proofreading team [illustration: elizabeth cady stanton] eighty years and more reminiscences - elizabeth cady stanton "social science affirms that woman's place in society marks the level of civilization." i dedicate this volume to susan b. anthony, my steadfast friend for half a century. contents. chapter i. childhood ii. school days iii. girlhood iv. life at peterboro v. our wedding journey vi. homeward bound vii. motherhood viii. boston and chelsea ix. the first woman's rights convention x. susan b. anthony xi. susan b. anthony (_continued_) xii. my first speech before a legislature xiii. reforms and mobs xiv. views on marriage and divorce xv. women as patriots xvi. pioneer life in kansas--our newspaper "the revolution" xvii. lyceums and lecturers xviii. westward ho! xix. the spirit of ' xx. writing "the history of woman suffrage" xxi. in the south of france xxii. reforms and reformers in great britain xxiii. woman and theology xxiv. england and france revisited xxv. the international council of women xxvi. my last visit to england xxvii. sixtieth anniversary of the class of --the woman's bible xxviii. my eightieth birthday index of names list of portraits. the author, _frontispiece_ margaret livingston cady judge daniel cady henry brewster stanton the author and daughter the author and son susan b. anthony elizabeth smith miller children and grandchildren the author, mrs. blatch, and nora the author, mrs. lawrence, and robert livingston stanton eighty years and more. chapter i. childhood. the psychical growth of a child is not influenced by days and years, but by the impressions passing events make on its mind. what may prove a sudden awakening to one, giving an impulse in a certain direction that may last for years, may make no impression on another. people wonder why the children of the same family differ so widely, though they have had the same domestic discipline, the same school and church teaching, and have grown up under the same influences and with the same environments. as well wonder why lilies and lilacs in the same latitude are not all alike in color and equally fragrant. children differ as widely as these in the primal elements of their physical and psychical life. who can estimate the power of antenatal influences, or the child's surroundings in its earliest years, the effect of some passing word or sight on one, that makes no impression on another? the unhappiness of one child under a certain home discipline is not inconsistent with the content of another under this same discipline. one, yearning for broader freedom, is in a chronic condition of rebellion; the other, more easily satisfied, quietly accepts the situation. everything is seen from a different standpoint; everything takes its color from the mind of the beholder. i am moved to recall what i can of my early days, what i thought and felt, that grown people may have a better understanding of children and do more for their happiness and development. i see so much tyranny exercised over children, even by well-disposed parents, and in so many varied forms,--a tyranny to which these parents are themselves insensible,--that i desire to paint my joys and sorrows in as vivid colors as possible, in the hope that i may do something to defend the weak from the strong. people never dream of all that is going on in the little heads of the young, for few adults are given to introspection, and those who are incapable of recalling their own feelings under restraint and disappointment can have no appreciation of the sufferings of children who can neither describe nor analyze what they feel. in defending themselves against injustice they are as helpless as dumb animals. what is insignificant to their elders is often to them a source of great joy or sorrow. with several generations of vigorous, enterprising ancestors behind me, i commenced the struggle of life under favorable circumstances on the th day of november, , the same year that my father, daniel cady, a distinguished lawyer and judge in the state of new york, was elected to congress. perhaps the excitement of a political campaign, in which my mother took the deepest interest, may have had an influence on my prenatal life and given me the strong desire that i have always felt to participate in the rights and duties of government. my father was a man of firm character and unimpeachable integrity, and yet sensitive and modest to a painful degree. there were but two places in which he felt at ease--in the courthouse and at his own fireside. though gentle and tender, he had such a dignified repose and reserve of manner that, as children, we regarded him with fear rather than affection. my mother, margaret livingston, a tall, queenly looking woman, was courageous, self-reliant, and at her ease under all circumstances and in all places. she was the daughter of colonel james livingston, who took an active part in the war of the revolution. colonel livingston was stationed at west point when arnold made the attempt to betray that stronghold into the hands of the enemy. in the absence of general washington and his superior officer, he took the responsibility of firing into the _vulture_, a suspicious looking british vessel that lay at anchor near the opposite bank of the hudson river. it was a fatal shot for andré, the british spy, with whom arnold was then consummating his treason. hit between wind and water, the vessel spread her sails and hastened down the river, leaving andré, with his papers, to be captured while arnold made his escape through the lines, before his treason was suspected. on general washington's return to west point, he sent for my grandfather and reprimanded him for acting in so important a matter without orders, thereby making himself liable to court-martial; but, after fully impressing the young officer with the danger of such self-sufficiency on ordinary occasions, he admitted that a most fortunate shot had been sent into the _vulture_, "for," he said, "we are in no condition just now to defend ourselves against the british forces in new york, and the capture of this spy has saved us." my mother had the military idea of government, but her children, like their grandfather, were disposed to assume the responsibility of their own actions; thus the ancestral traits in mother and children modified, in a measure, the dangerous tendencies in each. our parents were as kind, indulgent, and considerate as the puritan ideas of those days permitted, but fear, rather than love, of god and parents alike, predominated. add to this our timidity in our intercourse with servants and teachers, our dread of the ever present devil, and the reader will see that, under such conditions, nothing but strong self-will and a good share of hope and mirthfulness could have saved an ordinary child from becoming a mere nullity. the first event engraved on my memory was the birth of a sister when i was four years old. it was a cold morning in january when the brawny scotch nurse carried me to see the little stranger, whose advent was a matter of intense interest to me for many weeks after. the large, pleasant room with the white curtains and bright wood fire on the hearth, where panada, catnip, and all kinds of little messes which we were allowed to taste were kept warm, was the center of attraction for the older children. i heard so many friends remark, "what a pity it is she's a girl!" that i felt a kind of compassion for the little baby. true, our family consisted of five girls and only one boy, but i did not understand at that time that girls were considered an inferior order of beings. to form some idea of my surroundings at this time, imagine a two-story white frame house with a hall through the middle, rooms on either side, and a large back building with grounds on the side and rear, which joined the garden of our good presbyterian minister, the rev. simon hosack, of whom i shall have more to say in another chapter. our favorite resorts in the house were the garret and cellar. in the former were barrels of hickory nuts, and, on a long shelf, large cakes of maple sugar and all kinds of dried herbs and sweet flag; spinning wheels, a number of small white cotton bags filled with bundles, marked in ink, "silk," "cotton," "flannel," "calico," etc., as well as ancient masculine and feminine costumes. here we would crack the nuts, nibble the sharp edges of the maple sugar, chew some favorite herb, play ball with the bags, whirl the old spinning wheels, dress up in our ancestors' clothes, and take a bird's-eye view of the surrounding country from an enticing scuttle hole. this was forbidden ground; but, nevertheless, we often went there on the sly, which only made the little escapades more enjoyable. the cellar of our house was filled, in winter, with barrels of apples, vegetables, salt meats, cider, butter, pounding barrels, washtubs, etc., offering admirable nooks for playing hide and seek. two tallow candles threw a faint light over the scene on certain occasions. this cellar was on a level with a large kitchen where we played blind man's buff and other games when the day's work was done. these two rooms are the center of many of the merriest memories of my childhood days. i can recall three colored men, abraham, peter, and jacob, who acted as menservants in our youth. in turn they would sometimes play on the banjo for us to dance, taking real enjoyment in our games. they are all at rest now with "old uncle ned in the place where the good niggers go." our nurses, lockey danford, polly bell, mary dunn, and cornelia nickeloy--peace to their ashes--were the only shadows on the gayety of these winter evenings; for their chief delight was to hurry us off to bed, that they might receive their beaux or make short calls in the neighborhood. my memory of them is mingled with no sentiment of gratitude or affection. in expressing their opinion of us in after years, they said we were a very troublesome, obstinate, disobedient set of children. i have no doubt we were in constant rebellion against their petty tyranny. abraham, peter, and jacob viewed us in a different light, and i have the most pleasant recollections of their kind services. in the winter, outside the house, we had the snow with which to build statues and make forts, and huge piles of wood covered with ice, which we called the alps, so difficult were they of ascent and descent. there we would climb up and down by the hour, if not interrupted, which, however, was generally the case. it always seemed to me that, in the height of our enthusiasm, we were invariably summoned to some disagreeable duty, which would appear to show that thus early i keenly enjoyed outdoor life. theodore tilton has thus described the place where i was born: "birthplace is secondary parentage, and transmits character. johnstown was more famous half a century ago than since; for then, though small, it was a marked intellectual center; and now, though large, it is an unmarked manufacturing town. before the birth of elizabeth cady it was the vice-ducal seat of sir william johnson, the famous english negotiator with the indians. during her girlhood it was an arena for the intellectual wrestlings of kent, tompkins, spencer, elisha williams, and abraham van vechten, who, as lawyers, were among the chiefest of their time. it is now devoted mainly to the fabrication of steel springs and buckskin gloves. so, like wordsworth's early star, it has faded into the light of common day. but johnstown retains one of its ancient splendors--a glory still fresh as at the foundation of the world. standing on its hills, one looks off upon a country of enameled meadow lands, that melt away southward toward the mohawk, and northward to the base of those grand mountains which are 'god's monument over the grave of john brown.'" harold frederic's novel, "in the valley," contains many descriptions of this region that are true to nature, as i remember the mohawk valley, for i first knew it not so many years after the scenes which he lays there. before i was old enough to take in the glory of this scenery and its classic associations, johnstown was to me a gloomy-looking town. the middle of the streets was paved with large cobblestones, over which the farmer's wagons rattled from morning till night, while the sidewalks were paved with very small cobblestones, over which we carefully picked our way, so that free and graceful walking was out of the question. the streets were lined with solemn poplar trees, from which small yellow worms were continually dangling down. next to the prince of darkness, i feared these worms. they were harmless, but the sight of one made me tremble. so many people shared in this feeling that the poplars were all cut down and elms planted in their stead. the johnstown academy and churches were large square buildings, painted white, surrounded by these same sombre poplars, each edifice having a doleful bell which seemed to be ever tolling for school, funerals, church, or prayer meetings. next to the worms, those clanging bells filled me with the utmost dread; they seemed like so many warnings of an eternal future. visions of the inferno were strongly impressed on my childish imagination. it was thought, in those days, that firm faith in hell and the devil was the greatest help to virtue. it certainly made me very unhappy whenever my mind dwelt on such teachings, and i have always had my doubts of the virtue that is based on the fear of punishment. perhaps i may be pardoned a word devoted to my appearance in those days. i have been told that i was a plump little girl, with very fair skin, rosy cheeks, good features, dark-brown hair, and laughing blue eyes. a student in my father's office, the late henry bayard of delaware (an uncle of our recent ambassador to the court of st. james's, thomas f. bayard), told me one day, after conning my features carefully, that i had one defect which he could remedy. "your eyebrows should be darker and heavier," said he, "and if you will let me shave them once or twice, you will be much improved." i consented, and, slight as my eyebrows were, they seemed to have had some expression, for the loss of them had a most singular effect on my appearance. everybody, including even the operator, laughed at my odd-looking face, and i was in the depths of humiliation during the period while my eyebrows were growing out again. it is scarcely necessary for me to add that i never allowed the young man to repeat the experiment, although strongly urged to do so. i cannot recall how or when i conquered the alphabet, words in three letters, the multiplication table, the points of the compass, the chicken pox, whooping cough, measles, and scarlet fever. all these unhappy incidents of childhood left but little impression on my mind. i have, however, most pleasant memories of the good spinster, maria yost, who patiently taught three generations of children the rudiments of the english language, and introduced us to the pictures in "murray's spelling-book," where old father time, with his scythe, and the farmer stoning the boys in his apple trees, gave rise in my mind to many serious reflections. miss yost was plump and rosy, with fair hair, and had a merry twinkle in her blue eyes, and she took us by very easy stages through the old-fashioned school-books. the interesting readers children now have were unknown sixty years ago. we did not reach the temple of knowledge by the flowery paths of ease in which our descendants now walk. i still have a perfect vision of myself and sisters, as we stood up in the classes, with our toes at the cracks in the floor, all dressed alike in bright red flannel, black alpaca aprons, and, around the neck, a starched ruffle that, through a lack of skill on the part of either the laundress or the nurse who sewed them in, proved a constant source of discomfort to us. i have since seen full-grown men, under slighter provocation than we endured, jerk off a collar, tear it in two, and throw it to the winds, chased by the most soul-harrowing expletives. but we were sternly rebuked for complaining, and if we ventured to introduce our little fingers between the delicate skin and the irritating linen, our hands were slapped and the ruffle readjusted a degree closer. our sunday dresses were relieved with a black sprig and white aprons. we had red cloaks, red hoods, red mittens, and red stockings. for one's self to be all in red six months of the year was bad enough, but to have this costume multiplied by three was indeed monotonous. i had such an aversion to that color that i used to rebel regularly at the beginning of each season when new dresses were purchased, until we finally passed into an exquisite shade of blue. no words could do justice to my dislike of those red dresses. my grandfather's detestation of the british redcoats must have descended to me. my childhood's antipathy to wearing red enabled me later to comprehend the feelings of a little niece, who hated everything pea green, because she had once heard the saying, "neat but not gaudy, as the devil said when he painted his tail pea green." so when a friend brought her a cravat of that color she threw it on the floor and burst into tears, saying, "i could not wear that, for it is the color of the devil's tail." i sympathized with the child and had it changed for the hue she liked. although we cannot always understand the ground for children's preferences, it is often well to heed them. i am told that i was pensively looking out of the nursery window one day, when mary dunn, the scotch nurse, who was something of a philosopher, and a stern presbyterian, said: "child, what are you thinking about; are you planning some new form of mischief?" "no, mary," i replied, "i was wondering why it was that everything we like to do is a sin, and that everything we dislike is commanded by god or someone on earth. i am so tired of that everlasting no! no! no! at school, at home, everywhere it is _no_! even at church all the commandments begin 'thou shalt not.' i suppose god will say 'no' to all we like in the next world, just as you do here." mary was dreadfully shocked at my dissatisfaction with the things of time and prospective eternity, and exhorted me to cultivate the virtues of obedience and humility. i well remember the despair i felt in those years, as i took in the whole situation, over the constant cribbing and crippling of a child's life. i suppose i found fit language in which to express my thoughts, for mary dunn told me, years after, how our discussion roused my sister margaret, who was an attentive listener. i must have set forth our wrongs in clear, unmistakable terms; for margaret exclaimed one day, "i tell you what to do. hereafter let us act as we choose, without asking." "then," said i, "we shall be punished." "suppose we are," said she, "we shall have had our fun at any rate, and that is better than to mind the everlasting 'no' and not have any fun at all." her logic seemed unanswerable, so together we gradually acted on her suggestions. having less imagination than i, she took a common-sense view of life and suffered nothing from anticipation of troubles, while my sorrows were intensified fourfold by innumerable apprehensions of possible exigencies. our nursery, a large room over a back building, had three barred windows reaching nearly to the floor. two of these opened on a gently slanting roof over a veranda. in our night robes, on warm summer evenings we could, by dint of skillful twisting and compressing, get out between the bars, and there, snugly braced against the house, we would sit and enjoy the moon and stars and what sounds might reach us from the streets, while the nurse, gossiping at the back door, imagined we were safely asleep. i have a confused memory of being often under punishment for what, in those days, were called "tantrums." i suppose they were really justifiable acts of rebellion against the tyranny of those in authority. i have often listened since, with real satisfaction, to what some of our friends had to say of the high-handed manner in which sister margaret and i defied all the transient orders and strict rules laid down for our guidance. if we had observed them we might as well have been embalmed as mummies, for all the pleasure and freedom we should have had in our childhood. as very little was then done for the amusement of children, happy were those who _conscientiously_ took the liberty of amusing themselves. one charming feature of our village was a stream of water, called the cayadutta, which ran through the north end, in which it was our delight to walk on the broad slate stones when the water was low, in order to pick up pretty pebbles. these joys were also forbidden, though indulged in as opportunity afforded, especially as sister margaret's philosophy was found to work successfully and we had finally risen above our infantile fear of punishment. much of my freedom at this time was due to this sister, who afterward became the wife of colonel duncan mcmartin of iowa. i can see her now, hat in hand, her long curls flying in the wind, her nose slightly retroussé, her large dark eyes flashing with glee, and her small straight mouth so expressive of determination. though two years my junior, she was larger and stronger than i and more fearless and self-reliant. she was always ready to start when any pleasure offered, and, if i hesitated, she would give me a jerk and say, emphatically: "oh, come along!" and away we went. about this time we entered the johnstown academy, where we made the acquaintance of the daughters of the hotel keeper and the county sheriff. they were a few years my senior, but, as i was ahead of them in all my studies, the difference of age was somewhat equalized and we became fast friends. this acquaintance opened to