed for the merest moment. 

'I'm not 'ere to talk grammar, but to talk Reform. I ain't defendin' mygrammar, ' he said, on second thoughts, 'but I'll say in pawssing that ifmy mother 'ad 'ad 'er rights, maybe my grammar would 'ave been better. '

It was a thrust that seemed to go home. But, all the same, it was clearthat many of his friends couldn't stomach the sight of him up theredemeaning himself by espousing the cause of the Suffragettes. He kepton about woman and justice, but his performance was little more thanvigorous pantomime. The boyish chairman looked harassed and anxious, Miss Ernestine Blunt alert, watchful. 

Stonor bent his head to whisper something in Jean Dunbarton's ear. Shelistened with lowered eyes and happy face. The discreet littleinterchange went on for several minutes, while the crowd booed at thebald-headed Labourite for his mistaken enthusiasm. Geoffrey Stonor andhis bride-to-be were more alone now in the midst of this shouting mobthan they had been since the Ulland House luncheon-gong had broken inupon and banished momentary wonderment about the name--that namebeginning with V. Plain to see in the flushed and happy face that JeanDunbarton was not 'asking questions. ' She was listening absorbed to theoldest of all the stories. 

And now the champion of the Suffragettes had come to the surface againwith his--

'Wait a bit--'arf a minute, my man. '

'Oo you talkin' to? I ain't your man!'

'Oh, that's lucky for me. There seems to be an individual here whodoesn't think women ought to 'ave the vote. '

'One? Oh-h!'

They all but wiped him out again in laughter; but he climbed on the topof the great wave of sound with--

'P'raps the gentleman who thinks they oughtn't to 'ave a vote, p'raps 'edon't know much about women. Wot? Oh, the gentleman says 'e's married. Well, then, fur the syke of 'is wife we mustn't be too sorry 'e's 'ere. No doubt she's s'ying, "'Eaven be prysed those women are mykin' ademonstrytion in Trafalgar Square, and I'll 'ave a little peace andquiet at 'ome for one Sunday in me life. "'

The crowd liked that, and found themselves jeering at the interrupter aswell as at the speaker. 

'Why, you'--he pointed at some one in the crowd--'_you_'re like the manat 'Ammersmith this morning. 'E wus awskin' me, "'Ow would you like mento st'y at 'ome and do the fam'ly washin'?" I told 'im I wouldn't adviseit. I 'ave too much respect fur'--they waited while slyly he broughtout--'me clo'es. '

'It's their place, ' said some one in a rage; 'the women _ought_ to dothe washin'. '

'I'm not sure you aren't right. For a good many o' you fellas from thelook o' you, you cawn't even wash yourselves. '

This was outrageous. It was resented in an incipient riot. The helmetsof the police bobbed about. An angry voice had called out--

'Oo are you talkin' to?'

The anxiety of the inexperienced chairman was almost touching. 

The Socialist revelled in the disturbance he'd created. He walked up anddown with that funny rolling gait, poking out his head at intervals in aturtle-esque fashion highly provocative, holding his huge paws kangaroofashion, only with fingers stiffly pointed, and shooting them out atintervals towards the crowd in a very ecstasy of good-natured contempt. 

'Better go 'ome and awsk yer wife to wash yer fice, ' he advised. '_You_cawn't even do _that_ bit o' fam'ly washin'. Go and awsk _some_ woman. '

There was a scuffle in the crowd. A section of it surged up towards themonument. 

'Which of us d'you mean?' demanded a threatening voice. 

'Well, ' said the Socialist, coolly looking down, 'it takes about ten ofyour sort to make a man, so you may take it I mean the lot of you. 'Again the hands shot out and scattered scorn amongst his critics. 

There were angry, indistinguishable retorts, and the crowd swayed. MissErnestine Blunt, who had been watching the fray with serious face, turned suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end ofthe platform. She jumped up, saying audibly to the speaker as she passedhim, 'Here she is, ' and proceeded to offer her hand to help some one toget up the improvised steps behind the lion. 

The Socialist had seized with fervour upon his last chance, and wasflinging out showers of caustic advice among his foes, stirring them upto frenzy. 

Stonor, with contracted brows, had stared one dazed instant as the headof the new-comer came up behind the lion on the left. 

Jean, her eyes wide, incredulous, as though unable to accept theirtestimony, pressed a shade nearer the monument. Stonor made a sharp moveforward, and took her by the arm. 

'We're going now, ' he said. 

'Not yet--oh, _please_ not just yet, ' she pleaded as he drew her round. 'Geoffrey, I do believe----'

She looked back, with an air almost bewildered, over her shoulder, likeone struggling to wake from a dream. 

Stonor was saying with decision to Lady John, 'I'm going to take Jeanout of this mob. Will you come?'

'What? Oh, yes, if you think'--she had disengaged the chain of hereyeglass at last. 'But isn't that, surely it's----'

'Geoffrey----!' Jean began. 

'Lady John's tired, ' he interrupted. 'We've had enough of thisidiotic----'

'But you don't see who it is, Geoffrey. That last one is----' SuddenlyJean bent forward as he was trying to extricate her from the crowd, andshe looked in his face. Something that she found there made her tightenher hold on his arm. 

'We can't run away and leave Aunt Ellen, ' was all she said; but hervoice sounded scared. Stonor repressed a gesture of anger, and came to astandstill just behind two big policemen. 

The last-comer to that strange platform, after standing for some secondswith her back to the people and talking to Ernestine Blunt, the tallfigure in a long sage-green dust coat and familiar hat, had turned andglanced apprehensively at the crowd. 

It was Vida Levering. 

The girl down in the crowd locked her hands together and stoodmotionless. 

The Socialist had left the platform with the threat that he was 'comingdown now to attend to that microbe that's vitiating the air on my right, while a lady will say a few words to you--if she can myke 'erself'eard. '

He retired to a chorus of cheers and booing, while the chairman, moreharassed than ever, it would seem, but determined to create a diversion, was saying that some one had suggested--'and it's such a good idea I'dlike you to listen to it--that a clause shall be inserted in the nextSuffrage Bill that shall expressly give to each Cabinet Minister, and toany respectable man, the power to prevent a vote being given to thefemale members of his family, on his public declaration of their lackof sufficient intelligence to entitle them to one. '

'Oh! oh!'

'Now, I ask you to listen as quietly as you can to a lady who is notaccustomed to speaking--a--in Trafalgar Square, or--a--as a matter offact, at all. '

'A dumb lady!'

'Hooray!'

'Three cheers for the dumb lady!'

The chairman was dreadfully flustered at the unfortunate turn his speechhad taken. 

'A lady who, as I've said, will tell you, if you'll behaveyourselves----'

'Oh! oh!'

'Will tell you something of her impression of police-court justice inthis country. '

Jean stole a wondering look at Stonor's sphinx-like face as VidaLevering came forward. 

There she stood, obviously very much frightened, with the unaccustomedcolour coming and going in her white face--farther back than any of thepractised speakers--there she stood like one who too much values thespace between her and the mob voluntarily to lessen it by half an inch. The voice was steady enough, though low, as she began. 

'Mr. Chairman, men, and women----'

'Speak up. '

She flushed, came nearer to the edge of the platform, and raised the keya little. 

'I just wanted to tell you that I was--I was present in the police courtwhen the women were charged for creating a disturbance. '

'You oughtn't to get mix'd up in wot didn't concern you!'

'I--I----' She stumbled and stopped. 

'Give the lady a hearing, ' said a shabby art-student, magisterially. Heseemed not ill-pleased when he had drawn a certain number of eyes to hislong hair, picturesque hat, and flowing Byronic tie. 

'Wot's the lydy's nyme?'

'I ain't seen this one before. '

'Is she Mrs. Or Miss?'

'She's dumb, anyway, like 'e said. '

'Haw! haw!'

The anxious chairman was fidgeting in an agony of apprehension. Hewhispered some kind prompting word after he had flung out--

'Now, see here, men; fair play, you know. '

'I think I ought----' Vida began. 

'No wonder she can't find a word to say for 'em. They're a disgryce, miss--them women behind you. It's the w'y they goes on as mykes theGovermint keep ye from gettin' yer rights. '

The chairman had lost his temper. 'It's the way _you_ go on, ' hescreamed; but the din was now so great, not even he could be heard. Hestood there waving his arms and moving his lips while his dark eyesglittered. 

Miss Levering turned and pantomimed to Ernestine, 'You see it's no use!'

Thus appealed to, the girl came forward, and said something in the earof the frantic chairman. When he stopped gyrating, and nodded, MissBlunt came to the edge of the platform, and held up her hand as ifdetermined to stem this tide of unfavourable comment upon the dreadfulwomen who were complicating the Election difficulties of both parties. 

'Listen, ' says Ernestine; 'I've got something to propose. ' They waitedan instant to hear what this precious proposal might be. 'If theGovernment withholds the vote because they don't like the way some of usask for it, let them give it to the quiet ones. Do they want to punishall women because they don't like the manners of a handful? Perhapsthat's men's notion of justice. It isn't ours. '

'Haw! haw!'

'Yes'--Miss Levering plucked up courage, seeing her friend sailing alongso safely. 'This is the first time I've ever "gone on, " as you call it, but they never gave me a vote. '

'_No_, ' says Miss Ernestine, with energy--'and there are'--she turnedbriskly, with forefinger uplifted punctuating her count--'there are two, three, four women on this platform. Now, we all want the vote, as youknow. '

'Lord, yes, we know _that_. '

'Well, we'd agree to be disfranchised all our lives if they'd give thevote to all the other women. '

'Look here! You made one speech--give the lady a chance. '

Miss Blunt made a smiling little bob of triumph. 'That's just what Iwanted you to say!' And she retired. 

Miss Levering came forward again. But the call to 'go on' had come alittle suddenly. 

'Perhaps you--you don't know--you don't know----'

'_How_'re we going to know if you can't tell us?' demanded a sarcasticvoice. 

It steadied her. 'Thank you for that, ' she said, smiling. 'We couldn'thave a better motto. How _are_ you to know if we can't somehow manage totell you?' With a visible effort she went on, 'Well, _I_ certainlydidn't know before that the sergeants and policemen are instructed todeceive the people as to the time such cases are heard. '

'It's just as hard, ' said a bystander to his companion, '_just_ as hardfor learned counsel in the august quiet of the Chancery Division to findout when their cases are really coming on. '

'You ask, and you're sent to Marlborough Police Court, ' said MissLevering, 'instead of to Marylebone. '

'They oughter send yer to 'Olloway--do y' good. '

'You go on, miss. Nobody minds 'im. '

'Wot can you expect from a pig but a grunt?'

'You are told the case will be at two o'clock, and it's really calledfor eleven. Well, I took a great deal of trouble, and I didn't believewhat I was told. ' She was warming a little to her task. 'Yes, that'salmost the first thing we have to learn--to get over our touching faiththat because a man tells us something, it's true. I got to the rightcourt, and I was so anxious not to be late, I was too early. '

'Like a woman!'

'The case before the Suffragists' was just coming on. I heard a noise. Isaw the helmets of two policemen. '

'No, you didn't. They don't wear their helmets in court. '

'They were coming in from the corridor. As I saw them, I said to myself, "What sort of crime shall I have to sit and hear about? Is this aburglar being brought along between the two big policemen, or will it bea murderer? What sort of felon is to stand in the dock before thepeople, whose crime is, they ask for the vote?" But try as I would, Icouldn't see the prisoner. My heart misgave me. Is it some poor woman, Iwondered?'

A tipsy tramp, with his battered bowler over one eye, wheezed out, 'Drunk again!' with an accent of weary philosophy. 'Syme old tyle. '

'Then the policemen got nearer, and I saw'--she waited an instant--'alittle thin, half-starved boy. What do you think he was charged with?'

'Travellin' first with a third-class ticket. ' A boy offered a page outof personal history. 

'Stealing. What had he been stealing, that small criminal? _Milk. _ Itseemed to me, as I sat there looking on, that the men who had had theaffairs of the world in their hands from the beginning, and who've madeso poor a business of it----'

'Oh, pore devils! give 'em a rest!'

'Who've made so bad a business of it as to have the poor and theunemployed in the condition they're in to-day, whose only remedy for astarving child is to hale him off to the police court, because he hadmanaged to get a little milk, well, I did wonder that the men refuse tobe helped with a problem they've so notoriously failed at. I began tosay to myself, "Isn't it time the women lent a hand?"'

'Doin' pretty well fur a dumb lady!'

'Would you have women magistrates?'

She was stumped by the suddenness of the query. 

'Haw! haw! Magistrates and judges! _Women!_'

'Let 'em prove first they're able to----'

It was more than the shabby art-student could stand. 

'The schools are full of them!' he shouted. 'Where's their MichaelAngelo? They study music by thousands: where's their Beethoven? Where'stheir Plato? Where's the woman Shakespeare?'