us two new sources of enjoyment--the freedom of the hotel during "court week" (a great event in village life) and the exploration of the county jail. our scotch nurse had told us so many thrilling tales of castles, prisons, and dungeons in the old world that, to see the great keys and iron doors, the handcuffs and chains, and the prisoners in their cells seemed like a veritable visit to mary's native land. we made frequent visits to the jail and became deeply concerned about the fate of the prisoners, who were greatly pleased with our expressions of sympathy and our gifts of cake and candy. in time we became interested in the trials and sentences of prisoners, and would go to the courthouse and listen to the proceedings. sometimes we would slip into the hotel where the judges and lawyers dined, and help our little friend wait on table. the rushing of servants to and fro, the calling of guests, the scolding of servants in the kitchen, the banging of doors, the general hubbub, the noise and clatter, were all idealized by me into one of those royal festivals mary so often described. to be allowed to carry plates of bread and butter, pie and cheese i counted a high privilege. but more especially i enjoyed listening to the conversations in regard to the probable fate of our friends the prisoners in the jail. on one occasion i projected a few remarks into a conversation between two lawyers, when one of them turned abruptly to me and said, "child, you'd better attend to your business; bring me a glass of water." i replied indignantly, "i am not a servant; i am here for fun." in all these escapades we were followed by peter, black as coal and six feet in height. it seems to me now that his chief business was to discover our whereabouts, get us home to dinner, and take us back to school. fortunately he was overflowing with curiosity and not averse to lingering a while where anything of interest was to be seen or heard, and, as we were deemed perfectly safe under his care, no questions were asked when we got to the house, if we had been with him. he had a long head and, through his diplomacy, we escaped much disagreeable surveillance. peter was very fond of attending court. all the lawyers knew him, and wherever peter went, the three little girls in his charge went, too. thus, with constant visits to the jail, courthouse, and my father's office, i gleaned some idea of the danger of violating the law. the great events of the year were the christmas holidays, the fourth of july, and "general training," as the review of the county militia was then called. the winter gala days are associated, in my memory, with hanging up stockings and with turkeys, mince pies, sweet cider, and sleighrides by moonlight. my earliest recollections of those happy days, when schools were closed, books laid aside, and unusual liberties allowed, center in that large cellar kitchen to which i have already referred. there we spent many winter evenings in uninterrupted enjoyment. a large fireplace with huge logs shed warmth and cheerfulness around. in one corner sat peter sawing his violin, while our youthful neighbors danced with us and played blindman's buff almost every evening during the vacation. the most interesting character in this game was a black boy called jacob (peter's lieutenant), who made things lively for us by always keeping one eye open--a wise precaution to guard himself from danger, and to keep us on the jump. hickory nuts, sweet cider, and _olie-koeks_ (a dutch name for a fried cake with raisins inside) were our refreshments when there came a lull in the fun. as st. nicholas was supposed to come down the chimney, our stockings were pinned on a broomstick, laid across two chairs in front of the fireplace. we retired on christmas eve with the most pleasing anticipations of what would be in our stockings next morning. the thermometer in that latitude was often twenty degrees below zero, yet, bright and early, we would run downstairs in our bare feet over the cold floors to carry stockings, broom, etc., to the nursery. the gorgeous presents that st. nicholas now distributes show that he, too, has been growing up with the country. the boys and girls of will laugh when they hear of the contents of our stockings in . there was a little paper of candy, one of raisins, another, of nuts, a red apple, an _olie-koek_, and a bright silver quarter of a dollar in the toe. if a child had been guilty of any erratic performances during the year, which was often my case, a long stick would protrude from the stocking; if particularly good, an illustrated catechism or the new testament would appear, showing that the st. nicholas of that time held decided views on discipline and ethics. during the day we would take a drive over the snow-clad hills and valleys in a long red lumber sleigh. all the children it could hold made the forests echo with their songs and laughter. the sleigh bells and peter's fine tenor voice added to the chorus seemed to chant, as we passed, "merry christmas" to the farmers' children and to all we met on the highway. returning home, we were allowed, as a great christmas treat, to watch all peter's preparations for dinner. attired in a white apron and turban, holding in his hand a tin candlestick the size of a dinner plate, containing a tallow candle, with stately step he marched into the spacious cellar, with jacob and three little girls dressed in red flannel at his heels. as the farmers paid the interest on their mortgages in barrels of pork, headcheese, poultry, eggs, and cider, the cellars were well crowded for the winter, making the master of an establishment quite indifferent to all questions of finance. we heard nothing in those days of greenbacks, silver coinage, or a gold basis. laden with vegetables, butter, eggs, and a magnificent turkey, peter and his followers returned to the kitchen. there, seated on a big ironing table, we watched the dressing and roasting of the bird in a tin oven in front of the fire. jacob peeled the vegetables, we all sang, and peter told us marvelous stories. for tea he made flapjacks, baked in a pan with a long handle, which he turned by throwing the cake up and skillfully catching it descending. peter was a devout episcopalian and took great pleasure in helping the young people decorate the church. he would take us with him and show us how to make evergreen wreaths. like mary's lamb, where'er he went we were sure to go. his love for us was unbounded and fully returned. he was the only being, visible or invisible, of whom we had no fear. we would go to divine service with peter, christmas morning and sit with him by the door, in what was called "the negro pew." he was the only colored member of the church and, after all the other communicants had taken the sacrament, he went alone to the altar. dressed in a new suit of blue with gilt buttons, he looked like a prince, as, with head erect, he walked up the aisle, the grandest specimen of manhood in the whole congregation; and yet so strong was prejudice against color in that no one would kneel beside him. on leaving us, on one of these occasions, peter told us all to sit still until he returned; but, no sooner had he started, than the youngest of us slowly followed after him and seated herself close beside him. as he came back, holding the child by the hand, what a lesson it must have been to that prejudiced congregation! the first time we entered the church together the sexton opened a white man's pew for us, telling peter to leave the judge's children there. "oh," he said, "they will not stay there without me." but, as he could not enter, we instinctively followed him to the negro pew. our next great fête was on the anniversary of the birthday of our republic. the festivities were numerous and protracted, beginning then, as now, at midnight with bonfires and cannon; while the day was ushered in with the ringing of bells, tremendous cannonading, and a continuous popping of fire-crackers and torpedoes. then a procession of soldiers and citizens marched through the town, an oration was delivered, the declaration of independence read, and a great dinner given in the open air under the trees in the grounds of the old courthouse. each toast was announced with the booming of cannon. on these occasions peter was in his element, and showed us whatever he considered worth seeing; but i cannot say that i enjoyed very much either "general training" or the fourth of july, for, in addition to my fear of cannon and torpedoes, my sympathies were deeply touched by the sadness of our cook, whose drunken father always cut antics in the streets on gala days, the central figure in all the sports of the boys, much to the mortification of his worthy daughter. she wept bitterly over her father's public exhibition of himself, and told me in what a condition he would come home to his family at night. i would gladly have stayed in with her all day, but the fear of being called a coward compelled me to go through those trying ordeals. as my nerves were all on the surface, no words can describe what i suffered with those explosions, great and small, and my fears lest king george and his minions should reappear among us. i thought that, if he had done all the dreadful things stated in the declaration of ' , he might come again, burn our houses, and drive us all into the street. sir william johnson's mansion of solid masonry, gloomy and threatening, still stood in our neighborhood. i had seen the marks of the indian's tomahawk on the balustrades and heard of the bloody deeds there enacted. for all the calamities of the nation i believed king george responsible. at home and at school we were educated to hate the english. when we remember that, every fourth of july, the declaration was read with emphasis, and the orator of the day rounded all his glowing periods with denunciations of the mother country, we need not wonder at the national hatred of everything english. our patriotism in those early days was measured by our dislike of great britain. in september occurred the great event, the review of the county militia, popularly called "training day." then everybody went to the race course to see the troops and buy what the farmers had brought in their wagons. there was a peculiar kind of gingerbread and molasses candy to which we were treated on those occasions, associated in my mind to this day with military reviews and standing armies. other pleasures were, roaming in the forests and sailing on the mill pond. one day, when there were no boys at hand and several girls were impatiently waiting for a sail on a raft, my sister and i volunteered to man the expedition. we always acted on the assumption that what we had seen done, we could do. accordingly we all jumped on the raft, loosened it from its moorings, and away we went with the current. navigation on that mill pond was performed with long poles, but, unfortunately, we could not lift the poles, and we soon saw we were drifting toward the dam. but we had the presence of mind to sit down and hold fast to the raft. fortunately, we went over right side up and gracefully glided down the stream, until rescued by the ever watchful peter. i did not hear the last of that voyage for a long time. i was called the captain of the expedition, and one of the boys wrote a composition, which he read in school, describing the adventure and emphasizing the ignorance of the laws of navigation shown by the officers in command. i shed tears many times over that performance. chapter ii. school days. when i was eleven years old, two events occurred which changed considerably the current of my life. my only brother, who had just graduated from union college, came home to die. a young man of great talent and promise, he was the pride of my father's heart. we early felt that this son filled a larger place in our father's affections and future plans than the five daughters together. well do i remember how tenderly he watched my brother in his last illness, the sighs and tears he gave vent to as he slowly walked up and down the hall, and, when the last sad moment came, and we were all assembled to say farewell in the silent chamber of death, how broken were his utterances as he knelt and prayed for comfort and support. i still recall, too, going into the large darkened parlor to see my brother, and finding the casket, mirrors, and pictures all draped in white, and my father seated by his side, pale and immovable. as he took no notice of me, after standing a long while, i climbed upon his knee, when he mechanically put his arm about me and, with my head resting against his beating heart, we both sat in silence, he thinking of the wreck of all his hopes in the loss of a dear son, and i wondering what could be said or done to fill the void in his breast. at length he heaved a deep sigh and said: "oh, my daughter, i wish you were a boy!" throwing my arms about his neck, i replied: "i will try to be all my brother was." [illustration: margaret livingston cady.] [illustration: judge daniel cady.] then and there i resolved that i would not give so much time as heretofore to play, but would study and strive to be at the head of all my classes and thus delight my father's heart. all that day and far into the night i pondered the problem of boyhood. i thought that the chief thing to be done in order to equal boys was to be learned and courageous. so i decided to study greek and learn to manage a horse. having formed this conclusion i fell asleep. my resolutions, unlike many such made at night, did not vanish with the coming light. i arose early and hastened to put them into execution. they were resolutions never to be forgotten--destined to mold my character anew. as soon as i was dressed i hastened to our good pastor, rev. simon hosack, who was always early at work in his garden. "doctor," said i, "which do you like best, boys or girls?" "why, girls, to be sure; i would not give you for all the boys in christendom." "my father," i replied, "prefers boys; he wishes i was one, and i intend to be as near like one as possible. i am going to ride on horseback and study greek. will you give me a greek lesson now, doctor? i want to begin at once." "yes, child," said he, throwing down his hoe, "come into my library and we will begin without delay." he entered fully into the feeling of suffering and sorrow which took possession of me when i discovered that a girl weighed less in the scale of being than a boy, and he praised my determination to prove the contrary. the old grammar which he had studied in the university of glasgow was soon in my hands, and the greek article was learned before breakfast. then came the sad pageantry of death, the weeping of friends, the dark rooms, the ghostly stillness, the exhortation to the living to prepare for death, the solemn prayer, the mournful chant, the funeral cortège, the solemn, tolling bell, the burial. how i suffered during those sad days! what strange undefined fears of the unknown took possession of me! for months afterward, at the twilight hour, i went with my father to the new-made grave. near it stood two tall poplar trees, against one of which i leaned, while my father threw himself on the grave, with outstretched arms, as if to embrace his child. at last the frosts and storms of november came and threw a chilling barrier between the living and the dead, and we went there no more. during all this time i kept up my lessons at the parsonage and made rapid progress. i surprised even my teacher, who thought me capable of doing anything. i learned to drive, and to leap a fence and ditch on horseback. i taxed every power, hoping some day to hear my father say: "well, a girl is as good as a boy, after all." but he never said it. when the doctor came over to spend the evening with us, i would whisper in his ear: "tell my father how fast i get on," and he would tell him, and was lavish in his praises. but my father only paced the room, sighed, and showed that he wished i were a boy; and i, not knowing why he felt thus, would hide my tears of vexation on the doctor's shoulder. soon after this i began to study latin, greek, and mathematics with a class of boys in the academy, many of whom were much older than i. for three years one boy kept his place at the head of the class, and i always stood next. two prizes were offered in greek. i strove for one and took the second. how well i remember my joy in receiving that prize. there was no sentiment of ambition, rivalry, or triumph over my companions, nor feeling of satisfaction in receiving this honor in the presence of those assembled on the day of the exhibition. one thought alone filled my mind. "now," said i, "my father will be satisfied with me." so, as soon as we were dismissed, i ran down the hill, rushed breathless into his office, laid the new greek testament, which was my prize, on his table and exclaimed: "there, i got it!" he took up the book, asked me some questions about the class, the teachers, the spectators, and, evidently pleased, handed it back to me. then, while i stood looking and waiting for him to say something which would show that he recognized the equality of the daughter with the son, he kissed me on the forehead and exclaimed, with a sigh, "ah, you should have been a boy!" my joy was turned to sadness. i ran to my good doctor. he chased my bitter tears away, and soothed me with unbounded praises and visions of future success. he was then confined to the house with his last illness. he asked me that day if i would like to have, when he was gone, the old lexicon, testament, and grammar that we had so often thumbed together. "yes, but i would rather have you stay," i replied, "for what can i do when you are gone?" "oh," said he tenderly, "i shall not be gone; my spirit will still be with you, watching you in all life's struggles." noble, generous friend! he had but little on earth to bequeath to anyone, but when the last scene in his life was ended, and his will was opened, sure enough there was a clause saying: "my greek lexicon, testament, and grammar, and four volumes of scott's commentaries, i will to elizabeth cady." i never look at these books without a feeling of thankfulness that in childhood i was blessed with such a friend and teacher. i can truly say, after an experience of seventy years, that all the cares and anxieties, the trials and disappointments of my whole life, are light, when balanced with my sufferings in childhood and youth from the theological dogmas which i sincerely believed, and the gloom connected with everything associated with the name of religion, the church, the parsonage, the graveyard, and the solemn, tolling bell. everything connected with death was then rendered inexpressibly dolorous. the body, covered with a black pall, was borne on the shoulders of men; the mourners were in crape and walked with bowed heads, while the neighbors who had tears to shed, did so copiously and summoned up their saddest facial expressions. at the grave came the sober warnings to the living and sometimes frightful prophesies as to the state of the dead. all this pageantry of woe and visions of the unknown land beyond the tomb, often haunted my midnight dreams and shadowed the sunshine of my days. the parsonage, with its bare walls and floors, its shriveled mistress and her blind sister, more like ghostly shadows than human flesh and blood; the two black servants, racked with rheumatism and odoriferous with a pungent oil they used in the vain hope of making their weary limbs more supple; the aged parson buried in his library in the midst of musty books and papers--all this only added to the gloom of my surroundings. the church, which was bare, with no furnace to warm us, no organ to gladden our hearts, no choir to lead our songs of praise in harmony, was sadly lacking in all attractions for the youthful mind. the preacher, shut up in an octagonal box high above our heads, gave us sermons over an hour long, and the chorister, in a similar box below him, intoned line after line of david's psalms, while, like a flock of sheep at the heels of their shepherd, the congregation, without regard to time or tune, straggled after their leader. years later, the introduction of stoves, a violoncello, wesley's hymns, and a choir split the church in twain. these old scotch presbyterians were opposed to all innovations that would afford their people paths of flowery ease on the road to heaven. so, when the thermometer was twenty degrees below zero on the johnstown hills, four hundred feet above the mohawk valley, we trudged along through the snow, foot-stoves in hand, to the cold hospitalities of the "lord's house," there to be chilled to the very core by listening to sermons on "predestination," "justification by faith," and "eternal damnation." to be restless, or to fall asleep under such solemn circumstances was a sure evidence of total depravity, and of the machinations of the devil striving to turn one's heart from god and his ordinances. as i was guilty of these shortcomings and many more, i early believed myself a veritable child of the evil one, and suffered endless fears lest he should come some night and claim me as his own. to me he was a personal, ever-present reality, crouching in a dark corner of the nursery. ah! how many times i have stolen out of bed, and sat shivering on the stairs, where the hall lamp and the sound of voices from the parlor would, in a measure, mitigate my terror. thanks to a vigorous constitution and overflowing animal spirits, i was able to endure for years the strain of these depressing influences, until my reasoning powers and common sense triumphed at last over my imagination. the memory of my own suffering has prevented me from ever shadowing one young soul with any of the superstitions of the christian religion. but there have been many changes, even in my native town, since those dark days. our old church was turned into a mitten factory, and the pleasant hum of machinery and the glad faces of men and women have chased the evil spirits to their hiding places. one finds at johnstown now, beautiful churches, ornamented cemeteries, and cheerful men and women, quite emancipated from the nonsense and terrors of the old theologies. an important event in our family circle was the marriage of my oldest sister, tryphena, to edward bayard of wilmington, delaware. he was a graduate of union college, a classmate of my brother, and frequently visited at my father's house. at the end of his college course, he came with his brother henry to study law in johnstown. a quiet, retired little village was thought to be a good place in which to sequester young men bent on completing their education, as they were there safe from the temptations and distracting influences of large cities. in addition to this consideration, my father's reputation made his office a desirable resort for students, who, furthermore, not only improved their opportunities by reading blackstone, kent, and story, but also by making love to the judge's daughters. we thus had the advantage of many pleasant acquaintances from the leading families in the country, and, in this way, it was that four of the sisters eventually selected most worthy husbands. though only twenty-one years of age when married, edward bayard was a tall, fully developed man, remarkably fine looking, with cultivated literary taste and a profound knowledge of human nature. warm and affectionate, generous to a fault in giving and serving, he was soon a great favorite in the family, and gradually filled the void made in all our hearts by the loss of the brother and son. my father was so fully occupied with the duties of his profession, which often called him from home, and my mother so weary with the cares of a large family, having had ten children, though only five survived at this time, that they were quite willing to shift their burdens to younger shoulders. our eldest sister and her husband, therefore, soon became our counselors and advisers. they selected our clothing, books, schools, acquaintances, and directed our reading and amusements. thus the reins of domestic government, little by little, passed into their hands, and the family arrangements were in a manner greatly improved in favor of greater liberty for the children. the advent of edward and henry bayard was an inestimable blessing to us. with them came an era of picnics, birthday parties, and endless amusements; the buying of pictures, fairy books, musical instruments and ponies, and frequent excursions with parties on horseback. fresh from college, they made our lessons in latin, greek, and mathematics so easy that we studied with real pleasure and had more leisure for play. henry bayard's chief pleasures were walking, riding, and playing all manner of games, from jack-straws to chess, with the three younger sisters, and we have often said that the three years he passed in johnstown were the most delightful of our girlhood. immediately after the death of my brother, a journey was planned to visit our grandmother cady, who lived in canaan, columbia county, about twenty miles from albany. my two younger sisters and myself had never been outside of our own county before, and the very thought of a journey roused our enthusiasm to the highest pitch. on a bright day in september we started, packed in two carriages. we were wild with delight as we drove down the mohawk valley, with its beautiful river and its many bridges and ferryboats. when we reached schenectady, the first city we had ever seen, we stopped to dine at the old given's hotel, where we broke loose from all the moorings of propriety on beholding the paper on the dining-room wall, illustrating in brilliant colors the great events in sacred history. there were the patriarchs, with flowing beards and in gorgeous attire; abraham, offering up isaac; joseph, with his coat of many colors, thrown into a pit by his brethren; noah's ark on an ocean of waters; pharaoh and his host in the red sea; rebecca at the well, and moses in the bulrushes. all these distinguished personages were familiar to us, and to see them here for the first time in living colors, made silence and eating impossible. we dashed around the room, calling to each other: "oh, kate, look here!" "oh, madge, look there!" "see little moses!" "see the angels on jacob's ladder!" our exclamations could not be kept within bounds. the guests were amused beyond description, while my mother and elder sisters were equally mortified; but mr. bayard, who appreciated our childish surprise and delight, smiled and said: "i'll take them around and show them the pictures, and then they will be able to dine," which we finally did. on our way to albany we were forced to listen to no end of dissertations on manners, and severe criticisms on our behavior at the hotel, but we were too happy and astonished with all we saw to take a subjective view of ourselves. even peter in his new livery, who had not seen much more than we had, while looking out of the corners of his eyes, maintained a quiet dignity and conjured us "not to act as if we had just come out of the woods and had never seen anything before." however, there are conditions in the child soul in which repression is impossible, when the mind takes in nothing but its own enjoyment, and when even the sense of hearing is lost in that of sight. the whole party awoke to that fact at last. children are not actors. we never had experienced anything like this journey, and how could we help being surprised and delighted? when we drove into albany, the first large city we had ever visited, we exclaimed, "why, it's general training, here!" we had acquired our ideas of crowds from our country militia reviews. fortunately, there was no pictorial wall paper in the old city hotel. but the decree had gone forth that, on the remainder of the journey, our meals would be served in a private room, with peter to wait on us. this seemed like going back to the nursery days and was very humiliating. but eating, even there, was difficult, as we could hear the band from the old museum, and, as our windows opened on the street, the continual panorama of people and carriages passing by was quite as enticing as the bible scenes in schenectady. in the evening we walked around to see the city lighted, to look into the shop windows, and to visit the museum. the next morning we started for canaan, our enthusiasm still unabated, though strong hopes were expressed that we would be toned down with the fatigues of the first day's journey. the large farm with its cattle, sheep, hens, ducks, turkeys, and geese; its creamery, looms, and spinning wheel; its fruits and vegetables; the drives among the grand old hills; the blessed old grandmother, and the many aunts, uncles, and cousins to kiss, all this kept us still in a whirlpool of excitement. our joy bubbled over of itself; it was beyond our control. after spending a delightful week at canaan, we departed, with an addition to our party, much to peter's disgust, of a bright, coal-black boy of fifteen summers. peter kept grumbling that he had children enough to look after already, but, as the boy was handsome and intelligent, could read, write, play on the jewsharp and banjo, sing, dance, and stand on his head, we were charmed with this new-found treasure, who proved later to be a great family blessing. we were less vivacious on the return trip. whether this was due to peter's untiring efforts to keep us within bounds, or whether the novelty of the journey was in a measure gone, it is difficult to determine, but we evidently were not so buoyant and were duly complimented on our good behavior. when we reached home and told our village companions what we had seen in our extensive travels (just seventy miles from home) they were filled with wonder, and we became heroines in their estimation. after this we took frequent journeys to saratoga, the northern lakes, utica, and peterboro, but were never again so entirely swept from our feet as with the biblical illustrations in the dining room of the old given's hotel. as my father's office joined the house, i spent there much of my time, when out of school, listening to the clients stating their cases, talking with the students, and reading the laws in regard to woman. in our scotch neighborhood many men still retained the old feudal ideas of women and property. fathers, at their death, would will the bulk of their property to the eldest son, with the proviso that the mother was to have a home with him. hence it was not unusual for the mother, who had brought all the property into the family, to be made an unhappy dependent on the bounty of an uncongenial daughter-in-law and a dissipated son. the tears and complaints of the women who came to my father for legal advice touched my heart and early drew my attention to the injustice and cruelty of the laws. as the practice of the law was my father's business, i could not exactly understand why he could not alleviate the sufferings of these women. so, in order to enlighten me, he would take down his books and show me the inexorable statutes. the students, observing my interest, would amuse themselves by reading to me all the worst laws they could find, over which i would laugh and cry by turns. one christmas morning i went into the office to show them, among other of my presents, a new coral necklace and bracelets. they all admired the jewelry and then began to tease me with hypothetical cases of future ownership. "now," said henry bayard, "if in due time you should be my wife, those ornaments would be mine; i could take them and lock them up, and you could never wear them except with my permission. i could even exchange them for a box of cigars, and you could watch them evaporate in smoke." with this constant bantering from students and the sad complaints of the women, my mind was sorely perplexed. so when, from time to time, my attention was called to these odious laws, i would mark them with a pencil, and becoming more and more convinced of the necessity of taking some active measures against these unjust provisions, i resolved to seize the first opportunity, when alone in the office, to cut every one of them out of the books; supposing my father and his library were the beginning and the end of the law. however, this mutilation of his volumes was never accomplished, for dear old flora campbell, to whom i confided my plan for the amelioration of the wrongs of my unhappy sex, warned my father of what i proposed to do. without letting me know that he had discovered my secret, he explained to me one evening how laws were made, the large number of lawyers and libraries there were all over the state, and that if his library should burn up it would make no difference in woman's condition. "when you are grown up, and able to prepare a speech," said he, "you must go down to albany and talk to the legislators; tell them all you have seen in this office--the sufferings of these scotchwomen, robbed of their inheritance and left dependent on their unworthy sons, and, if you can persuade them to pass new laws, the old ones will be a dead letter." thus was the future object of my life foreshadowed and my duty plainly outlined by him who was most opposed to my public career when, in due time, i entered upon it. until i was sixteen years old, i was a faithful student in the johnstown academy with a class of boys. though i was the only girl in the higher classes of mathematics and the languages, yet, in our plays, all the girls and boys mingled freely together. in running races, sliding downhill, and snowballing, we made no distinction of sex. true, the boys would carry the school books and pull the sleighs up hill for their favorite girls, but equality was the general basis of our school relations. i dare say the boys did not make their snowballs quite so hard when pelting the girls, nor wash their faces with the same vehemence as they did each other's, but there was no public evidence of partiality. however, if any boy was too rough or took advantage of a girl smaller than himself, he was promptly thrashed by his fellows. there was an unwritten law and public sentiment in that little academy world that enabled us to study and play together with the greatest freedom and harmony. from the academy the boys of my class went to union college at schenectady. when those with whom i had studied and contended for prizes for five years came to bid me good-by, and i learned of the barrier that prevented me from following in their footsteps--"no girls admitted here"--my vexation and mortification knew no bounds. i remember, now, how proud and handsome the boys looked in their new clothes, as they jumped into the old stage coach and drove off, and how lonely i felt when they were gone and i had nothing to do, for the plans for my future were yet undetermined. again i felt more keenly than ever the humiliation of the distinctions made on the ground of sex. my time was now occupied with riding on horseback, studying the game of chess, and continually squabbling with the law students over the rights of women. something was always coming up in the experiences of everyday life, or in the books we were reading, to give us fresh topics for argument. they would read passages from the british classics quite as aggravating as the laws. they delighted in extracts from shakespeare, especially from "the taming of the shrew," an admirable satire in itself on the old common law of england. i hated petruchio as if he were a real man. young bayard would recite with unction the famous reply of milton's ideal woman to adam: "god thy law, thou mine." the bible, too, was brought into requisition. in fact it seemed to me that every book taught the "divinely ordained" headship of man; but my mind never yielded to this popular heresy. chapter iii. girlhood. mrs. willard's seminary at troy was the fashionable school in my girlhood, and in the winter of , with upward of a hundred other girls, i found myself an active participant in all the joys and sorrows of that institution. when in family council it was decided to send me to that intellectual mecca, i did not receive the announcement with unmixed satisfaction, as i had fixed my mind on union college. the thought of a school without boys, who had been to me such a stimulus both in study and play, seemed to my imagination dreary and profitless. the one remarkable feature of my journey to troy was the railroad from schenectady to albany, the first ever laid in this country. the manner of ascending a high hill going out of the city would now strike engineers as stupid to the last degree. the passenger cars were pulled up by a train, loaded with stones, descending the hill. the more rational way of tunneling through the hill or going around it had not yet dawned on our dutch ancestors. at every step of my journey to troy i felt that i was treading on my pride, and thus in a hopeless frame of mind i began my boarding-school career. i had already studied everything that was taught there except french, music, and dancing, so i devoted myself to these accomplishments. as i had a good voice i enjoyed singing, with a guitar accompaniment, and, having a good ear for time, i appreciated the harmony in music and motion and took great delight in dancing. the large house, the society of so many girls, the walks about the city, the novelty of everything made the new life more enjoyable than i had anticipated. to be sure i missed the boys, with whom i had grown up, played with for years, and later measured my intellectual powers with, but, as they became a novelty, there was new zest in occasionally seeing them. after i had been there a short time, i heard a call one day: "heads out!" i ran with the rest and exclaimed, "what is it?" expecting to see a giraffe or some other wonder from barnum's museum. "why, don't you see those boys?" said one. "oh," i replied, "is that all? i have seen boys all my life." when visiting family friends in the city, we were in the way of making the acquaintance of their sons, and as all social relations were strictly forbidden, there was a new interest in seeing them. as they were not allowed to call upon us or write notes, unless they were brothers or cousins, we had, in time, a large number of kinsmen. there was an intense interest to me now in writing notes, receiving calls, and joining the young men in the streets for a walk, such as i had never known when in constant association with them at school and in our daily amusements. shut up with girls, most of them older than myself, i heard many subjects discussed of which i had never thought before, and in a manner it were better i had never heard. the healthful restraint always existing between boys and girls in conversation is apt to be relaxed with either sex alone. in all my intimate association with boys up to that period, i cannot recall one word or act for criticism, but i cannot say the same of the girls during the three years i passed at the seminary in troy. my own experience proves to me that it is a grave mistake to send boys and girls to separate institutions of learning, especially at the most impressible age. the stimulus of sex promotes alike a healthy condition of the intellectual and the moral faculties and gives to both a development they never can acquire alone. mrs. willard, having spent several months in europe, did not return until i had been at the seminary some time. i well remember her arrival, and the joy with which she was greeted by the teachers and pupils who had known her before. she was a splendid-looking woman, then in her prime, and fully realized my idea of a queen. i doubt whether any royal personage in the old world could have received her worshipers with more grace and dignity than did this far-famed daughter of the republic. she was one of the remarkable women of that period, and did a great educational work for her sex. she gave free scholarships to a large number of promising girls, fitting them for teachers, with a proviso that, when the opportunity arose, they should, in turn, educate others. i shall never forget one incident that occasioned me much unhappiness. i had written a very amusing composition, describing my room. a friend came in to see me just as i had finished it, and, as she asked me to read it to her, i did so. she enjoyed it very much and proposed an exchange. she said the rooms were all so nearly alike that, with a little alteration, she could use it. being very susceptible to flattery, her praise of my production won a ready assent; but when i read her platitudes i was sorry i had changed, and still more so in the _denouement_. those selected to prepare compositions read them before the whole school. my friend's was received with great laughter and applause. the one i read not only fell flat, but nearly prostrated me also. as soon as i had finished, one of the young ladies left the room and, returning in a few moments with her composition book, laid it before the teacher who presided that day, showing her the same composition i had just read. i was called up at once to explain, but was so amazed and confounded that i could not speak, and i looked the personification of guilt. i saw at a glance the contemptible position i occupied and felt as if the last day had come, that i stood before the judgment seat and had heard the awful sentence pronounced, "depart ye wicked into everlasting punishment." how i escaped from that scene to my own room i do not know. i was too wretched for tears. i sat alone for a long time when a gentle tap announced my betrayer. she put her arms around me affectionately and kissed me again and again. "oh!" she said, "you are a hero. you went through that trying ordeal like a soldier. i was so afraid, when you were pressed with questions, that the whole truth would come out and i be forced to stand in your place. i am not so brave as you; i could not endure it. now that you are through it and know how bitter a trial it is, promise that you will save me from the same experience. you are so good and noble i know you will not betray me." in this supreme moment of misery and disgrace, her loving words and warm embrace were like balm to my bruised soul and i readily promised all she asked. the girl had penetrated the weak point in my character. i loved flattery. through that means she got my composition in the first place, pledged me to silence in the second place, and so confused my moral perceptions that i really thought it praiseworthy to shelter her from what i had suffered. however, without betrayal on my part, the trick came to light through the very means she took to make concealment sure. after compositions were read they were handed over to a certain teacher for criticism. miss ---- had copied mine, and returned to me the original. i had not copied hers, so the two were in the same handwriting--one with my name outside and one with miss ----'s. as i stood well in school, both for scholarship and behavior, my sudden fall from grace occasioned no end of discussion. so, as soon as the teacher discovered the two compositions in miss ----'s writing, she came to me to inquire how i got one of miss ----'s compositions. she said, "where is yours that you wrote for that day?" taking it from my portfolio, i replied, "here it is." she then asked, "did you copy it from her book?" i replied, "no; i wrote it myself." "then why did you not read your own?" "we agreed to change," said i. "did you know that miss ---- had copied that from the book of another young lady?" "no, not until i was accused of doing it myself