'Where's their Harry Lauder?'

At last a name that stirred the general enthusiasm. 

'Who is Harry Lauder?' Jean asked her aunt. 

Lady John shook her head. 

'Yes, wot 'ave women ever _done_?'

The speaker had clenched her hands, but she was not going to lose herpresence of mind again. By the time the chairman could make himselfheard with, 'Now, men, it's one of our British characteristics thatwe're always ready to give the people we differ from a hearing, ' MissLevering, making the slightest of gestures, waved him aside with a low--

'It's all right. '

'These questions are quite proper, ' she said, raising her voice. 'Theyare often asked elsewhere; and I would like to ask in return: Since whenwas human society held to exist for its handful of geniuses? How manyPlatos are there here in this crowd?'

'Divil a wan!' And a roar of laughter followed that free confession. 

'Not one, ' she repeated. 'Yet that doesn't keep you men off theregister. How many Shakespeares are there in all England to-day? Notone. Yet the State doesn't tumble to pieces. Railroads and ships arebuilt, homes are kept going, and babies are born. The world goeson'--she bent over the crowd with lit eyes--'the world goes on _byvirtue of its common people_. '

There was a subdued 'Hear! hear!'

'I am not concerned that you should think we women could paint greatpictures, or compose immortal music, or write good books. I amcontent'--and it was strange to see the pride with which she said it, apride that might have humbled Vere de Vere--'I am content that we shouldbe classed with the common people, who keep the world going. But'--herface grew softer, there was even a kind of camaraderie where beforethere had been shrinking--'I'd like the world to go a great deal better. We were talking about justice. I have been inquiring into the kind oflodging the poorest class of homeless women can get in this town ofLondon. I find that only the men of that class are provided for. Somemeasure to establish Rowton Houses for Women has been before the LondonCounty Council. They looked into the question very carefully--so theirapologists say. And what did they decide? They decided that they coulddo nothing. 

'Why could that great, all-powerful body do nothing? Because, they said, if these cheap and decent houses were opened, the homeless women in thestreets would make use of them. You'll think I'm not in earnest, butthat was actually the decision, and the reason given for it. Women thatthe bitter struggle for existence had forced into a life of horror mighttake advantage of the shelter these decent, cheap places offered. Butthe _men_, I said! Are the men who avail themselves of Lord Rowton'shostels, are _they_ all angels? Or does wrong-doing in a man not matter?Yet women are recommended to depend on the chivalry of men!'

The two tall policemen who had been standing for some minutes in frontof Mr. Stonor in readiness to serve him, seeming to feel there was nofurther need of them in this quarter, shouldered their way to the left, leaving exposed the hitherto masked figure of the tall gentleman in themotor cap. He moved uneasily, and, looking round, he met Jean's eyesfixed on him. As each looked away again, each saw that for the firsttime Vida Levering had become aware of his presence. A change passedover her face, and her figure swayed as if some species ofmountain-sickness had assailed her, looking down from that perilous highperch of hers upon the things of the plain. While the people were askingone another, 'What is it? Is she going to faint?' she lifted one hand toher eyes, and her fingers trembled an instant against the lowered lids. But as suddenly as she had faltered, she was forging on again, repeatinglike an echo of a thing heard in a dream--

'Justice and chivalry! Justice and chivalry remind me of the story thatthose of you who read the police-court news--I have begun only lately todo that--but _you_'ve seen the accounts of the girl who's been tried inManchester lately for the murder of her child. '

People here and there in the crowd regaled one another with choicedetails of the horror. 

'Not pleasant reading. Even if we'd noticed it, we wouldn't speak of itin my world. A few months ago I should have turned away my eyes andforgotten even the headline as quickly as I could. '

'My opinion, ' said a shrewd-looking young man, 'is that she's forgotwhat she meant to say, and just clutched at this to keep her from dryingup. '

'Since that morning in the police-court I read these things. This, asyou know, was the story of a working girl--an orphan of seventeen--whocrawled with the dead body of her new-born child to her master's backdoor and left the baby there. She dragged herself a little way off andfainted. A few days later she found herself in court being tried for themurder of her child. Her master, a married man, had of course reportedthe "find" at his back door to the police, and he had been summoned togive evidence. The girl cried out to him in the open court, "You are thefather!" He couldn't deny it. The coroner, at the jury's request, censured the man, and regretted that the law didn't make himresponsible. But'--she leaned down from the plinth with eyesblazing--'he went scot free. And that girl is at this moment serving hersentence in Strangeways Gaol. '

Through the moved and murmuring crowd, Jean forced her way, coming inbetween Lady John and Stonor, who stood there immovable. The girlstrained to bring her lips near his ear. 

'Why do you dislike her so?'

'I?' he said. 'Why should you think----'

'I never saw you look as you did;' with a vaguely frightened air sheadded, 'as you do. '

'Men make boast'--the voice came clear from the monument--'that anEnglish citizen is tried by his peers. What woman is tried by hers?'

'She mistakes the sense in which the word was employed, ' said a man wholooked like an Oxford Don. 

But there was evidently a sense, larger than that one purely academic, in which her use of the word could claim its pertinence. The strongfeeling that had seized her as she put the question was sweeping thecrowd along with her. 

'A woman is arrested by a man, brought before a man judge, tried by ajury of men, condemned by men, taken to prison by a man, and by a manshe's hanged! Where in all this were _her_ "peers"? Why did men, whenBritish justice was born--why did they so long ago insist on trial by "ajury of their peers"? So that justice shouldn't miscarry--wasn't it? Aman's peers would best understand his circumstances, his temptation, thedegree of his guilt. Yet there's no such unlikeness between differentclasses of men as exists between man and woman. What man has theknowledge that makes him a fit judge of woman's deeds at that time ofanguish--that hour that some woman struggled through to put each manhere into the world. I noticed when a previous speaker quoted theLabour Party, you applauded. Some of you here, I gather, call yourselvesLabour men. Every woman who has borne a child is a Labour woman. No manamong you can judge what she goes through in her hour of darkness. '

Jean's eyes had dropped from her lover's set white face early in therecital. But she whispered his name. 

He seemed not to hear. 

The speaker up there had caught her fluttering breath, and went on solow that people strained to follow. 

'In that great agony, even under the best conditions that money anddevotion can buy, many a woman falls into temporary mania, and not a fewgo down to death. In the case of this poor little abandoned workinggirl, what man can be the fit judge of her deeds in that awful moment ofhalf-crazed temptation? Women know of these things as those know burningwho have walked through fire. '

Stonor looked down at the girl at his side. He saw her hands go up toher throat as though she were suffocating. The young face, where someharsh knowledge was struggling for birth, was in pity turned away fromthe man she loved. 

The woman leaned down from the platform, and spoke her last words with alow and thrilling earnestness. 

'I would say in conclusion to the women here, it's not enough to besorry for these, our unfortunate sisters. We must get the conditions oflife made fairer. We women must organize. We must learn to worktogether. We have all (rich and poor, happy and unhappy) worked so longand so exclusively for men, we hardly know how to work for one another. But we must learn. Those who can, may give money. Those who haven'tpennies to give, even those people are not so poor but what they cangive some part of their labour--some share of their sympathy andsupport. I know of a woman--she isn't of our country--but a woman who, to help the women strikers of an oppressed industry to hold out, gave athousand pounds a week for thirteen weeks to get them and their childrenbread, and help them to stand firm. The masters were amazed. Week afterweek went by, and still the people weren't starved into submission. Where did this mysterious stream of help come from? The employerscouldn't discover, and they gave in. The women got back their oldwages, and I am glad to say many of them began to put by pennies to helpa little to pay back the great sum that had been advanced to them. '

'She took their pennies--a rich woman like that?'

'Yes--to use again, as well as to let the working women feel they werehelping others. I hope you'll all join the Union. Come up after themeeting is over and give us your names. '

As she turned away, 'You won't get any men!' a taunting voice calledafter her. 

The truth in the gibe seemed to sting. Forestalling the chairman, quickly she confronted the people again, a new fire in her eyes. 

'Then, ' she said, holding out her hands--'then _it is to the women Iappeal_!' She stood so an instant, stilling the murmur, and holding thepeople by that sudden concentration of passion in her face. 'I don'tmean to say it wouldn't be better if men and women did this worktogether, shoulder to shoulder. But the mass of men won't have it so. Ionly hope they'll realize in time the good they've renounced and thespirit they've aroused. For I know as well as any man could tell me, itwould be a bad day for England if all women felt about all men _as Ido_. '

She retired in a tumult. The others on the platform closed about her. The chairman tried in vain to get a hearing from the swaying anddissolving crowd. 

Jean made a blind forward movement towards the monument. Stonor calledout, in a toneless voice--

'Here! follow me!'

'No--no--I----' The girl pressed on. 

'You're going the wrong way. '

'_This_ is the way----'

'We can get out quicker on this side. '

'I don't _want_ to get out. '

'What?'

He had left Lady John, and was following Jean through the press. 

'Where are you going?' he asked sharply. 

'To ask that woman to let me have the honour of working with her. '

The crowd surged round the girl. 

'Jean!' he called upon so stern a note that people stared and stopped. 

Others--not Jean. 

CHAPTER XVII

A little before six o'clock on that same Sunday, Jean Dunbarton openedthe communicating door between her own little sitting-room and the bigbare drawing-room of her grandfather's house in Eaton Square. She stooda moment on the threshold, looking back over her shoulder, and thencrossed the drawing-room, treading softly on the parquet spaces betweenthe rugs. She went straight to the window, and was in the act of partingthe lace curtains to look out, when she heard the folding doors open. With raised finger she turned to say 'Sh!' The servant stood silentlywaiting, while she went back to the door she had left open and with anair of caution closed it. 

When she turned round again the butler had stepped aside to admit Mr. Stonor. He came in with a quick impatient step; but before he had timeto get a word out--'Speak low, please, ' the girl said. He was obviouslytoo much annoyed to pay much heed to her request, which if he thoughtabout it at all, he must have interpreted as consideration for theailing grandfather. 

'I waited a full half-hour for you to come back, ' he said in a tone nolower than usual. 

The girl had led the way to the side of the room furthest from thecommunicating door. 'I am sorry, ' she said dully. 

'If you didn't mind leaving me like that, ' he followed her up with hisarraignment, 'you might at least have considered Lady John. '

'Is she here with you?' Jean stopped by the sofa near the window. 

'No, ' he said curtly. 'My place was nearer than this and she was tired. I left her to get some tea. We couldn't tell whether you'd be here, or_what_ had become of you!'

'Mr. Trent got us a hansom. '

'Trent?'

'The chairman of the meeting. '

'Got us----?'

'Miss Levering and me. '

Stonor's incensed face turned almost brick colour as he repeated, '_MissLev_----!'

Before he got the name out, the folding doors had opened again, and thebutler was saying, 'Mr. Farnborough. '

That young gentleman was far too anxious and flurried himself, to havesufficient detachment of mind to consider the moods of other people. 'Atlast!' he said, stopping short as soon as he caught sight of Stonor. 

'Don't speak loud, please, ' said Miss Dunbarton; 'some one is resting inthe next room. '

'Oh, did you find your grandfather worse?'--but he never waited tolearn. 'You'll forgive the incursion when you hear'--he turned abruptlyto Stonor again. 'They've been telegraphing you all over London, ' hesaid, putting his hat down in the nearest chair. 'In sheer despair theyset me on your track. '

'Who did?'

Farnborough was fumbling agitatedly in his breast-pocket. 'There was thedevil to pay at Dutfield last night. The Liberal chap tore down fromLondon, and took over your meeting. '

'Oh? Nothing about it in the Sunday paper I saw. '

'Wait till you see the press to-morrow! There was a great rally, and thebeggar made a rousing speech. '

'What about?'

'Abolition of the Upper House. '

'They were at that when I was at Eton. ' Stonor turned on his heel. 

'Yes, but this man has got a way of putting things--the people wentmad. '

It was all very well for a mere girl to be staring indifferently out ofthe window, while a great historic party was steering straight forshipwreck; but it really was too much to see this man who ought to betaking the situation with the seriousness it deserved, strolling aboutthe room with that abstracted air, looking superciliously at Mr. Dunbarton's examples of the Glasgow school. Farnborough balanced himselfon wide-apart legs and thrust one hand in his trousers' pocket. Theother hand held a telegram. 'The Liberal platform as defined at Dutfieldis going to make a big difference, ' he pronounced. 

'You think so, ' said Stonor, dryly. 

'Well, your agent says as much. ' He pulled off the orange-brownenvelope, threw it and the reply-paid form on the table, and held themessage under the eyes of the obviously surprised gentleman in front ofhim. 

'My agent!' Stonor had echoed with faint incredulity. 

He took the telegram. '"Try find Stonor, "' he read. 'H'm! H'm!' His eyesran on. 