before the whole school." "why did you not defend yourself on the spot?" "i could not speak, neither did i know what to say." "why have you allowed yourself to remain in such a false position for a whole week?" "i do not know." "suppose i had not found this out, did you intend to keep silent?" "yes," i replied. "did miss ---- ask you to do so?" "yes." i had been a great favorite with this teacher, but she was so disgusted with my stupidity, as she called my timidity, that she said: "really, my child, you have not acted in this matter as if you had ordinary common sense." so little do grown people, in familiar surroundings, appreciate the confusion of a child's faculties, under new and trying experiences. when poor miss ----'s turn came to stand up before the whole school and take the burden on her own shoulders she had so cunningly laid on mine, i readily shed the tears for her i could not summon for myself. this was my first sad lesson in human duplicity. this episode, unfortunately, destroyed in a measure my confidence in my companions and made me suspicious even of those who came to me with appreciative words. up to this time i had accepted all things as they seemed on the surface. now i began to wonder what lay behind the visible conditions about me. perhaps the experience was beneficial, as it is quite necessary for a young girl, thrown wholly on herself for the first time among strangers, to learn caution in all she says and does. the atmosphere of home life, where all disguises and pretensions are thrown off, is quite different from a large school of girls, with the petty jealousies and antagonisms that arise in daily competition in their dress, studies, accomplishments, and amusements. the next happening in troy that seriously influenced my character was the advent of the rev. charles g. finney, a pulpit orator, who, as a terrifier of human souls, proved himself the equal of savonarola. he held a protracted meeting in the rev. dr. beaman's church, which many of my schoolmates attended. the result of six weeks of untiring effort on the part of mr. finney and his confreres was one of those intense revival seasons that swept over the city and through the seminary like an epidemic, attacking in its worst form the most susceptible. owing to my gloomy calvinistic training in the old scotch presbyterian church, and my vivid imagination, i was one of the first victims. we attended all the public services, beside the daily prayer and experience meetings held in the seminary. our studies, for the time, held a subordinate place to the more important duty of saving our souls. to state the idea of conversion and salvation as then understood, one can readily see from our present standpoint that nothing could be more puzzling and harrowing to the young mind. the revival fairly started, the most excitable were soon on the anxious seat. there we learned the total depravity of human nature and the sinner's awful danger of everlasting punishment. this was enlarged upon until the most innocent girl believed herself a monster of iniquity and felt certain of eternal damnation. then god's hatred of sin was emphasized and his irreconcilable position toward the sinner so justified that one felt like a miserable, helpless, forsaken worm of the dust in trying to approach him, even in prayer. having brought you into a condition of profound humility, the only cardinal virtue for one under conviction, in the depths of your despair you were told that it required no herculean effort on your part to be transformed into an angel, to be reconciled to god, to escape endless perdition. the way to salvation was short and simple. we had naught to do but to repent and believe and give our hearts to jesus, who was ever ready to receive them. how to do all this was the puzzling question. talking with dr. finney one day, i said: "i cannot understand what i am to do. if you should tell me to go to the top of the church steeple and jump off, i would readily do it, if thereby i could save my soul; but i do not know how to go to jesus." "repent and believe," said he, "that is all you have to do to be happy here and hereafter." "i am very sorry," i replied, "for all the evil i have done, and i believe all you tell me, and the more sincerely i believe, the more unhappy i am." with the natural reaction from despair to hope many of us imagined ourselves converted, prayed and gave our experiences in the meetings, and at times rejoiced in the thought that we were christians--chosen children of god--rather than sinners and outcasts. but dr. finney's terrible anathemas on the depravity and deceitfulness of the human heart soon shortened our newborn hopes. his appearance in the pulpit on these memorable occasions is indelibly impressed on my mind. i can see him now, his great eyes rolling around the congregation and his arms flying about in the air like those of a windmill. one evening he described hell and the devil and the long procession of sinners being swept down the rapids, about to make the awful plunge into the burning depths of liquid fire below, and the rejoicing hosts in the inferno coming up to meet them with the shouts of the devils echoing through the vaulted arches. he suddenly halted, and, pointing his index finger at the supposed procession, he exclaimed: "there, do you not see them!" i was wrought up to such a pitch that i actually jumped up and gazed in the direction to which he pointed, while the picture glowed before my eyes and remained with me for months afterward. i cannot forbear saying that, although high respect is due to the intellectual, moral, and spiritual gifts of the venerable ex-president of oberlin college, such preaching worked incalculable harm to the very souls he sought to save. fear of the judgment seized my soul. visions of the lost haunted my dreams. mental anguish prostrated my health. dethronement of my reason was apprehended by friends. but he was sincere, so peace to his ashes! returning home, i often at night roused my father from his slumbers to pray for me, lest i should be cast into the bottomless pit before morning. to change the current of my thoughts, a trip was planned to niagara, and it was decided that the subject of religion was to be tabooed altogether. accordingly our party, consisting of my sister, her husband, my father and myself, started in our private carriage, and for six weeks i heard nothing on the subject. about this time gall and spurzheim published their works on phrenology, followed by combe's "constitution of man," his "moral philosophy," and many other liberal works, all so rational and opposed to the old theologies that they produced a profound impression on my brother-in-law's mind. as we had these books with us, reading and discussing by the way, we all became deeply interested in the new ideas. thus, after many months of weary wandering in the intellectual labyrinth of "the fall of man," "original sin," "total depravity," "god's wrath," "satan's triumph," "the crucifixion," "the atonement," and "salvation by faith," i found my way out of the darkness into the clear sunlight of truth. my religious superstitions gave place to rational ideas based on scientific facts, and in proportion, as i looked at everything from a new standpoint, i grew more and more happy, day by day. thus, with a delightful journey in the month of june, an entire change in my course of reading and the current of my thoughts, my mind was restored to its normal condition. i view it as one of the greatest crimes to shadow the minds of the young with these gloomy superstitions; and with fears of the unknown and the unknowable to poison all their joy in life. after the restraints of childhood at home and in school, what a period of irrepressible joy and freedom comes to us in girlhood with the first taste of liberty. then is our individuality in a measure recognized and our feelings and opinions consulted; then we decide where and when we will come and go, what we will eat, drink, wear, and do. to suit one's own fancy in clothes, to buy what one likes, and wear what one chooses is a great privilege to most young people. to go out at pleasure, to walk, to ride, to drive, with no one to say us nay or question our right to liberty, this is indeed like a birth into a new world of happiness and freedom. this is the period, too, when the emotions rule us, and we idealize everything in life; when love and hope make the present an ecstasy and the future bright with anticipation. then comes that dream of bliss that for weeks and months throws a halo of glory round the most ordinary characters in every-day life, holding the strongest and most common-sense young men and women in a thraldom from which few mortals escape. the period when love, in soft silver tones, whispers his first words of adoration, painting our graces and virtues day by day in living colors in poetry and prose, stealthily punctuated ever and anon with a kiss or fond embrace. what dignity it adds to a young girl's estimate of herself when some strong man makes her feel that in her hands rest his future peace and happiness! though these seasons of intoxication may come once to all, yet they are seldom repeated. how often in after life we long for one more such rapturous dream of bliss, one more season of supreme human love and passion! after leaving school, until my marriage, i had the most pleasant years of my girlhood. with frequent visits to a large circle of friends and relatives in various towns and cities, the monotony of home life was sufficiently broken to make our simple country pleasures always delightful and enjoyable. an entirely new life now opened to me. the old bondage of fear of the visible and the invisible was broken and, no longer subject to absolute authority, i rejoiced in the dawn of a new day of freedom in thought and action. my brother-in-law, edward bayard, ten years my senior, was an inestimable blessing to me at this time, especially as my mind was just then opening to the consideration of all the varied problems of life. to me and my sisters he was a companion in all our amusements, a teacher in the higher departments of knowledge, and a counselor in all our youthful trials and disappointments. he was of a metaphysical turn of mind, and in the pursuit of truth was in no way trammeled by popular superstitions. he took nothing for granted and, like socrates, went about asking questions. nothing pleased him more than to get a bevy of bright young girls about him and teach them how to think clearly and reason logically. one great advantage of the years my sisters and myself spent at the troy seminary was the large number of pleasant acquaintances we made there, many of which ripened into lifelong friendships. from time to time many of our classmates visited us, and all alike enjoyed the intellectual fencing in which my brother-in-law drilled them. he discoursed with us on law, philosophy, political economy, history, and poetry, and together we read novels without number. the long winter evenings thus passed pleasantly, mr. bayard alternately talking and reading aloud scott, bulwer, james, cooper, and dickens, whose works were just then coming out in numbers from week to week, always leaving us in suspense at the most critical point of the story. our readings were varied with recitations, music, dancing, and games. as we all enjoyed brisk exercise, even with the thermometer below zero, we took long walks and sleighrides during the day, and thus the winter months glided quickly by, while the glorious summer on those blue hills was a period of unmixed enjoyment. at this season we arose at five in the morning for a long ride on horseback through the beautiful mohawk valley and over the surrounding hills. every road and lane in that region was as familiar to us and our ponies, as were the trees to the squirrels we frightened as we cantered by their favorite resorts. part of the time margaret christie, a young girl of scotch descent, was a member of our family circle. she taught us french, music, and dancing. our days were too short for all we had to do, for our time was not wholly given to pleasure. we were required to keep our rooms in order, mend and make our clothes, and do our own ironing. the latter was one of my mother's politic requirements, to make our laundry lists as short as possible. ironing on hot days in summer was a sore trial to all of us; but miss christie, being of an inventive turn of mind, soon taught us a short way out of it. she folded and smoothed her undergarments with her hands and then sat on them for a specified time. we all followed her example and thus utilized the hours devoted to our french lessons and, while reading "corinne" and "télémaque," in this primitive style we ironed our clothes. but for dresses, collars and cuffs, and pocket handkerchiefs, we were compelled to wield the hot iron, hence with these articles we used all due economy, and my mother's object was thus accomplished. as i had become sufficiently philosophical to talk over my religious experiences calmly with my classmates who had been with me through the finney revival meetings, we all came to the same conclusion--that we had passed through no remarkable change and that we had not been born again, as they say, for we found our tastes and enjoyments the same as ever. my brother-in-law explained to us the nature of the delusion we had all experienced, the physical conditions, the mental processes, the church machinery by which such excitements are worked up, and the impositions to which credulous minds are necessarily subjected. as we had all been through that period of depression and humiliation, and had been oppressed at times with the feeling that all our professions were arrant hypocrisy and that our last state was worse than our first, he helped us to understand these workings of the human mind and reconciled us to the more rational condition in which we now found ourselves. he never grew weary of expounding principles to us and dissipating the fogs and mists that gather over young minds educated in an atmosphere of superstition. we had a constant source of amusement and vexation in the students in my father's office. a succession of them was always coming fresh from college and full of conceit. aching to try their powers of debate on graduates from the troy seminary, they politely questioned all our theories and assertions. however, with my brother-in-law's training in analysis and logic, we were a match for any of them. nothing pleased me better than a long argument with them on woman's equality, which i tried to prove by a diligent study of the books they read and the games they played. i confess that i did not study so much for a love of the truth or my own development, in these days, as to make those young men recognize my equality. i soon noticed that, after losing a few games of chess, my opponent talked less of masculine superiority. sister madge would occasionally rush to the defense with an emphatic "fudge for these laws, all made by men! i'll never obey one of them. and as to the students with their impertinent talk of superiority, all they need is such a shaking up as i gave the most disagreeable one yesterday. i invited him to take a ride on horseback. he accepted promptly, and said he would be most happy to go. accordingly i told peter to saddle the toughest-mouthed, hardest-trotting carriage horse in the stable. mounted on my swift pony, i took a ten-mile canter as fast as i could go, with that superior being at my heels calling, as he found breath, for me to stop, which i did at last and left him in the hands of peter, half dead at his hotel, where he will be laid out, with all his marvelous masculine virtues, for a week at least. now do not waste your arguments on these prigs from union college. take each, in turn, the ten-miles' circuit on 'old boney' and they'll have no breath left to prate of woman's inferiority. you might argue with them all day, and you could not make them feel so small as i made that popinjay feel in one hour. i knew 'old boney' would keep up with me, if he died for it, and that my escort could neither stop nor dismount, except by throwing himself from the saddle." "oh, madge!" i exclaimed; "what will you say when he meets you again?" "if he complains, i will say 'the next time you ride see that you have a curb bit before starting.' surely, a man ought to know what is necessary to manage a horse, and not expect a woman to tell him." our lives were still further varied and intensified by the usual number of flirtations, so called, more or less lasting or evanescent, from all of which i emerged, as from my religious experiences, in a more rational frame of mind. we had been too much in the society of boys and young gentlemen, and knew too well their real character, to idealize the sex in general. in addition to our own observations, we had the advantage of our brother-in-law's wisdom. wishing to save us as long as possible from all matrimonial entanglements, he was continually unveiling those with whom he associated, and so critically portraying their intellectual and moral condition that it was quite impossible, in our most worshipful moods, to make gods of any of the sons of adam. however, in spite of all our own experiences and of all the warning words of wisdom from those who had seen life in its many phases, we entered the charmed circle at last, all but one marrying into the legal profession, with its odious statute laws and infamous decisions. and this, after reading blackstone, kent, and story, and thoroughly understanding the status of the wife under the old common law of england, which was in force at that time in most of the states of the union. chapter iv. life at peterboro. the year, with us, was never considered complete without a visit to peterboro, n.y., the home of gerrit smith. though he was a reformer and was very radical in many of his ideas, yet, being a man of broad sympathies, culture, wealth, and position, he drew around him many friends of the most conservative opinions. he was a man of fine presence, rare physical beauty, most affable and courteous in manner, and his hospitalities were generous to an extreme, and dispensed to all classes of society. every year representatives from the oneida tribe of indians visited him. his father had early purchased of them large tracts of land, and there was a tradition among them that, as an equivalent for the good bargains of the father, they had a right to the son's hospitality, with annual gifts of clothing and provisions. the slaves, too, had heard of gerrit smith, the abolitionist, and of peterboro as one of the safe points _en route_ for canada. his mansion was, in fact, one of the stations on the "underground railroad" for slaves escaping from bondage. hence they, too, felt that they had a right to a place under his protecting roof. on such occasions the barn and the kitchen floor were utilized as chambers for the black man from the southern plantation and the red man from his home in the forest. the spacious home was always enlivened with choice society from every part of the country. there one would meet members of the families of the old dutch aristocracy, the van rensselaers, the van vechtens, the schuylers, the livingstons, the bleeckers, the brinkerhoffs, the ten eycks, the millers, the seymours, the cochranes, the biddles, the barclays, the wendells, and many others. as the lady of the house, ann carroll fitzhugh, was the daughter of a wealthy slaveholder of maryland, many agreeable southerners were often among the guests. our immediate family relatives were well represented by general john cochrane and his sisters, general baird and his wife from west point, the fitzhughs from oswego and geneseo, the backuses and tallmans from rochester, and the swifts from geneva. here one was sure to meet scholars, philosophers, philanthropists, judges, bishops, clergymen, and statesmen. judge alfred conkling, the father of roscoe conkling, was, in his late years, frequently seen at peterboro. tall and stately, after all life's troubled scenes, financial losses and domestic sorrows, he used to say there was no spot on earth that seemed so like his idea of paradise. the proud, reserved judge was unaccustomed to manifestations of affection and tender interest in his behalf, and when gerrit, taking him by both hands would, in his softest tones say, "good-morning," and inquire how he had slept and what he would like to do that day, and nancy would greet him with equal warmth and pin a little bunch of roses in his buttonhole, i have seen the tears in his eyes. their warm sympathies and sweet simplicity of manner melted the sternest natures and made the most reserved amiable. there never was such an atmosphere of love and peace, of freedom and good cheer, in any other home i visited. and this was the universal testimony of those who were guests at peterboro. to go anywhere else, after a visit there, was like coming down from the divine heights into the valley of humiliation. how changed from the early days when, as strict presbyterians, they believed in all the doctrines of calvin! then, an indefinite gloom pervaded their home. their consciences were diseased. they attached such undue importance to forms that they went through three kinds of baptism. at one time nancy would read nothing but the bible, sing nothing but hymns, and play only sacred music. she felt guilty if she talked on any subject except religion. she was, in all respects, a fitting mate for her attractive husband. exquisitely refined in feeling and manner, beautiful in face and form, earnest and sincere, she sympathized with him in all his ideas of religion and reform. together they passed through every stage of theological experience, from the uncertain ground