Farnborough looked first at the expressionless face, and then at themessage. 

'You see!'--he glanced over Stonor's shoulder--'"tremendous effect oflast night's Liberal manifesto ought to be counteracted in to-morrow'spapers. "' Then withdrawing a couple of paces, he said very earnestly, 'You see, Mr. Stonor, it's a battle-cry we want. '

'Clap-trap, ' said the great man, throwing the telegram down on thetable. 

'Well, ' said Farnborough, distinctly dashed, 'they've been saying wehave nothing to offer but personal popularity. No practical reform, no----'

'No truckling to the masses, I suppose. '

Poor Farnborough bit his lip. 'Well, in these democratic days, you'reobliged (I should _think_), to consider----' In his baulked and snubbedcondition he turned to Miss Dunbarton for countenance. 'I hope you'llforgive my bursting in like this, but'--he gathered courage as he caughta glimpse of her averted face--'I can see you realize the gravity of thesituation. ' He found her in the embrasure of the window, and went onwith an air of speaking for her ear alone. 'My excuse for being soofficious--you see it isn't as if he were going to be a mere privatemember. Everybody knows he'll be in the Cabinet. '

'It may be a Liberal Cabinet, ' came from Stonor at his dryest. 

Farnborough leapt back into the fray. 'Nobody thought so up to lastnight. Why, even your brother----' he brought up short. 'But I'm afraidI'm really seeming rather _too_----' He took up his hat. 

'What about my brother?'

'Oh, only that I went from your house to the club, you know--and I metLord Windlesham as I rushed up the Carlton steps. '

'Well?'

'I told him the Dutfield news. '

Stonor turned sharply round. His face was much more interested than anyof his words had been. 

As though in the silence, Stonor had asked a question, Farnboroughproduced the answer. 

'Your brother said it only confirmed his fears. '

'Said that, did he?' Stonor spoke half under his breath. 

'Yes. Defeat is inevitable, he thinks, unless----' Farnborough waited, intently watching the big figure that had begun pacing back and forth. It paused, but no word came, even the eyes were not raised. 

'Unless, ' Farnborough went on, 'you can manufacture some politicaldynamite within the next few hours. Those were his words. '

As Stonor resumed his walk he raised his head and caught sight of Jean'sface. He stopped short directly in front of her. 

'You are very tired, ' he said. 

'No, no. ' She turned again to the window. 

'I'm obliged to you for troubling about this, ' he said, offeringFarnborough his hand with the air of civilly dismissing him. 'I'll seewhat can be done. '

Farnborough caught up the reply-paid form from the table. 'If you'd liketo wire I'll take it. '

Faintly amused at this summary view of large complexities, 'You don'tunderstand, my young friend, ' he said, not unkindly. 'Moves of this sortare not rushed at by responsible politicians. I must have time forconsideration. '

Farnborough's face fell. 'Oh. Well, I only hope some one else won't jumpinto the breach before you. ' With his watch in one hand, he held out theother to Miss Dunbarton. 'Good-bye. I'll just go and find out what timethe newspapers go to press on Sunday. I'll be at the Club, ' he threwover his shoulder, 'just in case I can be of any use. '

'No; don't do that. If I should have anything new to say----'

'B-b-but with our party, as your brother said, "heading straight for avast electoral disaster, " and the Liberals----'

'If I decide on a counter-blast, I shall simply telegraph toheadquarters. Good-bye. '

'Oh! A--a--good-bye. '

With a gesture of 'the country's going to the dogs, ' Farnborough openedthe doors and closed them behind him. 

Jean had rung the bell. She came back with her eyes on the ground, andpaused near the table where the crumpled envelope made a dash ofyellow-brown on the polished satinwood. Stonor stood studying thecarpet, more concern in his face now that there was only Jean to see it. 

'"Political dynamite, " eh?' he repeated, walking a few paces away. Hereturned with, 'After all, women are much more Conservative _naturally_than men, aren't they?'

Jean's lowered eyes showed no spark of interest in the issue. Her onlymotion, an occasional locking and unlocking of her fingers. But no wordscame. He glanced at her, as if for the first time conscious of hersilence. 

'You see now'--he threw himself into a chair--'one reason why I'veencouraged you to take an interest in public questions. Because peoplelike us don't go screaming about it, is no sign we don't--some ofus--see what's on the way. However little they may want to, women of ourclass will have to come into line. All the best things in the world, everything civilization has won, will be in danger if--when this changecomes--the only women who have practical political training are thewomen of the lower classes. Women of the lower classes, ' he repeated, '_and_'--the line between his eyebrows deepening--'women inoculated bythe Socialist virus. '

'Geoffrey!'

He was in no mood to discuss a concrete type. To so intelligent a girl, a hint should be enough. He drew the telegraph-form that still lay onthe table towards him. 

'Let us see how it would sound, shall we?'

He detached a gold pencil from one end of his watch-chain, and, withface more and more intent, bent over the paper, writing. 

The girl opened her lips more than once to speak, and each time fellback again on her silent, half-incredulous misery. 

When Stonor finished writing, he held the paper off, smiling a little, with the craftsman's satisfaction in his work, and more than a touch ofshrewd malice--

'Enough dynamite in that, ' he commented. 'Rather too much, isn't there, little girl?'

'Geoffrey, I know her story. '

He looked at her for the first time since Farnborough left the room. 

'Whose story?'

'Miss Levering's. '

'_Whose?_' He crushed the rough note of his manifesto into his pocket. 

'Vida Levering's. '

He stared at the girl, till across the moment's silence a cry of miserywent out--

'Why did you desert her?'

'I?' he said, like one staggered by the sheer wildness of the charge. '_I?_'

But no comfort of doubting seemed to cross the darkness of Jean'sbackward look into the past. 

'Oh, why did you do it?'

'What, in the name of----? What has she been saying to you?'

'Some one else told me part. Then the way you looked when you saw her atAunt Ellen's--Miss Levering's saying you didn't know her--then yourletting out that you knew even the curious name on the handkerchief--oh, I pieced it together. '

While she poured out the disjointed sentences, he had recovered hisself-possession. 

'Your ingenuity is undeniable, ' he said coldly, rising to his feet. Buthe paused as the girl went on--

'And then when she said that at the meeting about "the dark hour, " and Ilooked at her face, it flashed over me----Oh, why did you desert her?'

It was as if the iteration of that charge stung him out of his chillanger. 

'I _didn't_ desert her, ' he said. 

'Ah-h!' Her hands went fluttering up to her eyes, and hid the quiveringface. Something in the action touched him, his face changed, and he madea sudden passionate movement toward the trembling figure standing therewith hidden eyes. In another moment his arms would have been round her. Her muffled voice saying, 'I'm glad. I'm glad, ' checked him. He stoodbewildered, making with noiseless lips the word '_Glad?_' She was 'glad'he hadn't tired of her rival? The girl brushed the tears from her eyes, and steadied herself against the table. 

'She went away from you, then?'

The momentary softening had vanished out of Geoffrey Stonor's face. Inits stead the look of aloofness that few dared brave, the warning 'thusfar and no farther' stamped on every feature, he answered--

'You can hardly expect me to enter into----'

She broke through the barrier without ruth--such strength, such couragehas honest pain. 

'You mean she went away from you?'

'Yes!' The sharp monosyllable fell out like a thing metallic. 

'Was that because you wouldn't marry her?'

'I couldn't marry her--and she knew it. ' He turned on his heel. 

'Did you want to?'

He paused nearly at the window, and looked back at her. She deserved tohave the bare 'yes, ' but she was a child. He would soften a little thetruth's harsh impact upon the young creature's shrinking jealousy. 

'I thought I wanted to marry her then. It's a long time ago. '

'And why couldn't you?'

He controlled a movement of strong irritation. 'Why are you catechizingme? It's a matter that concerns another woman. '

'If you say it doesn't concern me, you're saying'--her liptrembled--'saying that you don't concern me. '

With more difficulty than the girl dreamed, he compelled himself toanswer quietly--

'In those days--I--I was absolutely dependent on my father. '

'Why, you must have been thirty, Geoffrey. '

'What? Oh--thereabouts. '

'And everybody says you're so clever. '

'Well, everybody's mistaken. '

She left the table, and drew nearer to him. 'It must have been terriblyhard----'

Sounding the depth of sympathy in the gentle voice, he turned towardsher to meet a check in the phrase--

'----terribly hard for you both. '

He stood there stonily, but looking rather handsome in his big, sulkyway. The sort of person who dictates terms rather than one to acceptmeekly the thing that might befall. 

Something of that overbearing look of his must have penetrated theclouded consciousness of the girl, for she was saying--

'You! a man like _you_ not to have had the freedom, that even the lowestseem to have----'

'Freedom?'

'To marry the woman they choose. '

'She didn't break off our relations because I couldn't marry her. '

'Why was it, then?'

'You're too young to discuss such a story. ' He turned away. 

'I'm not so young, ' said the shaking voice, 'as she was when----'

'Very well, then, if you will have it!' His look was ill to meet, forany one who loved him. 'The truth is, it didn't weigh upon her as itseems to on you, that I wasn't able to marry her. '

'Why are you so sure of that?'

'Because she didn't so much as hint at it when she wrote that she meantto break off the--the----'

'What made her write like that?'

'Why _will_ you go on talking of what's so long over and ended?'

'What reason did she give?'

'If your curiosity has so got the upper hand, _ask her_. '

Her eyes were upon him. In a whisper, 'You're afraid to tell me, ' shesaid. 

He went over to the window, seeming to wait there for something that didnot come. He turned round at last. 

'I still hoped, at _that_ time, to win my father over. She blamed mebecause'--again he faced the window and looked blindly out--'if thechild had lived it wouldn't have been possible to get my father to--tooverlook it. '

'You--wanted--it _overlooked_?' the girl said faintly. 'I don'tunderst----'

He came back to her on a wave of passion. 'Of course you don'tunderstand. If you did you wouldn't be the beautiful, tender, innocentchild you are. ' He took her hand, and tried to draw her to him. 

She withdrew her hand, and shrank from him with a movement, slight as itwas, so tragically eloquent, that fear for the first time caught hold ofhim. 

'I am glad you didn't mean to desert her, Geoffrey. It wasn't yourfault, after all--only some misunderstanding that can be cleared up. '

'_Cleared up?_'

'Yes, cleared up. '

'You aren't thinking that this miserable old affair I'd as good asforgotten----'

He did not see the horror-struck glance at the door, but he heard thewhisper--

'_Forgotten!_'

'No, no'--he caught himself up--'I don't mean exactly forgotten. Butyou're torturing me so that I don't know what I'm saying. ' He wentcloser. 'You aren't going to let this old thing come between you andme?'

She pressed her handkerchief to her lips, and then took it away. 

'I can't make or unmake the past, ' she said steadily. 'But I'm glad, atleast, that you didn't mean to desert her in her trouble. You'll remindher of that first of all, won't you?'

She was moving across the room as she spoke, and, when she had ended, the handkerchief went quickly to her lips again as if to shut the dooron sobbing. 

'Where are you going?' He raised his voice. 'Why should I remind_any_body of what I want only to forget?'

'Hush! Oh, hush!' A moment she looked back, holding up praying hands. 

His eyes had flown to the door. 'You don't mean _she's_----'

'Yes. I left her to get a little rest. '

He recoiled in an access of uncontrollable anger. She followed him. Speechless, he eluded her, and went for his hat. 

'Geoffrey, ' she cried, 'don't go before you hear me. I don't know ifwhat I think matters to you now, but I hope it does. You can still'--hervoice was faint with tears--'still make me think of you withoutshrinking--if you will. '

He fixed her for a moment with eyes more stern than she had ever seen. 

'What is it you are asking of me?' he said. 

'To make amends, Geoffrey. '

His anger went out on a wave of pity. 'You poor little innocent!'

'I'm poor enough. But'--she locked her hands together like one whosummons all her resolution--'I'm not so innocent but what I know youmust right that old wrong now, if you're ever to right it. '

'You aren't insane enough to think I would turn round in these few hoursand go back to something that ten years ago was ended forever!' As hesaw how unmoved her face was, 'Why, ' he burst out, 'it's stark, staringmadness!'

'No!' She caught his arm. 'What you did ten years ago--that was mad. This is paying a debt. '

Any man looking on, or hearing of Stonor's dilemma, would have said, 'Leave the girl alone to come to her senses. ' But only a stupid manwould himself have done it. Stonor caught her two hands in his, and drewher into his arms. 

'Look, here, Jeannie, you're dreadfully wrought up and excited--tired, too. '

'No!' She freed herself, and averted the tear-stained face. 'Not tired, though I've travelled far to-day. I know you smile at suddenconversions. You think they're hysterical--worse--vulgar. But peoplemust get their revelation how they can. And, Geoffrey, if I can't makeyou see this one of mine, I shall know your love could never meanstrength to me--only weakness. And I shall be afraid, ' she whispered. Her dilated eyes might have seen a ghost lurking there in thecommonplace room. 'So afraid I should never dare give you the chance ofmaking me loathe myself. ' There was a pause, and out of the silence fellwords that were like the taking of a vow. 'I would never see you again. '

'How right I was to be afraid of that vein of fanaticism in you!'

'Certainly you couldn't make a greater mistake than to go away now andthink it any good ever to come back. Even if I came to feel different, Icouldn't _do_ anything different. I should _know_ all this couldn't beforgotten. I should know that it would poison my life in the end--yourstoo. '

'She has made good use of her time!' he said bitterly. Then, upon asudden thought, 'What has changed _her_? Has she been seeing visionstoo?'

'What do you mean?'

'Why is she intriguing to get hold of a man that ten years ago sheflatly refused to see or hold any communication with?'

'Intriguing to get hold of? She hasn't mentioned you!'

'What! Then how, in the name of Heaven, do you know--she wants--what youask?'

'There can't be any doubt about that, ' said the girl, firmly. 

With all his tenderness for her, so little still did he understand whatshe was going through, that he plainly thought all her pain had come ofknowing that this other page was in his life--he had no glimpse of thegirl's passionate need to think of that same long-turned-over page asunmarred by the darker blot. 

'You absurd, ridiculous child!' With immense relief he dropped into thenearest chair. 'Then all this is just your own unaided invention. Well, I could thank God!' He passed his handkerchief over his face. 

'For what are you thanking God?'

He sat there obviously thinking out his plan of action. 

'Suppose--I'm not going to risk it--but _suppose_----' He looked up, andat the sight of Jean's face he rose with an expression strangely gentle. The rather hard eyes were softened in a sudden mist. 'Whether _I_deserve to suffer or not, it's quite certain _you_ don't. Don't cry, dear one. It never was the real thing. I had to wait till I knew youbefore I understood. '

Her own eyes were brimming as she lifted them in a passion of gratitudeto his face. 

'Oh! is that true? Loving you has made things clear to me I didn't dreamof before. If I could think that because of me you were able to dothis----'

'You go back to that?' He seized her by the shoulders, and saidhoarsely, 'Look here! Do you seriously ask me to give up the girl Ilove--to go and offer to marry a woman that even to think of----'

'You cared for her once!' she cried. 'You'll care about her again. Sheis beautiful and brilliant--_every_thing. I've heard she could win anyman----'

He pushed the girl from him. 'She's bewitched you!' He was halfway tothe door. 

'Geoffrey, Geoffrey, you aren't going away like that? This isn't _theend_?'

The face he turned back upon her was dark and hesitating. 'I suppose ifshe refused me, you'd----'

'She won't refuse you. '

'She did once. '

'She didn't refuse to marry you. '

As she passed him on the way to her sitting-room he caught her by thearm. 

'Stop!' he said, glancing about like one hunting desperately for a meansof gaining a few minutes. 'Lady John is waiting all this time at myhouse for the car to go back with a message. '

'_That's_ not a matter of life and death!' she said, with all theimpatience of the young at that tyranny of little things which seems tohold its unrelenting sway, though the battlements of righteousness arerocking, and the tall towers of love are shaken to the nethermostfoundation-stones. 

'No, it's not a matter of life and death, ' Stonor said quietly. 'All thesame, I'll go down and give the order. '

'Very well. ' Of her own accord this time she stopped on her way to thatother door, behind which was the Past and the Future incarnate in onewoman. 'I'll wait, ' said Jean. She went to the table. Sitting there withher face turned from him, she said, quite low, 'You'll come back, ifyou're the man I pray you are. '

Her self-control seemed all at once to fail. She leaned her elbows onthe table and broke into a flood of silent tears, with face hidden inher hands. 

He came swiftly back, and bent over her a moved, adoring face. 

'Dearest of all the world, ' he began, in that beautiful voice of his. 

His arms were closing round her, when the door on the left was softlyopened. Vida Levering stood on the threshold. 

CHAPTER XVIII

She drew back as soon as she saw him, but Stonor had looked round. Hisface darkened as he stood there an instant, silently challenging her. Not a word spoken by either of them, no sound but the faint, muffledsobbing of the girl, who sat with hidden face. With a look of speechlessanger, the man went out and shut the doors behind him. Not seeing, onlyhearing that he had gone, Jean threw her arms out across the table in anabandonment of grief. The other woman laid on a chair the hat and cloakthat she was carrying. Then she went slowly across the room and stoodsilent a moment at Jean's side. 

'What is the matter?'

The girl started. Impossible for her to speak in that first moment. Butwhen she had dried her eyes, she said, with a pathetic childish air--

'I--I've been seeing Geoffrey. '

'Is this the effect "seeing Geoffrey" has?' said the other, with anattempt at lightness. 

'You see, I know now, ' Jean explained, with the brave directness thatwas characteristic. 

The more sophisticated woman presented an aspect totally unenlightened. 

'I know how he'--Jean dropped her eyes--'how he spoiled some one else'slife. '

'Who tells you that?' asked Miss Levering. 

'Several people have told me. '

'Well, you should be very careful how you believe what you hear. '

'You know it's true!' said the girl, passionately. 

'I know that it's possible to be mistaken. '

'I see! You're trying to shield him----'

'Why should I? What is it to me?'

'Oh-h, how you must love him!' she said with tears. 

'I? Listen to me, ' said Vida, gravely. As she drew up a chair the girlrose to her feet. 

'What's the use--what's the use of your going on denying it?' As she sawVida was about to break in, she silenced her with two words, '_Geoffreydoesn't. _' And with that she fled away to the window. 

Vida half rose, and then relinquished the idea of following the girl, seemed presently to forget her, and sat as one alone with sorrow. WhenJean had mastered herself, she came slowly back. Not till she was closeto the motionless figure did the girl lift her eyes. 

'Oh, don't look like that, ' the girl prayed. 'I shall bring him back toyou. '

She was on her knees by Vida's chair. The fixed abstraction went out ofthe older face, but it was very cold as she began--

'You would be impertinent--if--you weren't a romantic child. You can'tbring him back. '

'Yes, yes, he----'

'No. But'--Vida looked deep into the candid eyes--'there is somethingyou _can_ do----'

'What?'

'Bring him to a point where he recognizes that he is in our debt. '

'In _our_ debt?'

Vida nodded. 'In debt to Women. He can't repay the one he robbed. '

Jean winced at that. The young do not know that nothing but money canever be paid back. 

'Yes, ' she insisted, out of the faith she still had in him, ready to behis surety. 'Yes, he can. He will. '

The other shook her head. 'No, he can't repay the dead. But there arethe living. There are the thousands with hope still in their hearts andyouth in their blood. Let him help _them_. Let him be a Friend toWomen. '

'I understand!' Jean rose up, wide-eyed. 'Yes, _that_ too. '

The door had opened, and Lady John was coming in with Stonor toweringbeside her. When he saw the girl rising from her knees, he turned toLady John with a little gesture of, 'What did I tell you?'

The moment Jean caught sight of him, 'Thank you!' she said, while heraunt was briskly advancing, filling all the room with a pleasant silkenrustling, and a something nameless, that was like clear noonday afterstorm-cloud or haunted twilight. 

'Well, ' she said in a cheerful commonplace tone to Jean; 'you rathergave us the slip! Vida, I believe Mr. Stonor wants to see you for a fewminutes, but'--she glanced at her watch--'I'd like a word with youfirst, as I must get back. Do you think the car'--she turned toStonor--'your man said something about recharging----'

'Oh, did he? I'll see about it. ' As he went out he brushed past thebutler. 

'Mr. Trent has called, miss, to take the lady to the meeting, ' said thatfunctionary. 

'Bring Mr. Trent into my sitting-room, ' said Jean hastily, and then toMiss Levering, 'I'll tell him you can't go to-night. '

Lady John stood watching the girl with critical eyes till she haddisappeared into the adjoining room and shut the door behind her. Then--

'I know, my dear'--she spoke almost apologetically--'you're not aware ofwhat that impulsive child wants to insist on. I feel it an embarrassmenteven to tell you. '

'I know. '

'You know?' Lady John waited for condemnation of Jean's idea. She waitedin vain. 'It isn't with your sanction, surely, that she makes thisextraordinary demand?'

'I didn't sanction it at first, ' said the other slowly; 'but I've beenthinking it over. '

Lady John's suavity stiffened perceptibly. 'Then all I can say is, I amgreatly disappointed in you. You threw this man over years ago, forreasons, whatever they were, that seemed to you good and sufficient. Andnow you come in between him and a younger woman, just to play Nemesis, so far as I can make out. '

'Is that what he says?'

'He says nothing that isn't fair and considerate. '

'I can see he's changed. '

'And you're unchanged--is that it?'

'I'm changed even more than he. '

Lady John sat down, with pity and annoyance struggling for the mastery. 

'You care about him still?'

'No. '

'No? And yet you--I see! There are obviously certain things he can givehis wife, and you naturally want to marry somebody. '

'Oh, Lady John, ' said Vida, wearily, 'there are no men listening. '

'No'--she looked round surprised--'I didn't suppose there were. '

'Then why keep up that old pretence?'

'What pret----'

'That to marry _at all costs_ is every woman's dearest ambition till thegrave closes over her. You and I _know_ it isn't true. '

'Well, but----' Her ladyship blinked, suddenly seeing daylight. 'Oh! Itwas just the unexpected sight of him bringing it all back! _That_ waswhat fired you this afternoon. Of course'--she made an honest attempt atsympathetic understanding--'the memory of a thing like that can neverdie--can never even be dimmed for the woman. '

'I mean her to think so. '

'Jean?'

Vida nodded. 

'But it isn't so?'

Lady John was a little bewildered. 

'You don't seriously believe, ' said Vida, 'that a woman, with anythingelse to think about, comes to the end of ten years still absorbed in amemory of that sort?'

Lady John stared speechless a moment. 'You've got over it, then?'

'If it weren't for the papers, I shouldn't remember twice a year therewas ever such a person as Geoffrey Stonor in the world. '

'Oh, I'm _so_ glad!' said Lady John, with unconscious rapture. 

Vida smiled grimly. 'Yes, I'm glad, too. '

'And if Geoffrey Stonor offered you--er--"reparation, " you'd refuse it?'

'Geoffrey Stonor! For me he's simply one of the far back links in achain of evidence. It's certain I think a hundred times of other women'spresent unhappiness to once that I remember that old unhappiness of minethat's past. I think of the nail and chain makers of Cradley Heath, thesweated girls of the slums; I think, ' her voice fell, 'of the army ofill-used women, whose very existence I mustn't mention----'

Lady John interrupted her hurriedly. 'Then why in heaven's name do youlet poor Jean imagine----'

Vida suddenly bent forward. 'Look--I'll trust you, Lady John. I don'tsuffer from that old wrong as Jean thinks I do, but I shall coin hersympathy into gold for a greater cause than mine. '

'I don't understand you. '

'Jean isn't old enough to be able to care as much about a principle asabout a person. But if my old half-forgotten pain can turn hergenerosity into the common treasury----'

'What do you propose she shall do, poor child?'

'Use her hold over Geoffrey Stonor to make him help us. '

'To help you?'

'The man who served one woman--God knows how many more--very ill, shallserve hundreds of thousands well. Geoffrey Stonor shall make it harderfor his son, harder still for his grandson, to treat any woman as hetreated me. '

'How will he do that?' said the lady coldly. 

'By putting an end to the helplessness of women. '

'You must think he has a great deal of power, ' said her ladyship, withsome irony. 

'Power? Yes, ' answered the other, 'men have too much over penniless andfrightened women. '

'What nonsense! You talk as though the women hadn't their share of humannature. _We_ aren't made of ice any more than the men. '

'No, but we have more self-control. '

'Than men?'

Vida had risen. She looked down at her friend. 'You know we have, ' shesaid. 

'I know, ' said Lady John shrewdly, 'we mustn't admit it. '

'For fear they'd call us fishes?'

Lady John had been frankly shocked at the previous plain speaking, butshe found herself stimulated to show in this moment of privacy that evenshe had not travelled her sheltered way through the world altogether inblinkers. 

'They talk of our lack of self-control, but, ' she admitted, 'it's thelast thing men _want_ women to have. '

'Oh, we know what they want us to have! So we make shift to have it. Ifwe don't, we go without hope--sometimes we go without bread. '

'Vida! Do you mean to say that you----'

'I mean to say that men's vanity won't let them see it, but the thing'slargely a question of economics. '

'You _never_ loved him, then!'