of superstition and speculation to the solid foundation of science and reason. the position of the church in the anti-slavery conflict, opening as it did all questions of ecclesiastical authority, bible interpretation, and church discipline, awakened them to new thought and broader views on religious subjects, and eventually emancipated them entirely from the old dogmas and formalities of their faith, and lifted them into the cheerful atmosphere in which they passed the remainder of their lives. their only daughter, elizabeth, added greatly to the attractions of the home circle, as she drew many young people round her. beside her personal charm she was the heiress of a vast estate and had many admirers. the favored one was charles dudley miller of utica, nephew of mrs. blandina bleecker dudley, founder of the albany observatory. at the close of his college life mr. miller had not only mastered the languages, mathematics, rhetoric, and logic, but had learned the secret windings of the human heart. he understood the art of pleasing. these were the times when the anti-slavery question was up for hot discussion. in all the neighboring towns conventions were held in which james g. birney, a southern gentleman who had emancipated his slaves, charles stuart of scotland, and george thompson of england, garrison, phillips, may, beriah greene, foster, abby kelly, lucretia mott, douglass, and others took part. here, too, john brown, sanborn, morton, and frederick douglass met to talk over that fatal movement on harper's ferry. on the question of temperance, also, the people were in a ferment. dr. cheever's pamphlet, "deacon giles' distillery," was scattered far and wide, and, as he was sued for libel, the question was discussed in the courts as well as at every fireside. then came the father matthew and washingtonian movements, and the position of the church on these questions intensified and embittered the conflict. this brought the cheevers, the pierponts, the delevans, the nortons, and their charming wives to peterboro. it was with such company and varied discussions on every possible phase of political, religious, and social life that i spent weeks every year. gerrit smith was cool and calm in debate, and, as he was armed at all points on these subjects, he could afford to be patient and fair with an opponent, whether on the platform or at the fireside. these rousing arguments at peterboro made social life seem tame and profitless elsewhere, and the youngest of us felt that the conclusions reached in this school of philosophy were not to be questioned. the sisters of general cochrane, in disputes with their dutch cousins in schenectady and albany, would end all controversy by saying, "this question was fully discussed at peterboro, and settled." the youngsters frequently put the lessons of freedom and individual rights they heard so much of into practice, and relieved their brains from the constant strain of argument on first principles, by the wildest hilarity in dancing, all kinds of games, and practical jokes carried beyond all bounds of propriety. these romps generally took place at mr. miller's. he used to say facetiously, that they talked a good deal about liberty over the way, but he kept the goddess under his roof. one memorable occasion in which our enthusiasm was kept at white heat for two hours i must try to describe, though words cannot do it justice, as it was pre-eminently a spectacular performance. the imagination even cannot do justice to the limp, woe-begone appearance of the actors in the closing scene. these romps were conducted on a purely democratic basis, without regard to color, sex, or previous condition of servitude. it was rather a cold day in the month of march, when "cousin charley," as we called mr. miller, was superintending some men who were laying a plank walk in the rear of his premises. some half dozen of us were invited to an early tea at good deacon huntington's. immediately after dinner, miss fitzhugh and miss van schaack decided to take a nap, that they might appear as brilliant as possible during the evening. that they might not be late, as they invariably were, cousin lizzie and i decided to rouse them in good season with a generous sprinkling of cold water. in vain they struggled to keep the blankets around them; with equal force we pulled them away, and, whenever a stray finger or toe appeared, we brought fresh batteries to bear, until they saw that passive resistance must give place to active hostility. we were armed with two watering pots. they armed themselves with two large-sized syringes used for showering potato bugs. with these weapons they gave us chase downstairs. we ran into a closet and held the door shut. they quietly waited our forthcoming. as soon as we opened the door to peep out, miss fitzhugh, who was large and strong, pulled it wide open and showered us with a vengeance. then they fled into a large pantry where stood several pans of milk. at this stage cousin charley, hearing the rumpus, came to our assistance. he locked them in the pantry and returned to his work, whereupon they opened the window and showered him with milk, while he, in turn, pelted them with wet clothes, soaking in tubs near by. as they were thinly clad, wet to the skin, and the cold march wind blew round them (we were all in fatigue costume in starting) they implored us to let them out, which we did, and, in return for our kindness, they gave us a broadside of milk in our faces. cousin lizzie and i fled to the dark closet, where they locked us in. after long, weary waiting they came to offer us terms of capitulation. lizzie agreed to fill their guns with milk, and give them our watering pots full of water, and i agreed to call cousin charley under my window until they emptied the contents of guns and pots on his head. my room was on the first floor, and miss fitzhugh's immediately overhead. on these terms we accepted our freedom. accordingly, i gently raised the window and called charley confidentially within whispering distance, when down came a shower of water. as he stepped back to look up and see whence it came, and who made the attack, a stream of milk hit him on the forehead, his heels struck a plank, and he fell backward, to all appearance knocked down with a stream of milk. his humiliation was received with shouts of derisive laughter, and even the carpenters at work laid down their hammers and joined in the chorus; but his revenge was swift and capped the climax. cold and wet as we all were, and completely tired out, we commenced to disrobe and get ready for the tea party. unfortunately i had forgotten to lock my door, and in walked cousin charley with a quart bottle of liquid blacking, which he prepared to empty on my devoted head. i begged so eloquently and trembled so at the idea of being dyed black, that he said he would let me off on one condition, and that was to get him, by some means, into miss fitzhugh's room. so i ran screaming up the stairs, as if hotly pursued by the enemy, and begged her to let me in. she cautiously opened the door, but when she saw charley behind me she tried to force it shut. however, he was too quick for her. he had one leg and arm in; but, at that stage of her toilet, to let him in was impossible, and there they stood, equally strong, firmly braced, she on one side of the door and he on the other. but the blacking he was determined she should have; so, gauging her probable position, with one desperate effort he squeezed in a little farther and, raising the bottle, he poured the contents on her head. the blacking went streaming down over her face, white robe, and person, and left her looking more like a bronze fury than one of eve's most charming daughters. a yard or more of the carpet was ruined, the wallpaper and bedclothes spattered, and the poor victim was unfit to be seen for a week at least. charley had a good excuse for his extreme measures, for, as we all by turn played our tricks on him, it was necessary to keep us in some fear of punishment. this was but one of the many outrageous pranks we perpetrated on each other. to see us a few hours later, all absorbed in an anti-slavery or temperance convention, or dressed in our best, in high discourse with the philosophers, one would never think we could have been guilty of such consummate follies. it was, however, but the natural reaction from the general serious trend of our thoughts. it was in peterboro, too, that i first met one who was then considered the most eloquent and impassioned orator on the anti-slavery platform, henry b. stanton. he had come over from utica with alvin stewart's beautiful daughter, to whom report said he was engaged; but, as she soon after married luther r. marsh, there was a mistake somewhere. however, the rumor had its advantages. regarding him as not in the matrimonial market, we were all much more free and easy in our manners with him than we would otherwise have been. a series of anti-slavery conventions was being held in madison county, and there i had the pleasure of hearing him for the first time. as i had a passion for oratory, i was deeply impressed with his power. he was not so smooth and eloquent as phillips, but he could make his audience both laugh and cry; the latter, phillips himself said he never could do. mr. stanton was then in his prime, a fine-looking, affable young man, with remarkable conversational talent, and was ten years my senior, with the advantage that number of years necessarily gives. two carriage-loads of ladies and gentlemen drove off every morning, sometimes ten miles, to one of these conventions, returning late at night. i shall never forget those charming drives over the hills in madison county, the bright autumnal days, and the bewitching moonlight nights. the enthusiasm of the people in these great meetings, the thrilling oratory, and lucid arguments of the speakers, all conspired to make these days memorable as among the most charming in my life. it seemed to me that i never had so much happiness crowded into one short month. i had become interested in the anti-slavery and temperance questions, and was deeply impressed with the appeals and arguments. i felt a new inspiration in life and was enthused with new ideas of individual rights and the basic principles of government, for the anti-slavery platform was the best school the american people ever had on which to learn republican principles and ethics. these conventions and the discussions at my cousin's fireside i count among the great blessings of my life. one morning, as we came out from breakfast, mr. stanton joined me on the piazza, where i was walking up and down enjoying the balmy air and the beauty of the foliage. "as we have no conventions," said he, "on hand, what do you say to a ride on horseback this morning?" i readily accepted the suggestion, ordered the horses, put on my habit, and away we went. the roads were fine and we took a long ride. as we were returning home we stopped often to admire the scenery and, perchance, each other. when walking slowly through a beautiful grove, he laid his hand on the horn of the saddle and, to my surprise, made one of those charming revelations of human feeling which brave knights have always found eloquent words to utter, and to which fair ladies have always listened with mingled emotions of pleasure and astonishment. one outcome of those glorious days of october, , was a marriage, in johnstown, the th day of may, , and a voyage to the old world. six weeks of that charming autumn, ending in the indian summer with its peculiarly hazy atmosphere, i lingered in peterboro. it seems in retrospect like a beautiful dream. a succession of guests was constantly coming and going, and i still remember the daily drives over those grand old hills crowned with trees now gorgeous in rich colors, the more charming because we knew the time was short before the cold winds of november would change all. the early setting sun warned us that the shortening days must soon end our twilight drives, and the moonlight nights were too chilly to linger long in the rustic arbors or shady nooks outside. with the peculiar charm of this season of the year there is always a touch of sadness in nature, and it seemed doubly so to me, as my engagement was not one of unmixed joy and satisfaction. among all conservative families there was a strong aversion to abolitionists and the whole anti-slavery movement. alone with cousin gerrit in his library he warned me, in deep, solemn tones, while strongly eulogizing my lover, that my father would never consent to my marriage with an abolitionist. he felt in duty bound, as my engagement had occurred under his roof, to free himself from all responsibility by giving me a long dissertation on love, friendship, marriage, and all the pitfalls for the unwary, who, without due consideration, formed matrimonial relations. the general principles laid down in this interview did not strike my youthful mind so forcibly as the suggestion that it was better to announce my engagement by letter than to wait until i returned home, as thus i might draw the hottest fire while still in safe harbor, where cousin gerrit could help me defend the weak points in my position. so i lingered at peterboro to prolong the dream of happiness and postpone the conflict i feared to meet. but the judge understood the advantage of our position as well as we did, and wasted no ammunition on us. being even more indignant at my cousin than at me, he quietly waited until i returned home, when i passed through the ordeal of another interview, with another dissertation on domestic relations from a financial standpoint. these were two of the most bewildering interviews i ever had. they succeeded in making me feel that the step i proposed to take was the most momentous and far-reaching in its consequences of any in this mortal life. heretofore my apprehensions had all been of death and eternity; now life itself was filled with fears and anxiety as to the possibilities of the future. thus these two noble men, who would have done anything for my happiness, actually overweighted my conscience and turned the sweetest dream of my life into a tragedy. how little strong men, with their logic, sophistry, and hypothetical examples, appreciate the violence they inflict on the tender sensibilities of a woman's heart, in trying to subjugate her to their will! the love of protecting too often degenerates into downright tyranny. fortunately all these sombre pictures of a possible future were thrown into the background by the tender missives every post brought me, in which the brilliant word-painting of one of the most eloquent pens of this generation made the future for us both, as bright and beautiful as spring with her verdure and blossoms of promise. however, many things were always transpiring at peterboro to turn one's thoughts and rouse new interest in humanity at large. one day, as a bevy of us girls were singing and chattering in the parlor, cousin gerrit entered and, in mysterious tones, said: "i have a most important secret to tell you, which you must keep to yourselves religiously for twenty-four hours." we readily pledged ourselves in the most solemn manner, individually and collectively. "now," said he, "follow me to the third story." this we did, wondering what the secret could be. at last, opening a door, he ushered us into a large room, in the center of which sat a beautiful quadroon girl, about eighteen years of age. addressing her, he said: "harriet, i have brought all my young cousins to see you. i want you to make good abolitionists of them by telling them the history of your life--what you have seen and suffered in slavery." turning to us he said: "harriet has just escaped from her master, who is visiting in syracuse, and is on her way to canada. she will start this evening and you may never have another opportunity of seeing a slave girl face to face, so ask her all you care to know of the system of slavery." for two hours we listened to the sad story of her childhood and youth, separated from all her family and sold for her beauty in a new orleans market when but fourteen years of age. the details of her story i need not repeat. the fate of such girls is too well known to need rehearsal. we all wept together as she talked, and, when cousin gerrit returned to summon us away, we needed no further education to make us earnest abolitionists. dressed as a quakeress, harriet started at twilight with one of mr. smith's faithful clerks in a carriage for oswego, there to cross the lake to canada. the next day her master and the marshals from syracuse were on her track in peterboro, and traced her to mr. smith's premises. he was quite gracious in receiving them, and, while assuring them that there was no slave there, he said that they were at liberty to make a thorough search of the house and grounds. he invited them to stay and dine and kept them talking as long as possible, as every hour helped harriet to get beyond their reach; for, although she had eighteen hours the start of them, yet we feared some accident might have delayed her. the master was evidently a gentleman, for, on mr. smith's assurance that harriet was not there, he made no search, feeling that they could not do so without appearing to doubt his word. he was evidently surprised to find an abolitionist so courteous and affable, and it was interesting to hear them in conversation, at dinner, calmly discussing the problem of slavery, while public sentiment was at white heat on the question. they shook hands warmly at parting and expressed an equal interest in the final adjustment of that national difficulty. in due time the clerk returned with the good news that harriet was safe with friends in a good situation in canada. mr. smith then published an open letter to the master in the new york _tribune_, saying "that he would no doubt rejoice to know that his slave harriet, in whose fate he felt so deep an interest, was now a free woman, safe under the shadow of the british throne. i had the honor of entertaining her under my roof, sending her in my carriage to lake ontario, just eighteen hours before your arrival: hence my willingness to have you search my premises." like the varied combinations of the kaleidoscope, the scenes in our social life at peterboro were continually changing from grave to gay. some years later we had a most hilarious occasion at the marriage of mary cochrane, sister of general john cochrane, to chapman biddle, of philadelphia. the festivities, which were kept up for three days, involved most elaborate preparations for breakfasts, dinners, etc., there being no delmonico's in that remote part of the country. it was decided in family council that we had sufficient culinary talent under the roof to prepare the entire _menu_ of substantials and delicacies, from soup and salmon to cakes and creams. so, gifted ladies and gentlemen were impressed into the service. the fitzhughs all had a natural talent for cooking, and chief among them was isabella, wife of a naval officer,--lieutenant swift of geneva,--who had made a profound study of all the authorities from archestratus, a poet in syracuse, the most famous cook among the greeks, down to our own miss leslie. accordingly she was elected manager of the occasion, and to each one was assigned the specialty in which she claimed to excel. those who had no specialty were assistants to those who had. in this humble office--"assistant at large"--i labored throughout. cooking is a high art. a wise egyptian said, long ago: "the degree of taste and skill manifested by a nation in the preparation of food may be regarded as to a very considerable extent proportioned to its culture and refinement." in early times men, only, were deemed capable of handling fire, whether at the altar or the hearthstone. we read in the scriptures that abraham prepared cakes of fine meal and a calf tender and good, which, with butter and milk, he set before the three angels in the plains of mamre. we are told, too, of the chief butler and chief baker as officers in the household of king pharaoh. i would like to call the attention of my readers to the dignity of this profession, which some young women affect to despise. the fact that angels eat, shows that we may be called upon in the next sphere to cook even for cherubim and seraphim. how important, then, to cultivate one's gifts in that direction! with such facts before us, we stirred and pounded, whipped and ground, coaxed the delicate meats from crabs and lobsters and the succulent peas from the pods, and grated corn and cocoanut with the same cheerfulness and devotion that we played mendelssohn's "songs without words" on the piano, the spanish fandango on our guitars, or danced the minuet, polka, lancers, or virginia reel. during the day of the wedding, every stage coach was crowded with guests from the north, south, east, and west, and, as the twilight deepened, carriages began to roll in with neighbors and friends living at short distances, until the house and grounds were full. a son of bishop coxe, who married the tall and stately sister of roscoe conkling, performed the ceremony. the beautiful young bride was given away by her uncle gerrit. the congratulations, the feast, and all went off with fitting decorum in the usual way. the best proof of the excellence of our viands was that they were all speedily swept from mortal view, and every housewife wanted a recipe for something. as the grand dinner was to come off the next day, our thoughts now turned in that direction. the responsibility rested heavily on the heads of the chief actors, and they reported troubled dreams and unduly early rising. dear belle swift was up in season and her white soup stood serenely in a tin pan, on an upper shelf, before the town clock struck seven. if it had not taken that position so early, it might have been incorporated with higher forms of life than that into which it eventually fell. another artist was also on the wing early, and in pursuit of a tin pan in which to hide her precious compound, she unwittingly seized this one, and the rich white soup rolled down her raven locks like the oil on aaron's beard, and enveloped her in a veil of filmy whiteness. i heard the splash and the exclamation of surprise and entered the butler's pantry just in time to see the heiress of the smith estate standing like a statue, tin pan in hand, soup in her curls, her eyebrows and eyelashes,--collar, cuffs, and morning dress saturated,--and belle, at a little distance, looking at her and the soup on the floor with surprise and disgust depicted on every feature. the tableau was inexpressibly comical, and i could not help laughing outright; whereupon belle turned on me, and, with indignant tones, said, "if you had been up since four o'clock making that soup you would not stand there like a laughing monkey, without the least feeling of pity!" poor lizzie was very sorry, and would have shed tears, but they could not penetrate that film of soup. i tried to apologize, but could only laugh the more when i saw belle crying and lizzie standing as if hoping that the soup might be scraped off her and gathered from the floor and made to do duty on the occasion. after breakfast, ladies and gentlemen, alike in white aprons, crowded into the dining room and kitchen, each to perform the allotted task. george biddle of philadelphia and john b. miller of utica, in holiday spirits, were irrepressible--everywhere at the same moment, helping or hindering as the case might be. dear belle, having only partially recovered from the white-soup catastrophe, called mr. biddle to hold the ice-cream freezer while she poured in the luscious compound she had just prepared. he held it up without resting it on anything, while belle slowly poured in the cream. as the freezer had no indentations round the top or rim to brace the thumbs and fingers, when it grew suddenly heavier his hands slipped and down went the whole thing, spattering poor belle and spoiling a beautiful pair of gaiters in which, as she had very pretty feet, she took a laudable pride. in another corner sat wealthea backus, grating some cocoanut. while struggling in that operation, john miller, feeling hilarious, was annoying her in divers ways; at length she drew the grater across his nose, gently, as she intended, but alas! she took the skin off, and john's beauty, for the remainder of the festivities, was marred with a black patch on that prominent feature. one can readily imagine the fun that must have transpired where so many amateur cooks were at work round one table, with all manner of culinary tools and ingredients. as assistant-at-large i was summoned to the cellar, where mrs. cornelia barclay of new york was evolving from a pan of flour and water that miracle in the pie department called puff paste. this, it seems, can only be accomplished where the thermometer is below forty, and near a refrigerator where the compound can be kept cold until ready to be popped into the oven. no jokes or nonsense here. with queenly dignity the flour and water were gently compressed. here one hand must not know what the other doeth. bits of butter must be so deftly introduced that even the rolling pin may be unconscious of its work. as the artist gave the last touch to an exquisite lemon pie, with a mingled expression of pride and satisfaction on her classic features, she ordered me to bear it to the oven. in the transit i met madam belle. "don't let that fall," she said sneeringly. fortunately i did not, and returned in triumph to transport another. i was then summoned to a consultation with the committee on toasts, consisting of james cochrane, john miller, and myself. mr. miller had one for each guest already written, all of which we accepted and pronounced very good. strange to say, a most excellent dinner emerged from all this uproar and confusion. the table, with its silver, china, flowers, and rich viands, the guests in satins, velvets, jewels, soft laces, and bright cravats, together reflecting all the colors of the prism, looked as beautiful as the rainbow after a thunderstorm. twenty years ago i made my last sad visit to that spot so rich with pleasant memories of bygone days. a few relatives and family friends gathered there to pay the last tokens of respect to our noble cousin. it was on one of the coldest days of gray december that we laid him in the frozen earth, to be seen no more. he died from a stroke of apoplexy in new york city, at the home of his niece, mrs. ellen cochrane walter, whose mother was mr. smith's only sister. the journey from new york to peterboro was cold and dreary, and climbing the hills from canastota in an open sleigh, nine hundred feet above the valley, with the thermometer below zero, before sunrise, made all nature look as sombre as the sad errand on which we came. outside the mansion everything in its wintry garb was cold and still, and all within was silent as the grave. the central figure, the light and joy of that home, had vanished forever. he who had welcomed us on that threshold for half a century would welcome us no more. we did what we could to dissipate the gloom that settled on us all. we did not intensify our grief by darkening the house and covering ourselves with black crape, but wore our accustomed dresses of chastened colors and opened all the blinds that the glad sunshine might stream in. we hung the apartment where the casket stood with wreaths of evergreens, and overhead we wove his favorite mottoes in living letters, "equal rights for all!" "rescue cuba now!" the religious services were short and simple; the unitarian clergyman from syracuse made a few remarks, the children from the orphan asylum, in which he was deeply interested, sang an appropriate hymn, and around the grave stood representatives of the biddles, the dixwells, the sedgwicks, the barclays, and stantons, and three generations of his immediate family. with a few appropriate words from general john cochrane we left our beloved kinsman alone in his last resting place. two months later, on his birthday, his wife, ann carroll fitzhugh, passed away and was laid by his side. theirs was a remarkably happy union of over half a century, and they were soon reunited in the life eternal. chapter v. our wedding journey. my engagement was a season of doubt and conflict--doubt as to the wisdom of changing a girlhood of freedom and enjoyment for i knew not what, and conflict because the step i proposed was in opposition to the wishes of all my family. whereas, heretofore, friends were continually suggesting suitable matches for me and painting the marriage relation in the most dazzling colors, now that state was represented as beset with dangers and disappointments, and men, of all god's creatures as the most depraved and unreliable. hard pressed, i broke my engagement, after months of anxiety and bewilderment; suddenly i decided to renew it, as mr. stanton was going to europe as a delegate to the world's anti-slavery convention, and we did not wish the ocean to roll between us. thursday, may , , i determined to take the fateful step, without the slightest preparation for a wedding or a voyage; but mr. stanton, coming up the north river, was detained on "marcy's overslaugh," a bar in the river where boats were frequently stranded for hours. this delay compelled us to be married on friday, which is commonly supposed to be a most unlucky day. but as we lived together, without more than the usual matrimonial friction, for nearly a half a century, had seven children, all but one of whom are still living, and have been well sheltered, clothed, and fed, enjoying sound minds in sound bodies, no one need be afraid of going through the marriage ceremony on friday for fear of bad luck. the scotch clergyman who married us, being somewhat superstitious, begged us to postpone it until saturday; but, as we were to sail early in the coming week, that was impossible. that point settled, the next difficulty was to persuade him to leave out the word "obey" in the marriage ceremony. as i obstinately refused to obey one with whom i supposed i was entering into an equal relation, that point, too, was conceded. a few friends were invited to be present and, in a simple white evening dress, i was married. but the good priest avenged himself for the points he conceded, by keeping us on the rack with a long prayer and dissertation on the sacred institution for one mortal hour. the rev. hugh maire was a little stout fellow, vehement in manner and speech, who danced about the floor, as he laid down the law, in the most original and comical manner. as mr. stanton had never seen him before, the hour to him was one of constant struggle to maintain his equilibrium. i had sat under his ministrations for several years, and was accustomed to his rhetoric, accent, and gestures, and thus was able to go through the ordeal in a calmer state of mind. sister madge, who had stood by me bravely through all my doubts and anxieties, went with us to new york and saw us on board the vessel. my sister harriet and her husband, daniel c. eaton, a merchant in new york city, were also there. he and i had had for years a standing game of "tag" at all our partings, and he had vowed to send me "tagged" to europe. i was equally determined that he should not. accordingly, i had a desperate chase after him all over the vessel, but in vain. he had the last "tag" and escaped. as i was compelled, under the circumstances, to conduct the pursuit with some degree of decorum, and he had the advantage of height, long limbs, and freedom from skirts, i really stood no chance whatever. however, as the chase kept us all laughing, it helped to soften the bitterness of parting. [illustration: h.b. stanton] [illustration: mrs. stanton and daughter, .] fairly at sea, i closed another chapter of my life, and my thoughts turned to what lay in the near future. james g. birney, the anti-slavery nominee for the presidency of the united states, joined us in new york, and was a fellow-passenger on the montreal for england. he and my husband were delegates to the world's anti-slavery convention, and both interested themselves in my anti-slavery education. they gave me books to read, and, as we paced the deck day by day, the question was the chief theme of our conversation. mr. birney was a polished gentleman of the old school, and was excessively proper and punctilious in manner and conversation. i soon perceived that he thought i needed considerable toning down before reaching england. i was quick to see and understand that his criticisms of others in a general way and the drift of his discourses on manners and conversation had a nearer application than he intended i should discover, though he hoped i would profit by them. i was always grateful to anyone who took an interest in my improvement, so i laughingly told him, one day, that he need not make his criticisms any longer in that roundabout way, but might take me squarely in hand and polish me up as speedily as possible. sitting in the saloon at night after a game of chess, in which, perchance, i had been the victor, i felt complacent and would sometimes say: "well, what have i said or done to-day open to criticism?" so, in the most gracious manner, he replied on one occasion: "you went to the masthead in a chair, which i think very unladylike. i heard you call your husband 'henry' in the presence of strangers, which is not permissible in polite society. you should always say 'mr. stanton.' you have taken three moves back in this game." "bless me!" i replied, "what a catalogue in one day! i fear my mentor will despair of my ultimate perfection." "i should have more hope," he replied, "if you seemed to feel my rebukes more deeply, but you evidently think them of too little consequence to be much disturbed by them." as he found even more fault with my husband, we condoled with each other and decided that our friend was rather hypercritical and that we were as nearly perfect as mortals need be for the wear and tear of ordinary life. being both endowed with a good degree of self-esteem, neither the praise nor the blame of mankind was overpowering to either of us. as the voyage lasted eighteen days--for we were on a sailing vessel--we had time to make some improvement, or, at least, to consider all friendly suggestions. at this time mr. birney was very much in love with miss fitzhugh of geneseo, to whom he was afterward married. he suffered at times great depression of spirits, but i could always rouse him to a sunny mood by introducing her name. that was a theme of which he never grew weary, and, while praising her, a halo of glory was to him visible around my head and i was faultless for the time being. there was nothing in our fellow-passengers to break the monotony of the voyage. they were all stolid, middle-class english people, returning from various parts of the world to visit their native land. when out of their hearing, mr. birney used to ridicule them without mercy; so, one day, by way of making a point, i said with great solemnity, "is it good breeding to make fun of the foibles of our fellow-men, who have not had our advantages of culture and education?" he felt the rebuke and blushed, and never again returned to that subject. i am sorry to say i was glad to find him once in fault. though some amusement, in whatever extraordinary way i could obtain it, was necessary to my existence, yet, as it was deemed important that i should thoroughly understand the status of the anti-slavery movement in my own country, i spent most of my time reading and talking on that question. being the wife of a delegate to the world's convention, we all felt it important that i should be able to answer whatever questions i might be asked in england on all phases of the slavery question. the captain, a jolly fellow, was always ready to second me in my explorations into every nook and cranny of the vessel. he imagined that my reading was distasteful and enforced by the older gentlemen, so he was continually planning some diversion, and often invited me to sit with him and listen to his experiences of a sailor's life. but all things must end in this mortal life, and our voyage was near its termination, when we were becalmed on the southern coast of england and could not make more than one knot an hour. when within sight of the distant shore, a pilot boat came along and offered to take anyone ashore in six hours. i was so delighted at the thought of reaching land that, after much persuasion, mr. stanton and mr. birney consented to go. accordingly we were lowered into the boat in an armchair, with a luncheon consisting of a cold chicken, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine, with just enough wind to carry our light craft toward our destination. but, instead of six hours, we were all day trying to reach the land, and, as the twilight deepened and the last breeze died away, the pilot said: "we are now two miles from shore, but the only way you can reach there to-night is by a rowboat." as we had no provisions left and nowhere to sleep, we were glad to avail ourselves of the rowboat. it was a bright moonlight night, the air balmy, the waters smooth, and, with two stout oarsmen, we glided swiftly along. as mr. birney made the last descent and seated himself, doubtful as to our reaching shore, turning to me he said: "the woman tempted me and i did leave the good ship." however, we did reach the shore at midnight and landed at torquay, one of the loveliest spots in that country, and our journey to exeter the next day lay through the most beautiful scenery in england. as we had no luggage with us, our detention by customs officers was brief, and we were soon conducted to a comfortable little hotel, which we found in the morning was a bower of roses. i had never imagined anything so beautiful as the drive up to exeter on the top of a coach, with four stout horses, trotting at the rate of ten miles an hour. it was the first day of june, and the country was in all its glory. the foliage was of the softest green, the trees were covered with blossoms, and the shrubs with flowers. the roads were perfect; the large, fine-looking coachman, with his white gloves and reins, his rosy face and lofty bearing and the postman in red, blowing his horn as we passed through every village, made the drive seem like a journey in fairyland. we had heard that england was like a garden of flowers, but we were wholly unprepared for such wealth of beauty. in exeter we had our first view of one of the great cathedrals in the old world, and we were all deeply impressed with its grandeur. it was just at the twilight hour, when the last rays of the setting sun, streaming through the stained glass windows, deepened the shadows and threw a mysterious amber light over all. as the choir was practicing, the whole effect was heightened by the deep tones of the organ reverberating through the arched roof, and the sound of human voices as if vainly trying to fill the vast space above. the novelty and solemnity of the surroundings roused all our religious emotions and thrilled every nerve in our being. as if moved by the same impulse to linger there a while, we all sat down, silently waiting for something to break the spell that bound us. can one wonder at the power of the catholic religion for centuries, with such accessories to stimulate the imagination to a blind worship of the unknown? sitting in the hotel that evening and wanting something to read, we asked the waiter for the daily papers. as there was no public table or drawing room for guests, but each party had its own apartment, we needed a little change from the society of each other. having been, as it were, shut from the outside world for eighteen days, we had some curiosity to see whether our planet was still revolving from west to east. at the mention of papers in the plural number, the attendant gave us a look of surprise, and said he would get "it." he returned saying that the gentleman in no. had "it," but he would be through in fifteen minutes. accordingly, at the end of that time, he brought the newspaper, and, after we had had it the same length of time, he came to take it to another party. at our lodging house in london, a paper was left for half an hour each morning, and then it was taken to the next house, thus serving several families of readers. the next day brought us to london. when i first entered our lodging house in queen street, i thought it the gloomiest abode i had ever seen. the arrival of a delegation of ladies, the next day, from boston and philadelphia, changed the atmosphere of the establishment, and filled me with delightful anticipations of some new and charming acquaintances, which i fully realized in meeting emily winslow, abby southwick, elizabeth neal, mary grew, abby kimber, sarah pugh, and lucretia mott. there had been a split in the american anti-slavery ranks, and delegates came from both branches, and, as they were equally represented at our lodgings, i became familiar with the whole controversy. the potent element which caused the division was the woman question, and as the garrisonian branch maintained the right of women to speak and vote in the conventions, all my sympathies were with the garrisonians, though mr. stanton and mr. birney belonged to the other branch, called political abolitionists. to me there was no question so important as the emancipation of women from the dogmas of the past, political, religious, and social. it struck me as very remarkable that abolitionists, who felt so keenly the wrongs of the slave, should be so oblivious to the equal wrongs of their own mothers, wives, and sisters, when, according to the common law, both classes occupied a similar legal status. our chief object in visiting england at this time was to attend the world's anti-slavery convention, to meet june , , in freemasons' hall, london. delegates from all the anti-slavery societies of civilized nations were invited, yet, when they arrived, those representing associations of women were rejected. though women were members of the national anti-slavery society, accustomed to speak and vote in all its conventions, and to take an equally active part with men in the whole anti-slavery struggle, and were there as delegates from associations of men and women, as well as those distinctively of their own sex, yet all alike were rejected because they were women. women, according to english prejudices at that time, were excluded by scriptural texts from sharing equal dignity and authority with men in all reform associations; hence it was to english minds pre-eminently unfitting that women should be admitted as equal members to a world's convention. the question was hotly debated through an entire day. my husband made a very eloquent speech in favor of admitting the women delegates. when we consider that lady byron, anna jameson, mary howitt, mrs. hugo reid, elizabeth fry, amelia opie, ann green phillips, lucretia mott, and many remarkable women, speakers and leaders in the society of friends, were all compelled to listen in silence to the masculine platitudes on woman's sphere, one may form some idea of the indignation of unprejudiced friends, and especially that of such women as lydia maria child, maria chapman, deborah weston, angelina and sarah grimké, and abby kelly, who were impatiently waiting and watching on this side, in painful suspense, to hear how their delegates were received. judging from my own feelings, the women on both sides of the atlantic must have been