'Yes, I loved him--once. It was my helplessness that turned the bestthing life can bring into a curse for both of us. '

'I don't understand you----'

'Oh, being "understood"! that's too much to expect. I make myself noillusions. When people come to know that I've joined the Women'sUnion----'

'But you won't'

'----who is there who will resist the temptation to say "Poor VidaLevering! What a pity she hasn't got a husband and a baby to keep herquiet"? The few who know about me, they'll be equally sure that, not thelarger view of life I've gained, but my own poor little story, isresponsible for my new departure. ' She leaned forward and looked intoLady John's face. 'My best friend, she will be surest of all, that it'sa private sense of loss, or lower yet, a grudge, that's responsible formy attitude. I tell you the only difference between me and thousands ofwomen with husbands and babies is that I am free to say what I think. _They aren't!_'

Lady John opened her lips and then closed them firmly. After all, whypursue the matter? She had got the information she had come for. 

'I must hurry back;' she rose, murmuring, 'my poor ill-used guests----'

Vida stood there quiet, a little cold. 'I won't ring, ' she said. 'Ithink you'll find Mr. Stonor downstairs waiting for you. '

'Oh--a--he will have left word about the car in any case. '

Lady John's embarrassment was not so much at seeing that her friend haddivined the gist of the arrangement that had been effected downstairs. It was that Vida should be at no pains to throw a decent veil over thefact of her realization that Lady John had come there in the characterof scout. With an openness not wholly free from scorn, the younger womanhad laid her own cards on the table. She made no scruple at turning herback on Lady John's somewhat incoherent evasion. Ignoring it she crossedthe room and opened the door for her. 

Jean was in the corridor saying good-bye to the chairman of theafternoon. 

'Well, Mr. Trent, ' said Miss Levering in even tones, 'I didn't expect tosee you this evening. '

He came forward and stood in the doorway. 'Why not? Have I ever failed?'

'Lady John, ' said Vida, turning, 'this is one of our allies. He is goodenough to squire me through the rabble from time to time. '

'Well, ' said Lady John, advancing quite graciously, 'I think it's veryhandsome of you after what she said to-day about men. '

'I've no great opinion of most men myself, ' said the young gentleman. 'Imight add, or of most women. '

'Oh!' Lady John laughed. 'At any rate I shall go away relieved to thinkthat Miss Levering's plain speaking hasn't alienated _all_ masculineregard. '

'Why should it?' he said. 

'That's right. ' Lady John metaphorically patted him on the back. 'Don'tbelieve all she says in the heat of propaganda. '

'I _do_ believe all she says. But I'm not cast down. '

'Not when she says----'

'Was there never, ' he made bold to interrupt, 'a misogynist of _my_ sexwho ended by deciding to make an exception?'

'Oh!' Lady John smiled significantly; 'if _that's_ what you build on!'

'Why, ' he demanded with an effort to convey 'pure logic, ' 'why shouldn'ta man-hater on your side prove equally open to reason?'

'That aspect of the question has become irrelevant so far as I'mpersonally concerned, ' said Vida, exasperated by Lady John's look ofpleased significance. 'I've got to a place where I realize that thefirst battles of this new campaign must be fought by women alone. Theonly effective help men could give--amendment of the law--they refuse. The rest is nothing. '

'Don't be ungrateful, Vida. Here is this gentleman ready to facecriticism in publicly championing you----'

'Yes, but it's an illusion that I, as an individual, need a champion. Iam quite safe in the crowd. Please don't wait for me and don't come forme again. '

The sensitive dark face flushed. 'Of course if you'd rather----'

'And that reminds me, ' she went on, unfairly punishing poor Mr. Trentfor Lady John's meaning looks, 'I was asked to thank you, and to tellyou, too, that they won't need your chairmanship any more--though that, I beg you to believe, has nothing to do with any feeling of mine. '

He was hurt and he showed it. 'Of course I know there must be other menready--better known men----'

'It isn't that. It's simply that we find a man can't keep a rowdymeeting in order as well as a woman. '

He stared. 

'You aren't serious?' said Lady John. 

'Haven't you noticed, ' Miss Levering put it to Trent, 'that all ourworst disturbances come when men are in charge?'

'Ha! ha! Well--a--I hadn't connected the two ideas. '

Still laughing a little ruefully, he suffered himself to be takendownstairs by kind little Miss Dunbarton, who had stood without a wordwaiting there with absent face. 

'That nice boy's in love with you, ' said Lady John, _sotto voce_. 

Vida looked at her without answering. 

'Good-bye. ' They shook hands. 'I _wish_ you hadn't been so unkind tothat nice boy. '

'Do you?'

'Yes; for then I would be more sure of your telling Geoffrey Stonor thatintelligent women don't nurse their wrongs indefinitely, and lie in waitto punish them. '

'You are _not_ sure?'

Lady John went up close and looked into her face with searching anxiety. 'Are _you_?' she asked. 

Vida stood there mute, with eyes on the ground. Lady John glancednervously at her watch, and, with a gesture of perturbation, hurriedlyleft the room. The other went slowly back to her place by the table. 

 * * * * *

The look she bent on Stonor as he came in seemed to take no account ofthose hurried glimpses at the Tunbridges' months before, and twiceto-day when other eyes were watching. It was as if now, for the firsttime since they parted, he stood forth clearly. This man with thechanged face, coming in at the door and carefully shutting it--he hadonce been Mystery's high priest and had held the keys of Joy. To-day, beyond a faint pallor, there was no trace of emotion in that face thatwas the same and yet so different. Not even anger there. Where a lesscomplex man would have brought in, if not the menace of a storm, atleast an intimation of masterfulness that should advertise theuselessness of opposition, Stonor brought a subtler ally in what, forlack of better words, must be called an air of heightenedfastidiousness--mainly physical. Man has no shrewder weapon against thewoman he has loved and wishes to exorcise from his path. For the simple, and even for those not so much simple as merely sensitive, there issomething in that cool, sure assumption of unapproachableness on thepart of one who once had been so near--something that lames advance andhypnotizes vision. Geoffrey Stonor's aloofness was not in the 'highlook' alone; it was as much as anything in the very way he walked, as ifthe ground were hardly good enough, in the way he laid his shapely handon the carved back of the sofa, the way his eyes rested on inanimatethings in the room, reducing whoever was responsible for them to theneed of justifying their presence and defending their value. 

As the woman in the chair, leaning cheek on hand, sat silently watchinghim, it may have been that obscure things in those headlong hours of thepast grew plainer. 

However ludicrous the result may look in the last analysis, it is clearthat a faculty such as Stonor's for overrating the value of theindividual in the scheme of things, does seem more effectually than anymere patent of nobility to confer upon a man the 'divine right' todictate to his fellows and to look down upon them. The thing is foundedon illusion, but it is founded as firm as many another figment that hasgoverned men and seen the generations come to heel and go crouching totheir graves. 

But the shining superiority of the man seemed to be a little dimmed forthe woman sitting there. The old face and the new face, she saw themboth through a cloud of long-past memories and a mist of present tears. 

'Well, have they primed you?' she said very low. 'Have you got yourlesson--by heart at last?'

He looked at her from immeasurable distance. 'I am not sure that Iunderstand you, ' he said. He waited an instant, then, seeing noexplanation vouchsafed, 'However unpropitious your mood may be, ' he wenton with a satirical edge in his tone, 'I shall discharge my errand. '

Still she waited. 

Her silence seemed to irritate him. 'I have promised, ' he said, with aformality that smacked of insolence, 'to offer you what I believe iscalled "amends. "'

The quick change in the brooding look should have warned him. 

'You have come to realize, then--after all these years--that you owed mesomething?'

He checked himself on the brink of protest. 'I am not here to deny it. '

'Pay, then, ' she said fiercely--'pay. '

A moment's dread flickered in his eye and then was gone. 'I have saidthat, if you exact it, I will. '

'Ah! If I insist, you'll "make it all good"! Then, don't you know, youmust pay me in kind?'

He looked down upon her--a long, long way. 'What do you mean?'

'Give me back what you took from me--my old faith, ' she said, withshaking voice. 'Give me that. '

'Oh, if you mean to make phrases----' He half turned away, but the swiftwords overtook him. 

'Or, give me back mere kindness--or even tolerance! Oh, I don't mean_your_ tolerance. ' She was on her feet to meet his eyes as he faced heragain. 'Give me back the power to think fairly of my brothers--not asmockers--thieves. '

'I have not mocked you. And I have asked you----'

'Something you knew I should refuse. Or'--her eyes blazed--'or did youdare to be afraid I wouldn't?'

'Oh, I suppose'--he buttressed his good faith with bitterness--'Isuppose if we set our teeth we could----'

'I couldn't--not even if I set my teeth. And you wouldn't dream ofasking me if you thought there was the smallest chance. '

Ever so faintly he raised his heavy shoulders. 'I can do no more thanmake you an offer of such reparation as is in my power. If you don'taccept it----' He turned away with an air of '_that's_ done. '

But her emotion had swept her out of her course. She found herself athis side. 

'Accept it? No! Go away and live in debt. Pay and pay and pay--and findyourself still in debt--for a thing you'll never be able to give meback. And when you come to die'--her voice fell--'say to yourself, "Ipaid all my creditors but one. "'

He stopped on his way to the door and faced her again. 'I'm rathertired, you know, of this talk of debt. If I hear that you persist in it, I shall have to----' Again he checked himself. 

'What?'

'No. I'll keep to my resolution. '

He had nearly reached the threshold. She saw what she had lost by hermomentary lack of that boasted self-control. She forestalled him at thedoor. 

'What resolution?' she asked. 

He looked down at her an instant, clothed from head to foot in thatindefinable armour of unapproachableness. This was a man who asked otherpeople questions, himself ill-accustomed to be catechised. If he repliedit was a grace. 

'I came here, ' he said, 'under considerable pressure, to speak of thefuture. Not to reopen the past. '

'The future and the past are one, ' said the woman at the door. 

'You talk as if that old madness was mine alone; it is the woman's way. '

'I know, ' she agreed, to his obvious surprise, 'and it's not fair. Mensuffer as well as we by the woman's starting wrong. We are taught tothink the man a sort of demi-god. If he tells her, "Go down into hell, "down into hell she goes. '

He would not have been human had he not resented that harsh summary ofthose days that lay behind. 

'Make no mistake, ' he said. 'Not the woman alone. _They go downtogether. _'

'Yes, they go down together. But the man comes up alone. As a rule. Itis more convenient so--_for him_. And even for the other woman. '

Both pairs of eyes went to Jean's door. 

'My conscience is clear, ' he said angrily. 'I know--and so do you--thatmost men in my position wouldn't have troubled themselves. I gave myselfendless trouble. '

She looked at him with wondering eyes. 'So you've gone about all theseyears feeling that you'd discharged every obligation?'

'Not only that. I stood by you with a fidelity that was nothing short ofQuixotic. If, woman-like, you _must_ recall the past, I insist on yourrecalling it correctly. '

'You think I don't recall it correctly?' she said very low. 

'Not when you make--other people believe that I deserted you!' Thegathering volume of his righteous wrath swept the cool precision out ofhis voice. 'It's a curious enough charge, ' he said, 'when you stop toconsider----' Again he checked himself, and, with a gesture ofimpatience, was for sweeping the whole thing out of his way, includingthat figure at the door. 

But she stood there. 'Well, when we do just for five minutes out of tenyears--when we do stop to consider----'

'We remember it was _you_ who did the deserting. And since you had torake the story up, you might have had the fairness to tell the facts. '

'You think "the facts" would have excused you?'

It was a new view. She left the door, and sat down in the nearest chair. 

'No doubt you've forgotten the facts, since Lady John tells me youwouldn't remember my existence once a year, if the papers didn't----'

'Ah!' she interrupted, with a sorry little smile, 'you minded that!'

'I mind your giving false impressions, ' he said with spirit. As she wasabout to speak he advanced upon her. 'Do you deny'--he bent over her, and told off those three words by striking one clenched fist into thepalm of the other hand--'do you deny that you returned my lettersunopened?'

'No, ' she said. 

'Do you deny that you refused to see me, and that when I persisted youvanished?'

'I don't deny any of those things. '

'Why'--he stood up straight again, and his shoulders grew more squarewith justification--'why I had no trace of you for years. '

'I suppose not. '

'Very well, then. ' He walked away. 'What could I do?'

'Nothing. It was too late to do anything. '

'It wasn't too late! You knew, since you "read the papers, " that myfather died that same year. There was no longer any barrier between us. '

'Oh, yes, there was a barrier. '

'Of your own making, then. '

'I had my guilty share in it, but the barrier'--her voice trembled onthe word--'the barrier was your invention. '

'The only barrier I knew of was no "invention. " If you had ever known myfather----'

'Oh, the echoes! the echoes!' She lay back in the chair. 'How often youused to say, if I "knew your father. " But you said, too'--her voicesank--'you called the greatest "barrier" by another name. '

'What name?'

So low that even he could hardly hear she answered, 'The child that wasto come. '

'That was before my father died, ' Stonor returned hastily, 'while Istill hoped to get his consent. '

She nodded, and her eyes were set like wide doors for memory to enterin. 

'How the thought of that all-powerful personage used to terrorize me!What chance had a little unborn child against "the last of the greatfeudal lords, " as you called him?'

'You _know_ the child would have stood between you and me. '

'I know the child did stand between you and me. '

He stared at her. With vague uneasiness he repeated, '_Did_ stand----'

She seemed not to hear. The tears were running down her rigid face. 

'Happy mothers teach their children. Mine had to teach me----'

'You talk as if----'

'----teach me that a woman may do that for love's sake that shall killlove. '

Neither spoke for some seconds. Fearing and putting from him fullercomprehension, he broke the silence, saying with an air of finality--

'You certainly made it plain you had no love left for me. '

'I had need of it all for the child. ' Her voice had a curious crooningnote in it. 

He came closer. He bent down to put the low question, 'Do you mean, then, that after all--it lived?'

'No. I mean that it was sacrificed. But it showed me no barrier is soimpassable as the one a little child can raise. '

It was as if lightning had flashed across the old picture. He drew backfrom the fierce illumination. 

'Was _that_ why you----' he began, in a voice that was almost a whisper. 'Was that why?'

She nodded, speechless a moment for tears. 'Day and night there it wasbetween my thought of you and me. '

He sat down, staring at her. 

'When I was most unhappy, ' she went on, in that low voice, 'I would wakethinking I heard it cry. It was my own crying I heard, but I seemed tohave it in my arms. I suppose I was mad. I used to lie there in thatlonely farmhouse pretending to hush it. It was so I hushed myself. '

'I never knew----'

'I didn't blame you. You couldn't risk being with me. '

'You agreed that, for both our sakes----'

'Yes, you had to be very circumspect. You were so well known. Yourautocratic father, your brilliant political future----'

'Be fair. Our future--as I saw it then. '

'Yes, everything hung on concealment. It must have looked quite simpleto you. You didn't know the ghost of a child that had never seen thelight, the frail thing you meant to sweep aside and forget'--she was onher feet--'_have_ swept aside and forgotten!--you didn't know it wasstrong enough to push you out of my life. ' With an added intensity, 'Itcan do more!' she said. She leaned over his bowed figure and whispered, 'It can push that girl out!' As again she stood erect, half to herselfshe added, 'It can do more still. '

'Are you threatening me?' he said dully. 

'No, I am preparing you. '

'For what?'

'For the work that must be done. Either with your help or that girl's. '

The man's eyes lifted a moment. 

'One of two things, ' she said--'either her life, and all she has, givento this new Service; or a ransom if I give her up to you. '

'I see. A price. Well----?'

She looked searchingly at him for an instant, and then slowly shook herhead. 

'Even if I could trust you to pay the price, ' she said, 'I'm not surebut what a young and ardent soul as faithful and as pure as hers--I'mnot sure but I should make a poor bargain for my sex to give that up foranything you could do. '

He found his feet like a man roused out of an evil dream to some realitydarker than the dream. 'In spite of your assumption, she may not be yourtool, ' he said. 

'You are horribly afraid she is! But you are wrong. She's an instrumentin stronger hands than mine. Soon my little personal influence over herwill be merged in something infinitely greater. Oh, don't think it'smerely I that have got hold of Jean Dunbarton. '

'Who else?'

'The New Spirit that's abroad. '

With an exclamation he turned away. And though his look branded the ideafor a wild absurdity, sentinel-like he began to pace up and down a fewyards from Jean's door. 

'How else, ' said the woman, 'should that inexperienced girl have feltthe new loyalty and responded as she did?'

'"New, " indeed!' he said under his breath, 'however little "loyal. "'

'Loyal, above all. But no newer than electricity was when it first litup the world. It had been there since the world began--waiting to doaway with the dark. _So has the thing you're fighting. _'

'The thing I'm fighting'--and the violence with which he spoke was onlyin his face and air; he held his voice down to its lowest register--'thething I'm fighting is nothing more than one person's hold upon a highlysensitive imagination. I consented to this interview with the hope'--hemade a gesture of impotence. 

'It only remains for me to show her that your true motive is revenge. '

'Once say that to her, and you are lost. '

He stole an uneasy look at the woman out of a face that had grownhaggard. 

'If you were fighting for that girl only against me, you'd win, ' shesaid. 'It isn't so--and you will fail. The influence that has hold ofher is in the very air. No soul knows where it comes from, except thatit comes from the higher sources of civilization. '

'I see the origin of it before my eyes!'

'As little as you see the beginnings of life. This is like the othermysterious forces of Mother Earth. No warning given--no sign. A nightwind passes over the brown land, and in the morning the fields aregreen. '

His look was the look of one who sees happiness slipping away. 'Or itpasses over gardens like a frost, ' he said, 'and the flowers die. '

'I know that is what men fear. It even seems as if it must be throughfear that your enlightenment will come. The strangest things make youmen afraid! That's why I see a value in Jean Dunbarton far beyond herfortune. '

He looked at her dully. 

'More than any other girl I know--if I keep her from you, that gentle, inflexible creature could rouse in men the old half-superstitiousfear----'

'Fear! Are you mad?'

'Mad!' she echoed. 'Unsexed'--those are the words to-day. In the MiddleAges men cried out 'Witch!' and burnt her--the woman who served no man'sbed or board. 

'You want to make the poor child believe----'

'She sees for herself we've come to a place where we find there's avalue in women apart from the value men see in them. You teach us not tolook to you for some of the things we need most. If women must be freedby women, we have need of such as----' Her eyes went to the door thatStonor still had an air of guarding. 'Who knows--she may be the new Joanof Arc. '

He paused, and for that moment he seemed as bankrupt in denunciation ashe was in hope. This personal application of the new heresy found himmerely aghast, with no words but 'That _she_ should be the sacrifice!'

'You have taught us to look very calmly on the sacrifice of women, ' wasthe ruthless answer. 'Men tell us in every tongue, it's "a necessaryevil. "'

He stood still a moment, staring at the ground. 

'One girl's happiness--against a thing nobler than happiness forthousands--who can hesitate? _Not Jean. _'

'Good God! can't you see that this crazed campaign you'd start heron--even if it's successful, it can only be so through the help of men?What excuse shall you make your own soul for not going straight to thegoal?'

'You think we wouldn't be glad, ' she said, 'to go straight to the goal?'

'I do. I see you'd much rather punish me and see her revel in a morbidself-sacrifice. '

'You say I want to punish you only because, like other men, you won'ttake the trouble to understand what we do want--or how determined we areto have it. You can't kill this New Spirit among women. ' She wentnearer. 'And you couldn't make a greater mistake than to think it findsa home only in the exceptional or the unhappy. It is so strange to see aman like you as much deluded as the Hyde Park loafers, who say toErnestine Blunt, "Who's hurt _your_ feelings?" Why not realize'--shecame still closer, if she had put out her hand she would have touchedhim--'this is a thing that goes deeper than personal experience? Andyet, ' she said in a voice so hushed that it was full of a sense of thegirl on the other side of the door, 'if you take only the narrowestpersonal view, a good deal depends on what you and I agree upon in thenext five minutes. '

'You recommend my realizing the larger issues. But in your ambition toattach that poor girl to the chariot-wheels of Progress'--his voice putthe drag of ironic pomposity upon the phrase--'you quite ignore the factthat people fitter for such work, the men you look to enlist in the end, are ready waiting'--he pulled himself up in time for an anti-climax--'togive the thing a chance. '

'Men are ready! What men?'

His eyes evaded hers. He picked his words. 'Women have themselves toblame that the question has grown so delicate that responsible peopleshrink for the moment from being implicated in it. '

'We have seen the shrinking. '

'Without quoting any one else, I might point out that the New Antagonismseems to have blinded you to the small fact that I for one am not anopponent. '

'The phrase has a familiar ring. We have heard it four hundred andtwenty times. '

His eyes were shining with anger. 'I spoke, if I may say so, of some onewho would count. Some one who can carry his party along with him--orrisk a seat in the cabinet over the issue. '

'Did you mean you are "ready" to do that?' she exclaimed. 

'An hour ago I was. '

'Ah! an hour ago!'

'Exactly! You don't understand men. They can be led; they can't bedriven. Ten minutes before you came into the room I was ready to say Iwould throw in my political lot with this Reform. '

'And now?'

'Now you block my way by an attempt at coercion. By forcing my hand yougive my adherence an air of bargain-driving for a personal end. Exactlythe mistake of the ignorant agitators in Trafalgar Square. You have agreat deal to learn. This movement will go forward, not because of theagitation outside, but in spite of it. There are men in Parliament whowould have been actively serving the Reform to-day--as actively as sovast a constitutional change----'

She smiled faintly. 'And they haven't done it because----'

'Because it would have put a premium on breaches of decent behaviour anddefiance of the law!'

She looked at him with an attempt to appear to accept this version. Whatdid it matter what reasons were given for past failure, if only thefuture might be assured? He had taken a piece of crumpled paper from hispocket and smoothed it out. 

'Look here!' He held the telegram before her. 

She flushed with excitement as she read. 'This is very good. I see onlyone objection. '

'Objection!'

'You haven't sent it. '

'That is your fault. ' And he looked as if he thought he spoke the truth. 

'When did you write this?'

'Just before you came in--when she began to talk about----'

'Ah, Jean!' Vida gave him back the paper. 'That must have pleased Jean. '

It was a master stroke, the casual giving back, and the invocation of apleasure that had been strangled at the birth along with somethinggreater. Did he see before him again the girl's tear-filled, hopelesseyes, that had not so much as read the wonderful message, too intentupon the death-warrant of their common happiness? He threw himselfheavily into a chair, staring at the closed door. Behind it, in a prisonof which this woman held the key, Jean waited for her life sentence. Stonor's look, his attitude, seemed to say that he too only waited nowto hear it. He dropped his head in his hand. 

When Vida spoke, it was without raising her eyes from the ground. 

'I could drive a hard-and-fast bargain with you; but I think I won't. Iflove and ambition both urge you on, perhaps----' She looked up a littledefiantly, seeming to expect to meet triumph in his face. Instead, hereye took in the profound hopelessness of the bent head, the slackness ofthe big frame, that so suddenly had assumed a look of age. She went overto him silently, and stood by his side. 'After all, ' she said, 'lifehasn't been quite fair to you. ' At the new thing in her voice he raisedhis heavy eyes. 'You fall out of one ardent woman's dreams intoanother's, ' she said. 

'Then you don't--after all, you don't mean to----'

'To keep you and her apart? No. '

For the first time tears came into his eyes. 

After a little silence he held out his hand. 'What can I do for you?'

She seemed not to see the hand he offered. Or did she only see that itwas empty? She was looking at the other. Mere instinct made him closehis left hand more firmly on the message. 

It was as if something finer than her slim fingers, the woman'sinvisible antennæ, felt the force that would need be overcome if trialof strength should be precipitated then. Upon his 'What can I do?' sheshook her head. 

'For the real you, ' he said. 'Not the Reformer, or the would-bepolitician--for the woman I so unwillingly hurt. ' As she only turnedaway, he stood up, detaining her with a hold upon her arm. 'You may notbelieve it, but now that I understand, there is almost nothing Iwouldn't do to right that old wrong. '

'There's nothing to be done, ' she said; and then, shrinking under thatlook of almost cheerful benevolence, 'You can never give me back mychild. '

More than at the words, at the anguish in her face, his own had changed. 

'Will that ghost give you no rest?' he said. 

'Yes, oh, yes. ' She was calm again. 'I see life is nobler than I knew. There is work to do. '

On her way to the great folding doors, once again he stopped her. 

'Why should you think that it's only you these ten years have taughtsomething to? Why not give even a man credit for a willingness to learnsomething of life, and for being sorry--profoundly sorry--for the painhis instruction has cost others? You seem to think I've taken it allquite lightly. That's not fair. All my life, ever since you disappeared, the thought of you has hurt. I would give anything I possess to knowyou--were happy again. '

'Oh, happiness!'

'Why shouldn't you find it still?'

He said it with a significance that made her stare, and then?--

'I see! she couldn't help telling you about Allen Trent--Lady Johncouldn't!'

He ignored the interpretation. 

'You're one of the people the years have not taken from, but given moreto. You are more than ever----You haven't lost your beauty. '

'The gods saw it was so little effectual, it wasn't worth taking away. '

She stood staring out into the void. 'One woman's mishap--what is that?A thing as trivial to the great world as it's sordid in most eyes. Butthe time has come when a woman may look about her and say, What generalsignificance has my secret pain? Does it "join on" to anything? And Ifind it _does_. I'm no longer simply a woman who has stumbled on theway. ' With difficulty she controlled the shake in her voice. 'I'm onewho has got up bruised and bleeding, wiped the dust from her hands andthe tears from her face--and said to herself not merely: Here's oneluckless woman! but--here is a stone of stumbling to many. Let's see ifit can't be moved out of other women's way. And she calls people to comeand help. No mortal man, let alone a woman, _by herself_, can move thatrock of offence. But, ' she ended with a sudden sombre flare ofenthusiasm, 'if _many_ help, Geoffrey, the thing can be done. '

He looked down on her from his height with a wondering pity. 