humiliated and chagrined, except as these feelings were outweighed by contempt for the shallow reasoning of their opponents and their comical pose and gestures in some of the intensely earnest flights of their imagination. the clerical portion of the convention was most violent in its opposition. the clergymen seemed to have god and his angels especially in their care and keeping, and were in agony lest the women should do or say something to shock the heavenly hosts. their all-sustaining conceit gave them abundant assurance that their movements must necessarily be all-pleasing to the celestials whose ears were open to the proceedings of the world's convention. deborah, huldah, vashti, and esther might have questioned the propriety of calling it a world's convention, when only half of humanity was represented there; but what were their opinions worth compared with those of the rev. a. harvey, the rev. c. stout, or the rev. j. burnet, who, bible in hand, argued woman's subjection, divinely decreed when eve was created. one of our champions in the convention, george bradburn, a tall thick-set man with a voice like thunder, standing head and shoulders above the clerical representatives, swept all their arguments aside by declaring with tremendous emphasis that, if they could prove to him that the bible taught the entire subjection of one-half of the race to the other, he should consider that the best thing he could do for humanity would be to bring together every bible in the universe and make a grand bonfire of them. it was really pitiful to hear narrow-minded bigots, pretending to be teachers and leaders of men, so cruelly remanding their own mothers, with the rest of womankind, to absolute subjection to the ordinary masculine type of humanity. i always regretted that the women themselves had not taken part in the debate before the convention was fully organized and the question of delegates settled. it seemed to me then, and does now, that all delegates with credentials from recognized societies should have had a voice in the organization of the convention, though subject to exclusion afterward. however, the women sat in a low curtained seat like a church choir, and modestly listened to the french, british, and american solons for twelve of the longest days in june, as did, also, our grand garrison and rogers in the gallery. they scorned a convention that ignored the rights of the very women who had fought, side by side, with them in the anti-slavery conflict. "after battling so many long years," said garrison, "for the liberties of african slaves, i can take no part in a convention that strikes down the most sacred rights of all women." after coming three thousand miles to speak on the subject nearest his heart, he nobly shared the enforced silence of the rejected delegates. it was a great act of self-sacrifice that should never be forgotten by women. thomas clarkson was chosen president of the convention and made a few remarks in opening, but he soon retired, as his age and many infirmities made all public occasions too burdensome, and joseph sturge, a quaker, was made chairman. sitting next to mrs. mott, i said: "as there is a quaker in the chair now, what could he do if the spirit should move you to speak?" "ah," she replied, evidently not believing such a contingency possible, "where the spirit of the lord is, there is liberty." she had not much faith in the sincerity of abolitionists who, while eloquently defending the natural rights of slaves, denied freedom of speech to one-half the people of their own race. such was the consistency of an assemblage of philanthropists! they would have been horrified at the idea of burning the flesh of the distinguished women present with red-hot irons, but the crucifixion of their pride and self-respect, the humiliation of the spirit, seemed to them a most trifling matter. the action of this convention was the topic of discussion, in public and private, for a long time, and stung many women into new thought and action and gave rise to the movement for women's political equality both in england and the united states. as the convention adjourned, the remark was heard on all sides, "it is about time some demand was made for new liberties for women." as mrs. mott and i walked home, arm in arm, commenting on the incidents of the day, we resolved to hold a convention as soon as we returned home, and form a society to advocate the rights of women. at the lodging house on queen street, where a large number of delegates had apartments, the discussions were heated at every meal, and at times so bitter that, at last, mr. birney packed his valise and sought more peaceful quarters. having strongly opposed the admission of women as delegates to the convention it was rather embarrassing to meet them, during the intervals between the various sessions, at the table and in the drawing room. these were the first women i had ever met who believed in the equality of the sexes and who did not believe in the popular orthodox religion. the acquaintance of lucretia mott, who was a broad, liberal thinker on politics, religion, and all questions of reform, opened to me a new world of thought. as we walked about to see the sights of london, i embraced every opportunity to talk with her. it was intensely gratifying to hear all that, through years of doubt, i had dimly thought, so freely discussed by other women, some of them no older than myself--women, too, of rare intelligence, cultivation, and refinement. after six weeks' sojourn under the same roof with lucretia mott, whose conversation was uniformly on a high plane, i felt that i knew her too well to sympathize with the orthodox friends, who denounced her as a dangerous woman because she doubted certain dogmas they fully believed. as mr. birney and my husband were invited to speak all over england, scotland, and ireland, and we were uniformly entertained by orthodox friends, i had abundant opportunity to know the general feeling among them toward lucretia mott. even elizabeth fry seemed quite unwilling to breathe the same atmosphere with her. during the six weeks that many of us remained in london after the convention we were invited to a succession of public and private breakfasts, dinners, and teas, and on these occasions it was amusing to watch mrs. fry's sedulous efforts to keep mrs. mott at a distance. if mrs. mott was on the lawn, mrs. fry would go into the house; if mrs. mott was in the house, mrs. fry would stay out on the lawn. one evening, when we were all crowded into two parlors, and there was no escape, the word went round that mrs. fry felt moved to pray with the american delegates, whereupon a profound silence reigned. after a few moments mrs. fry's voice was heard deploring the schism among the american friends; that sol many had been led astray by false doctrines; urging the spirit of all good to show them the error of their way, and gather them once more into the fold of the great shepherd of our faith. the prayer was directed so pointedly at the followers of elias hicks, and at lucretia mott in particular, that i whispered to lucretia, at the close, that she should now pray for mrs. fry, that her eyes might be opened to her bigotry and uncharitableness, and be led by the spirit into higher light. "oh, no!" she replied, "a prayer of this character, under the circumstances, is an unfair advantage to take of a stranger, but i would not resent it in the house of her friends." in these gatherings we met the leading quaker families and many other philanthropists of different denominations interested in the anti-slavery movement. on all these occasions our noble garrison spoke most effectively, and thus our english friends had an opportunity of enjoying his eloquence, the lack of which had been so grave a loss in the convention. we devoted a month sedulously to sightseeing in london, and, in the line of the traveler's duty, we explored st. paul's cathedral, the british museum, the tower, various prisons, hospitals, galleries of art, windsor castle, and st. james's palace, the zoological gardens, the schools and colleges, the chief theaters and churches, westminster abbey, the houses of parliament, and the courts. we heard the most famous preachers, actors, and statesmen. in fact, we went to the top and bottom of everything, from the dome of st. paul to the tunnel under the thames, just then in the process of excavation. we drove through the parks, sailed up and down the thames, and then visited every shire but four in england, in all of which we had large meetings, mr. birney and mr. stanton being the chief speakers. as we were generally invited to stay with friends, it gave us a good opportunity to see the leading families, such as the ashursts, the alexanders, the priestmans, the braithwaites, and buxtons, the gurneys, the peases, the wighams of edinburgh, and the webbs of dublin. we spent a few days with john joseph gurney at his beautiful home in norwich. he had just returned from america, having made a tour through the south. when asked how he liked america, he said, "i like everything but your pie crust and your slavery." before leaving london, the whole american delegation, about forty in number, were invited to dine with samuel gurney. he and his brother, john joseph gurney, were, at that time, the leading bankers in london. someone facetiously remarked that the jews were the leading bankers in london until the quakers crowded them out. one of the most striking women i met in england at this time was miss elizabeth pease. i never saw a more strongly marked face. meeting her, forty years after, on the platform of a great meeting in the town hall at glasgow, i knew her at once. she is now mrs. nichol of edinburgh, and, though on the shady side of eighty, is still active in all the reforms of the day. it surprised us very much at first, when driving into the grounds of some of these beautiful quaker homes, to have the great bell rung at the lodge, and to see the number of liveried servants on the porch and in the halls, and then to meet the host in plain garb, and to be welcomed in plain language, "how does thee do, henry?" "how does thee do elizabeth?" this sounded peculiarly sweet to me--a stranger in a strange land. the wealthy english quakers we visited at that time, taking them all in all, were the most charming people i had ever seen. they were refined and intelligent on all subjects, and though rather conservative on some points, were not aggressive in pressing their opinions on others. their hospitality was charming and generous, their homes the beau ideal of comfort and order, the cuisine faultless, while peace reigned over all. the quiet, gentle manner and the soft tones in speaking, and the mysterious quiet in these well-ordered homes were like the atmosphere one finds in a modern convent, where the ordinary duties of the day seem to be accomplished by some magical influence. before leaving london we spent a delightful day in june at the home of samuel gurney, surrounded by a fine park with six hundred deer roaming about--always a beautiful feature in the english landscape. as the duchess of sutherland and lord morpeth had expressed a wish to mrs. fry to meet some of the leading american abolitionists, it was arranged that they should call at her brother's residence on this occasion. soon after we arrived, the duchess, with her brother and mrs. fry, in her state carriage with six horses and outriders, drove up to the door. mr. gurney was evidently embarrassed at the prospect of a lord and a duchess under his roof. leaning on the arm of mrs. fry, the duchess was formally introduced to us individually. mrs. mott conversed with the distinguished guests with the same fluency and composure as with her own countrywomen. however anxious the english people were as to what they should say and do, the americans were all quite at their ease. as lord morpeth had some interesting letters from the island of jamaica to read to us, we formed a circle on the lawn to listen. england had just paid one hundred millions of dollars to emancipate the slaves, and we were all interested in hearing the result of the experiment. the distinguished guest in turn had many questions to ask in regard to american slavery. we found none of that prejudice against color in england which is so inveterate among the american people; at my first dinner in england i found myself beside a gentleman from jamaica, as black as the ace of spades. after the departure of the duchess, dinner was announced. it was a sumptuous meal, most tastefully served. there were half a dozen wineglasses at every plate, but abolitionists, in those days, were all converts to temperance, and, as the bottles went around there was a general headshaking, and the right hand extended over the glasses. our english friends were amazed that none of us drank wine. mr. gurney said he had never before seen such a sight as forty ladies and gentlemen sitting down to dinner and none of them tasting wine. in talking with him on that point, he said: "i suppose your nursing mothers drink beer?" i laughed, and said, "oh, no! we should be afraid of befogging the brains of our children." "no danger of that," said he; "we are all bright enough, and yet a cask of beer is rolled into the cellar for the mother with each newborn child." colonel miller from vermont, one of our american delegation, was in the greek war with lord byron. as lady byron had expressed a wish to see him, that her daughter might know something of her father's last days, an interview was arranged, and the colonel kindly invited me to accompany him. his account of their acquaintance and the many noble traits of character lord byron manifested, his generous impulses and acts of self-sacrifice, seemed particularly gratifying to the daughter. it was a sad interview, arranged chiefly for the daughter's satisfaction, though lady byron listened with a painful interest. as the colonel was a warm admirer of the great poet, he no doubt represented him in the best possible light, and his narration of his last days was deeply interesting. lady byron had a quiet, reserved manner, a sad face, and a low, plaintive voice, like one who had known deep sorrow. i had seen her frequently in the convention and at social teas, and had been personally presented to her before this occasion. altogether i thought her a sweet, attractive-looking woman. we had a pleasant interview with lord brougham also. the philadelphia anti-slavery society sent him an elaborately carved inkstand, made from the wood of pennsylvania hall, which was destroyed by a pro-slavery mob. mr. birney made a most graceful speech in presenting the memento, and lord brougham was equally happy in receiving it. one of the most notable characters we met at this time was daniel o'connell. he made his first appearance in the london convention a few days after the women were rejected. he paid a beautiful tribute to woman and said that, if he had been present when the question was under discussion, he should have spoken and voted for their admission. he was a tall, well-developed, magnificent-looking man, and probably one of the most effective speakers ireland ever produced. i saw him at a great india meeting in exeter hall, where some of the best orators from france, america, and england were present. there were six natives from india on the platform who, not understanding anything that was said, naturally remained listless throughout the proceedings. but the moment o'connell began to speak they were all attention, bending forward and closely watching every movement. one could almost tell what he said from the play of his expressive features, his wonderful gestures, and the pose of his whole body. when he finished, the natives joined in the general applause. he had all wendell phillips' power of sarcasm and denunciation, and added to that the most tender pathos. he could make his audience laugh or cry at pleasure. it was a rare sight to see him dressed in "repeal cloth" in one of his repeal meetings. we were in dublin in the midst of that excitement, when the hopes of new liberties for that oppressed people all centered on o'connell. the enthusiasm of the people for the repeal of the union was then at white-heat. dining one day with the "great liberator," as he was called, i asked him if he hoped to carry that measure. "no," he said, "but it is always good policy to claim the uttermost and then you will be sure to get something." could he have looked forward fifty years and have seen the present condition of his unhappy country, he would have known that english greed and selfishness could defeat any policy, however wise and far-seeing. the successive steps by which irish commerce was ruined and religious feuds between her people continually fanned into life, and the nation subjugated, form the darkest page in the history of england. but the people are awakening at last to their duty, and, for the first time, organizing english public sentiment in favor of "home rule." i attended several large, enthusiastic meetings when last in england, in which the most radical utterances of irish patriots were received with prolonged cheers. i trust the day is not far off when the beautiful emerald isle will unfurl her banner before the nations of the earth, enthroned as the queen republic of those northern seas! we visited wordsworth's home at grasmere, among the beautiful lakes, but he was not there. however, we saw his surroundings--the landscape that inspired some of his poetic dreams, and the dense rows of hollyhocks of every shade and color, leading from his porch to the gate. the gardener told us this was his favorite flower. though it had no special beauty in itself, taken alone, yet the wonderful combination of royal colors was indeed striking and beautiful. we saw harriet martineau at her country home as well as at her house in town. as we were obliged to converse with her through an ear trumpet, we left her to do most of the talking. she gave us many amusing experiences of her travels in america, and her comments on the london convention were rich and racy. she was not an attractive woman in either manner or appearance, though considered great and good by all who knew her. we spent a few days with thomas clarkson, in ipswich. he lived in a very old house with long rambling corridors, surrounded by a moat, which we crossed' by means of a drawbridge. he had just written an article against the colonization scheme, which his wife read aloud to us. he was so absorbed in the subject that he forgot the article was written by himself, and kept up a running applause with "hear!" "hear!" the english mode of expressing approbation. he told us of the severe struggles he and wilberforce had gone through in rousing the public sentiment of england to the demand for emancipation in jamaica. but their trials were mild, compared with what garrison and his coadjutors had suffered in america. having read of all these people, it was difficult to realize, as i visited them in their own homes from day to day, that they were the same persons i had so long worshiped from afar! chapter vi. homeward bound. after taking a view of the wonders and surroundings of london we spent a month in paris. fifty years ago there was a greater difference in the general appearance of things between france and england than now. that countries only a few hours' journey apart should differ so widely was to us a great surprise. how changed the sights and sounds! here was the old diligence, lumbering along with its various compartments and its indefinite number of horses, harnessed with rope and leather, sometimes two, sometimes three abreast, and sometimes one in advance, with an outrider belaboring the poor beasts without cessation, and the driver yelling and cracking his whip. the uproar, confusion, and squabbles at every stopping place are overwhelming; the upper classes, men and women alike, rushing into each other's arms, embrace and kiss, while drivers and hostlers on the slightest provocation hurl at each other all the denunciatory adjectives in the language, and with such vehemence that you expect every moment to see a deadly conflict. but to-day, as fifty years ago, they never arrive at that point. theirs was and is purely an encounter of words, which they keep up, as they drive off in opposite directions, just as far as they can hear and see each other, with threats of vengeance to come. such an encounter between two englishmen would mean the death of one or the other. all this was in marked contrast with john bull and his island. there the people were as silent as if they had been born deaf and dumb. the english stagecoach was compact, clean, and polished from top to bottom, the horses and harness glossy and in order, the well-dressed, dignified coachman, who seldom spoke a loud word or used his whip, kept his seat at the various stages, while hostlers watered or changed the steeds; the postman blew his bugle blast to have the mail in readiness, and the reserved passengers made no remarks on what was passing; for, in those days, englishmen were afraid to speak to each other for fear of recognizing one not of their class, while to strangers and foreigners they would not speak except in case of dire necessity. the frenchman was ready enough to talk, but, unfortunately, we were separated by different languages. thus the englishman would not talk, the frenchman could not, and the intelligent, loquacious american driver, who discourses on politics, religion, national institutions, and social gossip was unknown on that side of the atlantic. what the curious american traveler could find out himself from observation and pertinacious seeking he was welcome to, but the briton would waste no breath to enlighten yankees as to