'Lord! how you care!' he said, while the mist deepened before his eyes. 

'Don't be so sad, ' she said--not seeming to see his sadness was not forhimself. It was as if she could not turn her back on him this last timewithout leaving him comforted. 'Shall I tell you a secret? Jean's ardentdreams needn't frighten you, if she has a child. _That_--from thebeginning it was not the strong arm--it was the weakest, the little, little arms that subdued the fiercest of us. '

He held out a shaking hand, so uncertain, that it might have beenbegging pity, or it might have been bestowing it. Even then she did nottake it, but a great gentleness was in her face as she said--

'You will have other children, Geoffrey; for me there was to be onlyone. Well, well, ' she brushed the tears away, 'since men have tried, andfailed to make a decent world for the little children to live in, it'sas well some of us are childless. Yes, ' she said quietly, taking up thehat and cloak, '_we_ are the ones who have no excuse for standing alooffrom the fight!'

Her hand was on the door. 

'Vida!'

'What?'

'You forgot something. '

She looked back. 

He was signing the message. '_This_, ' he said. 

She went out with the paper in her hand. 

 * * * * *

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ADDAMS--THE SPIRIT OF YOUTH AND THE CITY STREETS

BY JANE ADDAMS

"Shows such sanity, such breadth and tolerance of mind, and suchpenetration into the inner meanings of outward phenomena as to make it abook which no one can afford to miss. "--_New York Times. _

BAILEY--THE COUNTRY LIFE MOVEMENT IN THE UNITED STATES

BY L. H. BAILEY

"... Clearly thought out, admirably written, and always stimulating inits generalization and in the perspectives it opens. "--_PhiladelphiaPress. _

BAILEY AND HUNN--THE PRACTICAL GARDEN BOOK

BY L. H. BAILEY AND C E. HUNN

"Presents only those facts that have been proved by experience, andwhich are most capable of application on the farm. "--_Los AngelesExpress. _

CAMPBELL--THE NEW THEOLOGY

BY R. J. CAMPBELL

"A fine contribution to the better thought of our times written in thespirit of the Master. "--_St. Paul Dispatch. _

CLARK--THE CARE OF A HOUSE

BY T. M. CLARK

"If the average man knew one-ninth of what Mr. Clark tells him in thisbook, he would be able to save money every year on repairs, etc. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

CONYNGTON--HOW TO HELP: A MANUAL OF PRACTICAL CHARITY

BY MARY CONYNGTON

"An exceedingly comprehensive work with chapters on the homeless man andwoman, care of needy families, and the discussions of the problems ofchild labor. "

COOLIDGE--THE UNITED STATES AS A WORLD POWER

BY ARCHIBALD CARY COOLIDGE

"A work of real distinction... Which moves the reader to thought. "--_TheNation. _

CROLY--THE PROMISE OF AMERICAN LIFE

BY HERBERT CROLY

"The most profound and illuminating study of our national conditionswhich has appeared in many years. "--THEODORE ROOSEVELT. 

DEVINE--MISERY AND ITS CAUSES

BY EDWARD T. DEVINE

"One rarely comes across a book so rich in every page, yet so sound, sological, and thorough. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

EARLE--HOME LIFE IN COLONIAL DAYS

BY ALICE MORSE EARLE

"A book which throws new light on our early history. "

ELY--EVOLUTION OF INDUSTRIAL SOCIETY

BY RICHARD T. ELY

"The benefit of competition and the improvement of the race, municipalownership, and concentration of wealth are treated in a sane, helpful, and interesting manner. "--_Philadelphia Telegraph. _

ELY--MONOPOLIES AND TRUSTS

BY RICHARD T. ELY

"The evils of monopoly are plainly stated, and remedies are proposed. This book should be a help to every man in active businesslife. "--_Baltimore Sun. _

FRENCH--HOW TO GROW VEGETABLES

BY ALLEN FRENCH

"Particularly valuable to a beginner in vegetable gardening, giving notonly a convenient and reliable planting-table, but giving particularattention to the culture of the vegetables. "--_Suburban Life. _

GOODYEAR--RENAISSANCE AND MODERN ART

W. H. GOODYEAR

"A thorough and scholarly interpretation of artistic development. "

HAPGOOD--ABRAHAM LINCOLN: THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE

BY NORMAN HAPGOOD

"A life of Lincoln that has never been surpassed in vividness, compactness, and homelike reality. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

HAULTAIN--THE MYSTERY OF GOLF

BY ARNOLD HAULTAIN

"It is more than a golf book. There is interwoven with it a play of mildphilosophy and of pointed wit. "--_Boston Globe. _

HEARN--JAPAN: AN ATTEMPT AT INTERPRETATION

BY LAFCADIO HEARN

"A thousand books have been written about Japan, but this one is one ofthe rarely precious volumes which opens the door to an intimateacquaintance with the wonderful people who command the attention of theworld to-day. "--_Boston Herald. _

HILLIS--THE QUEST OF HAPPINESS

BY REV. NEWELL DWIGHT HILLIS

"Its whole tone and spirit is of a sane, healthyoptimism. "--_Philadelphia Telegraph. _

HILLQUIT--SOCIALISM IN THEORY AND PRACTICE

BY MORRIS HILLQUIT

"An interesting historical sketch of the movement. "--_Newark EveningNews. _

HODGES--EVERYMAN'S RELIGION

BY GEORGE HODGES

"Religion to-day is preëminently ethical and social, and such is thereligion so ably and attractively set forth in these pages. "--_BostonHerald. _

HORNE--DAVID LIVINGSTONE

BY SILVESTER C. HORNE

The centenary edition of this popular work. A clear, simple, narrativebiography of the great missionary, explorer, and scientist. 

HUNTER--POVERTY

BY ROBERT HUNTER

"Mr. Hunter's book is at once sympathetic and scientific. He brings tothe task a store of practical experience in settlement work gathered inmany parts of the country. "--_Boston Transcript. _

HUNTER--SOCIALISTS AT WORK

BY ROBERT HUNTER

"A vivid, running characterization of the foremost personalities in theSocialist movement throughout the world. "--_Review of Reviews. _

JEFFERSON--THE BUILDING OF THE CHURCH

BY CHARLES E. JEFFERSON

"A book that should be read by every minister. "

KING--THE ETHICS OF JESUS

BY HENRY CHURCHILL KING

"I know no other study of the ethical teaching of Jesus so scholarly, socareful, clear and compact as this. "--G. H. PALMER, Harvard University. 

KING--RATIONAL LIVING

BY HENRY CHURCHILL KING

"An able conspectus of modern psychological investigation, viewed fromthe Christian standpoint. "--_Philadelphia Public Ledger. _

LONDON--THE WAR OF THE CLASSES

BY JACK LONDON

"Mr. London's book is thoroughly interesting, and his point of view isvery different from that of the closest theorist. "--_SpringfieldRepublican. _

LONDON--REVOLUTION AND OTHER ESSAYS

BY JACK LONDON

"Vigorous, socialistic essays, animating and insistent. "

LYON--HOW TO KEEP BEES FOR PROFIT

BY EVERETT D. LYON

"A book which gives an insight into the life history of the bee family, as well as telling the novice how to start an apiary and care forit. "--_Country Life in America. _

MCLENNAN--A MANUAL OF PRACTICAL FARMING

BY JOHN MCLENNAN

"The author has placed before the reader in the simplest terms a meansof assistance in the ordinary problems of farming. "--_NationalNurseryman. _

MABIE--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: POET, DRAMATIST, AND MAN

BY HAMILTON W. MABIE

"It is rather an interpretation than a record. "--_Chicago Standard. _

MAHAFFY--RAMBLES AND STUDIES IN GREECE

BY J. P. MAHAFFY

"To the intelligent traveler and lover of Greece this volume will provea most sympathetic guide and companion. "

MATHEWS--THE CHURCH AND THE CHANGING ORDER

BY SHAILER MATHEWS

"The book throughout is characterized by good sense and restraint.... Anotable book and one that every Christian may read with profit. "--_TheLiving Church. _

MATHEWS--THE GOSPEL AND THE MODERN MAN

BY SHAILER MATHEWS

"A succinct statement of the essentials of the NewTestament. "--_Service. _

PATTEN--THE SOCIAL BASIS OF RELIGION

BY SIMON N. PATTEN

"A work of substantial value"--_Continent. _

PEABODY--THE APPROACH TO THE SOCIAL QUESTION

BY FRANCIS GREENWOOD PEABODY

"This book is at once the most delightful, persuasive, and sagaciouscontribution to the subject. "--_Louisville Courier-Journal. _

PIERCE--THE TARIFF AND THE TRUSTS

BY FRANKLIN PIERCE

"An excellent campaign document for anon-protectionist. "--_Independent. _

RAUSCHENBUSCH--CHRISTIANITY AND THE SOCIAL CRISIS

BY WALTER RAUSCHENBUSCH

"It is a book to like, to learn from, and to be charmed with. "--_NewYork Times. _

RIIS--THE MAKING OF AN AMERICAN

BY JACOB RIIS

"Its romance and vivid incident make it as varied and delightful as anyromance. "--_Publisher's Weekly. _

RIIS--THEODORE ROOSEVELT, THE CITIZEN

BY JACOB RIIS

"A refreshing and stimulating picture. "--_New York Tribune. _

RYAN--A LIVING WAGE; ITS ETHICAL AND ECONOMIC ASPECTS

BY REV. J. A. RYAN

"The most judicious and balanced discussion at the disposal of thegeneral reader. "--_World To-day. _

ST. MAUR--A SELF-SUPPORTING HOME

BY KATE V. ST. MAUR

"Each chapter is the detailed account of all the work necessary for onemonth--in the vegetable garden, among the small fruits, with the fowls, guineas, rabbits, and in every branch of husbandry to be met with on thesmall farm. "--_Louisville Courier-Journal. _

SHERMAN--WHAT IS SHAKESPEARE?

BY L. A. SHERMAN

"Emphatically a work without which the library of the Shakespearestudent will be incomplete. "--_Daily Telegram. _

SIDGWICK--HOME LIFE IN GERMANY

BY A. SIDGWICK

"A vivid picture of social life and customs in Germany to-day. "

SMITH--THE SPIRIT OF AMERICAN GOVERNMENT

BY J. ALLEN SMITH

"Not since Bryce's 'American Commonwealth' has a book been producedwhich deals so searchingly with American political institutions andtheir history. "--_New York Evening Telegram. _

SPARGO--SOCIALISM

BY JOHN SPARGO

"One of the ablest expositions of Socialism that has ever beenwritten. "--_New York Evening Call. _

TARBELL--HISTORY OF GREEK ART

BY T. B. TARBELL

"A sympathetic and understanding conception of the golden age of art. "

VALENTINE--HOW TO KEEP HENS FOR PROFIT

BY C. S. VALENTINE

"Beginners and seasoned poultrymen will find in it much ofvalue. "--_Chicago Tribune. _

VAN DYKE--THE GOSPEL FOR A WORLD OF SIN

BY HENRY VAN DYKE

"One of the basic books of true Christian thought of to-day and of alltimes. "--_Boston Courier. _

VAN DYKE--THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA

BY HENRY VAN DYKE

"Undoubtedly the most notable interpretation in years of the realAmerica. It compares favorably with Bryce's 'AmericanCommonwealth. '"--_Philadelphia Press. _

VEBLEN--THE THEORY OF THE LEISURE CLASS

BY THORSTEIN B. VEBLEN

"The most valuable recent contribution to the elucidation of thissubject. "--_London Times. _

WELLS--NEW WORLDS FOR OLD

BY H. G. WELLS

"As a presentation of Socialistic thought as it is working to-day, thisis the most judicious and balanced discussion at the disposal of thegeneral reader. "--_World To-day. _

WHITE--THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH

BY WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE

"The present status of society in America. An excellent antidote to thepessimism of modern writers on our social system. "--_Baltimore Sun. _

 * * * * *

THE MACMILLAN FICTION LIBRARY

A new and important series of some of the best popular novels which havebeen published in recent years. 

These successful books are now made available at a popular price inresponse to the insistent demand for cheaper editions. 

EACH VOLUME, CLOTH, 12MO, 50 CENTS NET; POSTAGE, 10 CENTS EXTRA

ALLEN--A KENTUCKY CARDINAL

BY JAMES LANE ALLEN

"A narrative, told with naïve simplicity, of how a man who was devotedto his fruits and flowers and birds came to fall in love with a fairneighbor. "--_New York Tribune. _

ALLEN--THE REIGN OF LAW, _A TALE OF THE KENTUCKY HEMPFIELDS_

BY JAMES LANE ALLEN

"Mr. Allen has style as original and almost as perfectly finished asHawthorne's.... And rich in the qualities that are lacking in so manynovels of the period. "--_San Francisco Chronicle. _

ATHERTON--PATIENCE SPARHAWK

BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON

"One of the most interesting works of the foremost American novelist. "

CHILD--JIM HANDS

BY RICHARD WASHBURN CHILD

"A big, simple, leisurely moving chronicle of life. Commands theprofoundest respect and admiration. Jim is a real man, sound andfine. "--_Daily News. _

CRAWFORD--THE HEART OF ROME

BY MARION CRAWFORD

"A story of underground mysterie. "

CRAWFORD--FAIR MARGARET: A PORTRAIT

BY MARION CRAWFORD

"A story of modern life in Italy, visualizing the country and itspeople, and warm with the red blood of romance and melodrama. "--_BostonTranscript. _

DAVIS--A FRIEND OF CÆSAR

BY WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS

"There are many incidents so vivid, so brilliant, that they fixthemselves in the memory. "--NANCY HUSTON BANKS in _The Bookman_. 

DRUMMOND--THE JUSTICE OF THE KING

BY HAMILTON DRUMMOND

"Read the story for the sake of the living, breathing people, theadventures, but most for the sake of the boy who served love and theKing. "--_Chicago Record-Herald. _

ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN

"It is full of nature in many phases--of breeze and sunshine, of theglory of the land, and the sheer joy of living. "--_New York Times. _

GALE--LOVES OF PELLEAS AND ETARRE

BY ZONA GALE

"... Full of fresh feeling and grace of style, a draught from thefountain of youth. "--_Outlook. _

HERRICK--THE COMMON LOT

BY ROBERT HERRICK

"A story of present-day life, intensely real in its picture of a youngarchitect whose ideals in the beginning were, at their highest, æstheticrather than spiritual. It is an unusual novel of great interest. "

LONDON--ADVENTURE

BY JACK LONDON

"No reader of Jack London's stories need be told that this abounds withromantic and dramatic incident. "--_Los Angeles Tribune. _

LONDON--BURNING DAYLIGHT

BY JACK LONDON

"Jack London has outdone himself in 'Burning Daylight. '"--_TheSpringfield Union. _

LOTI--DISENCHANTED

BY PIERRE LOTI

"It gives a more graphic picture of the life of the rich Turkish womenof to-day than anything that has ever been written. "--_Brooklyn DailyEagle. _

LUCAS--MR. INGLESIDE

BY E. V. LUCAS

"He displays himself as an intellectual and amusing observer of life'sfoibles with a hero characterized by inimitable kindness andhumor. "--_The Independent. _

MASON--THE FOUR FEATHERS

BY A. E. W. MASON

"'The Four Feathers' is a first-rate story, with more legitimate thrillsthan any novel we have read in a long time. "--_New York Press. _

NORRIS--MOTHER

BY KATHLEEN NORRIS

"Worth its weight in gold. "--_Catholic Columbian. _

OXENHAM--THE LONG ROAD

BY JOHN OXENHAM

"'The Long Road' is a tragic, heart-gripping story of Russian politicaland social conditions. "--_The Craftsman. _

PRYOR--THE COLONEL'S STORY

BY MRS. ROGER A. PRYOR

"The story is one in which the spirit of the Old South figures largely;adventure and romance have their play and carry the plot to a satisfyingend. "

REMINGTON--ERMINE OF THE YELLOWSTONE

BY JOHN REMINGTON

"A very original and remarkable novel wonderful in its vigor andfreshness. "

ROBERTS--KINGS IN EXILE

BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

"The author catches the spirit of forest and sea life, and the readercomes to have a personal love and knowledge of our animalfriends. "--_Boston Globe. _

ROBINS--THE CONVERT

BY ELIZABETH ROBINS

"'The Convert' devotes itself to the exploitation of the recentsuffragist movement in England. It is a book not easily forgotten, byany thoughtful reader. "--_Chicago Evening Post. _

ROBINS--A DARK LANTERN

BY ELIZABETH ROBINS

A powerful and striking novel, English in scene, which takes anessentially modern view of society and of certain dramatic situations. 

WARD--DAVID GRIEVE

BY MRS. HUMPHREY WARD

"A perfect picture of life, remarkable for its humor and extraordinarysuccess at character analysis. "

WELLS--THE WHEELS OF CHANCE

BY H. G. WELLS

"Mr. Wells is beyond question the most plausible romancer of thetime. "--_The New York Tribune. _

 * * * * *

THE MACMILLAN JUVENILE LIBRARY

This collection of juvenile books contains works of standard quality, ona variety of subjects--history, biography, fiction, science, andpoetry--carefully chosen to meet the needs and interests of both boysand girls. 

_EACH VOLUME, CLOTH, 12MO, 50 CENTS NET; POSTAGE, 10 CENTS EXTRA_

ALTSHELER--THE HORSEMEN OF THE PLAINS

BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

"A story of the West, of Indians, of scouts, trappers, fur traders, and, in short, of everything that is dear to the imagination of a healthyAmerican boy. "--_New York Sun. _

BACON--WHILE CAROLINE WAS GROWING

BY JOSEPHINE DASKAM BACON

"Only a genuine lover of children, and a keenly sympathetic observer ofhuman nature, could have given us a book as this. "--_Boston Herald. _

CARROLL--ALICE'S ADVENTURES, AND THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

BY LEWIS CARROLL

"One of the immortal books for children. "

DIX--A LITTLE CAPTIVE LAD

BY MARIE BEULAH DIX

"The human interest is strong, and children are sure to likeit. "--_Washington Times. _

GREENE--PICKETT'S GAP

BY HOMER GREENE

"The story presents a picture of truth and honor that cannot fail tohave a vivid impression upon the reader. "--_Toledo Blade. _

LUCAS--SLOWCOACH

BY E. V. LUCAS

"The record of an English family's coaching tour in a greatold-fashioned wagon. A charming narrative, as quaint and original as itsname. "--_Booknews Monthly. _

MABIE--BOOK OF CHRISTMAS

BY H. W. MABIE

"A beautiful collection of Christmas verse and prose in which all theold favorites will be found in an artistic setting. "--_The St. LouisMirror. _

MAJOR--THE BEARS OF BLUE RIVER

BY CHARLES MAJOR

"An exciting story with all the thrills the title implies. "

MAJOR--UNCLE TOM ANDY BILL

BY CHARLES MAJOR

"A stirring story full of bears, Indians, and hiddentreasures. "--_Cleveland Leader. _

NESBIT--THE RAILWAY CHILDREN

BY E. NESBIT

"A delightful story revealing the author's intimate knowledge ofjuvenile ways. "--_The Nation. _

WHYTE--THE STORY BOOK GIRLS

BY CHRISTINA G. WHYTE

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WRIGHT--DREAM FOX STORY BOOK

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

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WRIGHT--AUNT JIMMY'S WILL

BY MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

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 ADDAMS--The Spirit of Youth and the City Streets. BAILEY--The Country Life Movement in the United States. BAILEY & HUNN--The Practical Garden Book. CAMPBELL--The New Theology. CLARK--The Care of a House. CONYNGTON--How to Help: A Manual of Practical Charity. COOLIDGE--The United States as a World Power. CROLY--The Promise of American Life. DEVINE--Misery and Its Causes. EARLE--Home Life in Colonial Days. ELY--Evolution of Industrial Society. ELY--Monopolies and Trusts. FRENCH--How to Grow Vegetables. GOODYEAR--Renaissance and Modern Art. HAPGOOD--Lincoln, Abraham, The Man of the People. HAULTAIN--The Mystery of Golf. HEARN--Japan: An Attempt at Interpretation. HILLIS--The Quest of Happiness. HILLQUIT--Socialism in Theory and Practice. HODGES--Everyman's Religion. HORNE--David Livingstone. HUNTER--Poverty. HUNTER--Socialists at Work. JEFFERSON--The Building of the Church. KING--The Ethics of Jesus. KING--Rational Living. LONDON--The War of the Classes. LONDON--Revolution and Other Essays. LYON--How to Keep Bees for Profit. MCLENNAN--A Manual of Practical Farming. MABIE--William Shakespeare: Poet, Dramatist, and Man. MAHAFFY--Rambles and Studies in Greece. MATHEWS--The Church and the Changing Order. MATHEWS--The Gospel and the Modern Man. PATTEN--The Social Basis of Religion. PEABODY--The Approach to the Social Question. PIERCE--The Tariff and the Trusts. RAUSCHENBUSCH--Christianity and the Social Crisis. RIIS--The Making of an American Citizen. RIIS--Theodore Roosevelt, the Citizen. RYAN--A Living Wage: Its Ethical and Economic Aspects. ST. MAUR--A Self-supporting Home. SHERMAN--What is Shakespeare? SIDGWICK--Home Life in Germany. SMITH--The Spirit of the American Government. SPARGO--Socialism. TARBELL--History of Greek Art. VALENTINE--How to Keep Hens for Profit. VAN DYKE--The Gospel for a World of Sin. VAN DYKE--The Spirit of America. VEBLEN--The Theory of the Leisure Class. WELLS--New Worlds for Old. WHITE--The Old Order Changeth. 

THE MACMILLAN FICTION LIBRARY

 ALLEN--A Kentucky Cardinal. ALLEN--The Reign of Law. ATHERTON--Patience Sparhawk. CHILD--Jim Hands. CRAWFORD--The Heart of Rome. CRAWFORD--Fair Margaret: A Portrait. DAVIS--A Friend of Cæsar. DRUMMOND--The Justice of the King. ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN. GALE--Loves of Pelleas and Etarre. HERRICK--The Common Lot. LONDON--Adventure. LONDON--Burning Daylight. LOTI--Disenchanted. LUCAS--Mr. Ingleside. MASON--The Four Feathers. NORRIS--Mother. OXENHAM--The Long Road. PRYOR--The Colonel's Story. REMINGTON--Ermine of the Yellowstone. ROBERTS--Kings in Exile. ROBINS--The Convert. ROBINS--A Dark Lantern. WARD--David Grieve. WELLS--The Wheels of Chance. 

THE MACMILLAN JUVENILE LIBRARY

 ALTSHELER--The Horsemen of the Plains. BACON--While Caroline Was Growing. CARROLL--Alice's Adventures and Through the Looking Glass. DIX--A Little Captive Lad. GREENE--Pickett's Gap. LUCAS--Slow Coach. MABIE--Book of Christmas. MAJOR--The Bears of Blue River. MAJOR--Uncle Tom Andy Bill. NESBIT--The Railway Children. WHYTE--The Story Book Girls. WRIGHT--Dream Fox Story Book. WRIGHT--Aunt Jimmy's Will. 

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Transcriber's note:

Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfullyas possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvioustypographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and thelike) have been corrected. Corrections [in brackets] in thetext are noted below:

page 7: hyphen removed

 about that long'--he measured less than an inch on his minute fore-finger[hyphen removed]--'with long holes through so they

page 9: typographical error corrected

 refusal to let attenion[attention] go was mitigated by something in the quietness, page 17: hyphen removed

 'Why?' said Mr. Freddy, sticking in his eye-glass. [hyphen removed]

page 36: hyphen added

 kept watching with a kind of half-absent-[hyphen added]minded scorn

page 102: quotation typographical error corrected

 Dr. Pankhurst and Mr. Jacob Bright passed a second reading. "[']

page 105: quotation typographical error corrected

 next monster petition to Parliament asking for Woman's Suffrage. "[']

page 110: typographical error corrected

 the vivid scarlet lips; almost spleepy[sleepy] the heavy-lidded eyes. 

page 125: quotation typographical error corrected

 Those of you who want to see women free, hold up your hands. "[']

page 248: typographical error corrected 'We got a gryte deal to do with our wgyes[wyges], we women has. 

page 250: quotation typographical error corrected

 'Why didn't you stay where I left you?"['] he answered, without

page 252: added single quotation mark

 a rich chuckle. 'She's a educatin' of us![']

page 258: added double quotation mark

 "Look at this big crowd. W'y, we're all _men_! If the women want the vote, w'y ain't they here to s'y so?["] Well, I'll tell you w'y. It's because they've 'ad to get

page 260: typographical error corrected

 in a turtle-esque fashion highty[highly] provocative, page 265: quotation typographical error corrected

 whose crime is, they ask for the vote?'["] But try as I would, page 292: typographical error corrected

 Stonor as he came in seemed to take no acccount[account] of those

page 299: typographical error corrected

 for that moment he semed[seemed] as bankrupt in denunciation