the points of interest or customs of his country. our party consisted of miss pugh, abby kimber, mr. stanton, and myself. i had many amusing experiences in making my wants known when alone, having forgotten most of my french. for instance, traveling night and day in the diligence to paris, as the stops were short, one was sometimes in need of something to eat. one night as my companions were all asleep, i went out to get a piece of cake or a cracker, or whatever of that sort i could obtain, but, owing to my clumsy use of the language, i was misunderstood. just as the diligence was about to start, and the shout for us to get aboard was heard, the waiter came running with a piping hot plate of sweetbreads nicely broiled. i had waited and wondered why it took so long to get a simple piece of cake or biscuit, and lo! a piece of hot meat was offered me. i could not take the frizzling thing in my hand nor eat it without bread, knife, or fork, so i hurried off to the coach, the man pursuing me to the very door. i was vexed and disappointed, while the rest of the party were convulsed with laughter at the parting salute and my attempt to make my way alone. it was some time before i heard the last of the "sweetbreads." when we reached paris we secured a courier who could speak english, to show us the sights of that wonderful city. every morning early he was at the door, rain or shine, to carry out our plans, which, with the aid of our guidebook, we had made the evening before. in this way, going steadily, day after day, we visited all points of interest for miles round and sailed up and down the seine. the palace of the tuileries, with its many associations with a long line of more or less unhappy kings and queens, was then in its glory, and its extensive and beautiful grounds were always gay with crowds of happy people. these gardens were a great resort for nurses and children and were furnished with all manner of novel appliances for their amusement, including beautiful little carriages drawn by four goats with girls or boys driving, boats sailing in the air, seemingly propelled by oars, and hobby horses flying round on whirligigs with boys vainly trying to catch each other. no people have ever taken the trouble to invent so many amusements for children as have the french. the people enjoyed being always in the open air, night and day. the parks are crowded with amusement seekers, some reading and playing games, some sewing, knitting, playing on musical instruments, dancing, sitting around tables in bevies eating, drinking, and gayly chatting. and yet, when they drive in carriages or go to their homes at night, they will shut themselves in as tight as oysters in their shells. they have a theory that night air is very injurious,--in the house,--although they will sit outside until midnight. i found this same superstition prevalent in france fifty years later. we visited the hôtel des invalides just as they were preparing the sarcophagus for the reception of the remains of napoleon. we witnessed the wild excitement of that enthusiastic people, and listened with deep interest to the old soldiers' praises of their great general. the ladies of our party chatted freely with them. they all had interesting anecdotes to relate of their chief. they said he seldom slept over four hours, was an abstemious eater, and rarely changed a servant, as he hated a strange face about him. he was very fond of a game of chess, and snuffed continuously; talked but little, was a light sleeper,--the stirring of a mouse would awaken him,--and always on the watch-tower. they said that, in his great campaigns, he seemed to be omnipresent. a sentinel asleep at his post would sometimes waken to find napoleon on duty in his place. the ship that brought back napoleon's remains was the _belle poule_ (the beautiful hen!), which landed at cherbourg, november , . the body was conveyed to the church of the invalides, which adjoins the tomb. the prince de joinville brought the body from saint helena, and louis philippe received it. at that time each soldier had a little patch of land to decorate as he pleased, in which many scenes from their great battles were illustrated. one represented napoleon crossing the alps. there were the cannon, the soldiers, napoleon on horseback, all toiling up the steep ascent, perfect in miniature. in another was napoleon, flag in hand, leading the charge across the bridge of lodi. in still another was napoleon in egypt, before the pyramids, seated, impassive, on his horse, gazing at the sphinx, as if about to utter his immortal words to his soldiers: "here, forty centuries look down upon us." these object lessons of the past are all gone now and the land used for more prosaic purposes. i little thought, as i witnessed that great event in france in , that fifty-seven years later i should witness a similar pageant in the american republic, when our nation paid its last tributes to general grant. there are many points of similarity in these great events. as men they were alike aggressive and self-reliant. in napoleon's will he expressed the wish that his last resting place might be in the land and among the people he loved so well. his desire is fulfilled. he rests in the chief city of the french republic, whose shores are washed by the waters of the seine. general grant expressed the wish that he might be interred in our metropolis and added: "wherever i am buried, i desire that there shall be room for my wife by my side." his wishes, too, are fulfilled. he rests in the chief city of the american republic, whose shores are washed by the waters of the hudson, and in his magnificent mausoleum there is room for his wife by his side. several members of the society of friends from boston and philadelphia, who had attended the world's anti-slavery convention in london, joined our party for a trip on the continent. though opposed to war, they all took a deep interest in the national excitement and in the pageants that heralded the expected arrival of the hero from saint helena. as they all wore military coats of the time of george fox, the soldiers, supposing they belonged to the army of some country, gave them the military salute wherever we went, much to their annoyance and our amusement. in going the rounds, miss pugh amused us by reading aloud the description of what we were admiring and the historical events connected with that particular building or locality. we urged her to spend the time taking in all she could see and to read up afterward; but no, a history of france and galignani's guide she carried everywhere, and, while the rest of us looked until we were fully satisfied, she took a bird's-eye view and read the description. dear little woman! she was a fine scholar, a good historian, was well informed on all subjects and countries, proved an invaluable traveling companion, and could tell more of what we saw than all the rest of us together. on several occasions we chanced to meet louis philippe dashing by in an open barouche. we felt great satisfaction in remembering that at one time he was an exile in our country, where he earned his living by teaching school. what an honor for yankee children to have been taught, by a french king, the rudiments of his language. having been accustomed to the puritan sunday of restraint and solemnity, i found that day in paris gay and charming. the first time i entered into some of the festivities, i really expected to be struck by lightning. the libraries, art galleries, concert halls, and theaters were all open to the people. bands of music were playing in the parks, where whole families, with their luncheons, spent the day--husbands, wives, and children, on an excursion together. the boats on the seine and all public conveyances were crowded. those who had but this one day for pleasure seemed determined to make the most of it. a wonderful contrast with that gloomy day in london, where all places of amusement were closed and nothing open to the people but the churches and drinking saloons. the streets and houses in which voltaire, la fayette, mme. de staël, mme. roland, charlotte corday, and other famous men and women lived and died, were pointed out to us. we little thought, then, of all the terrible scenes to be enacted in paris, nor that france would emerge from the dangers that beset her on every side into a sister republic. it has been a wonderful achievement, with kings and popes all plotting against her experiment, that she has succeeded in putting kingcraft under her feet and proclaimed liberty, equality, fraternity for her people. after a few weeks in france, we returned to london, traveling through england, ireland, and scotland for several months. we visited the scenes that shakespeare, burns, and dickens had made classic. we spent a few days at huntingdon, the home of oliver cromwell, and visited the estate where he passed his early married life. while there, one of his great admirers read aloud to us a splendid article in one of the reviews, written by carlyle, giving "the protector," as his friend said, his true place in history. it was long the fashion of england's historians to represent cromwell as a fanatic and hypocrite, but his character was vindicated by later writers. "never," says macaulay, "was a ruler so conspicuously born for sovereignty. the cup which has intoxicated almost all others sobered him." we saw the picturesque ruins of kenilworth castle, the birthplace of shakespeare, the homes of byron and mary chaworth, wandered through newstead abbey, saw the monument to the faithful dog, and the large dining room where byron and his boon companions used to shoot at a mark. it was a desolate region. we stopped a day or two at ayr and drove out to the birthplace of burns. the old house that had sheltered him was still there, but its walls now echoed to other voices, and the fields where he had toiled were plowed by other hands. we saw the stream and banks where he and mary sat together, the old stone church where the witches held their midnight revels, the two dogs, and the bridge of ayr. with burns, as with sappho, it was love that awoke his heart to song. a bonny lass who worked with him in the harvest field inspired his first attempts at rhyme. life, with burns, was one long, hard struggle. with his natural love for the beautiful, the terrible depression of spirits he suffered from his dreary surroundings was inevitable. the interest great men took in him, when they awoke to his genius, came too late for his safety and encouragement. in a glass of whisky he found, at last, the rest and cheer he never knew when sober. poverty and ignorance are the parents of intemperance, and that vice will never be suppressed until the burdens of life are equally shared by all. we saw melrose by moonlight, spent several hours at abbotsford, and lingered in the little sanctum sanctorum where scott wrote his immortal works. it was so small that he could reach the bookshelves on every side. we went through the prisons, castles, and narrow streets of edinburgh, where the houses are seven and eight stories high, each story projecting a few feet until, at the uppermost, opposite neighbors could easily shake hands and chat together. all the intervals from active sight-seeing we spent in reading the lives of historical personages in poetry and prose, until our sympathies flowed out to the real and ideal characters. lady jane grey, anne boleyn, mary queen of scots, ellen douglas, jeanie and effie deans, highland mary, rebecca the jewess, di vernon, and rob roy all alike seemed real men and women, whose shades or descendants we hoped to meet on their native heath. here among the scotch lakes and mountains mr. stanton and i were traveling alone for the first time since our marriage, and as we both enjoyed walking, we made many excursions on foot to points that could not be reached in any other way. we spent some time among the grampian hills, so familiar to every schoolboy, walking, and riding about on donkeys. we sailed up and down loch katrine and loch lomond. my husband was writing letters for some new york newspapers on the entire trip, and aimed to get exact knowledge of all we saw; thus i had the advantage of the information he gathered. on these long tramps i wore a short dress, reaching just below the knee, of dark-blue cloth, a military cap of the same material that shaded my eyes, and a pair of long boots, made on the masculine pattern then generally worn--the most easy style for walking, as the pressure is equal on the whole foot and the ankle has free play. thus equipped, and early trained by my good brother-in-law to long walks, i found no difficulty in keeping pace with my husband. being self-reliant and venturesome in our explorations, we occasionally found ourselves involved in grave difficulties by refusing to take a guide. for instance, we decided to go to the top of ben nevis alone. it looked to us a straightforward piece of business to walk up a mountain side on a bee line, and so, in the face of repeated warnings by our host, we started. we knew nothing of zigzag paths to avoid the rocks, the springs, and swamps; in fact we supposed all mountains smooth and dry, like our native hills that we were accustomed to climb. the landlord shook his head and smiled when we told him we should return at noon to dinner, and we smiled, too, thinking he placed a low estimate on our capacity for walking. but we had not gone far when we discovered the difficulties ahead. some places were so steep that i had to hold on to my companion's coat tails, while he held on to rocks and twigs, or braced himself with a heavy cane. by the time we were halfway up we were in a dripping perspiration, our feet were soaking wet, and we were really too tired to proceed. but, after starting with such supreme confidence in ourselves, we were ashamed to confess our fatigue to each other, and much more to return and verify all the prognostications of the host and his guides. so we determined to push on and do what we had proposed. with the prospect of a magnificent view and an hour's delicious rest on the top, we started with renewed courage. a steady climb of six hours brought us to the goal of promise; our ascent was accomplished. but alas! it was impossible to stop there--the cold wind chilled us to the bone in a minute. so we took one glance at the world below and hurried down the south side to get the mountain between us and the cold northeaster. when your teeth are chattering with the cold, and the wind threatening to make havoc with your raiment, you are not in a favorable condition to appreciate grand scenery. like the king of france with twice ten thousand men, we marched up the hill and then, marched down again. we found descending still more difficult, as we were in constant fear of slipping, losing our hold, and rolling to the bottom. we were tired, hungry, and disappointed, and the fear of not reaching the valley before nightfall pressed heavily upon us. neither confessed to the other the fatigue and apprehension each felt, but, with fresh endeavor and words of encouragement, we cautiously went on. we accidentally struck a trail that led us winding down comfortably some distance, but we lost it, and went clambering down as well as we could in our usual way. to add to our misery, a dense scotch mist soon enveloped us, so that we could see but a short distance ahead, and not knowing the point from which we started, we feared we might be going far out of our way. the coming twilight, too, made the prospect still darker. fortunately our host, having less faith in us than we had in ourselves, sent a guide to reconnoiter, and, just at the moment when we began to realize our danger of spending the night on the mountain, and to admit it to each other, the welcome guide hailed us in his broad accent. his shepherd dog led the way into the beaten path. as i could hardly stand i took the guide's arm, and when we reached the bottom two donkeys were in readiness to take us to the hotel. we did not recover from the fatigue of that expedition in several days, and we made no more experiments of exploring strange places without guides. we learned, too, that mountains are not so hospitable as they seem nor so gently undulating as they appear in the distance, and that guides serve other purposes besides extorting money from travelers. if, under their guidance, we had gone up and down easily, we should always have thought we might as well have gone alone. so our experience gave us a good lesson in humility. we had been twelve hours on foot with nothing to eat, when at last we reached the hotel. we were in no mood for boasting of the success of our excursion, and our answers were short to inquiries as to how we had passed the day. being tired of traveling and contending about woman's sphere with the rev. john scoble, an englishman, who escorted mr. birney and mr. stanton on their tour through the country, i decided to spend a month in dublin; while the gentlemen held meetings in cork, belfast, waterford, limerick, and other chief towns, finishing the series with a large, enthusiastic gathering in dublin, at which o'connell made one of his most withering speeches on american slavery; the inconsistency of such an "institution" with the principles of a republican government giving full play to his powers of sarcasm. on one occasion, when introduced to a slaveholder, he put his hands behind his back, refusing to recognize a man who bought and sold his fellow-beings. the rev. john scoble was one of the most conceited men i ever met. his narrow ideas in regard to woman, and the superiority of the royal and noble classes in his own country, were to me so exasperating that i grew more and more bellicose every day we traveled in company. he was terribly seasick crossing the channel, to my intense satisfaction. as he always boasted of his distinguished countrymen, i suggested, in the midst of one of his most agonizing spasms, that he ought to find consolation in the fact that lord nelson was always seasick on the slightest provocation. the poverty in ireland was a continual trial to our sensibilities; beggars haunted our footsteps everywhere, in the street and on the highways, crouching on the steps of the front door and on the curbstones, and surrounding our carriage wherever and whenever we stopped to shop or make a visit. the bony hands and sunken eyes and sincere gratitude expressed for every penny proved their suffering real. as my means were limited and i could not pass one by, i got a pound changed into pennies, and put them in a green bag, which i took in the carriage wherever i went. it was but a drop in the ocean, but it was all i could do to relieve that unfathomed misery. the poverty i saw everywhere in the old world, and especially in ireland, was a puzzling problem to my mind, but i rejected the idea that it was a necessary link in human experience--that it always had been and always must be. as we drove, day by day, in that magnificent phoenix park, of fifteen hundred acres, one of the largest parks, i believe, in the world, i would often put the question to myself, what right have the few to make a pleasure ground of these acres, while the many have nowhere to lay their heads, crouching under stiles and bridges, clothed in rags, and feeding on sea-weed with no hope, in the slowly passing years, of any change for the better? the despair stamped on every brow told the sad story of their wrongs. those accustomed to such everyday experiences brush beggars aside as they would so many flies, but those to whom such sights are new cannot so easily quiet their own consciences. everyone in the full enjoyment of all the blessings of life, in his normal condition, feels some individual responsibility for the poverty of others. when the sympathies are not blunted by any false philosophy, one feels reproached by one's own abundance. i once heard a young girl, about to take her summer outing, when asked by her grandmother if she had all the dresses she needed, reply, "oh, yes! i was oppressed with a constant sense of guilt, when packing, to see how much i had, while so many girls have nothing decent to wear." more than half a century has rolled by since i stood on irish soil, and shed tears of pity for the wretchedness i saw, and no change for the better has as yet come to that unhappy people--yet this was the land of burke, grattan, shiel, and emmett; the land into which christianity was introduced in the fifth century, st. patrick being the chief apostle of the new faith. in the sixth century ireland sent forth missionaries from her monasteries to convert great britain and the nations of northern europe. from the eighth to the twelfth century irish scholars held an enviable reputation. in fact, ireland was the center of learning at one time. the arts, too, were cultivated by her people; and the round towers, still pointed out to travelers, are believed to be the remains of the architecture of the tenth century. the ruin of ireland must be traced to other causes than the character of the people or the catholic religion. historians give us facts showing english oppressions sufficient to destroy any nation. the short, dark days of november intensified, in my eyes, the gloomy prospects of that people, and made the change to the _sirius_ of the cunard line, the first regular atlantic steamship to cross the ocean, most enjoyable. once on the boundless ocean, one sees no beggars, no signs of human misery, no crumbling ruins of vast cathedral walls, no records of the downfall of mighty nations, no trace, even, of the mortal agony of the innumerable host buried beneath her bosom. byron truly says: "time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-- such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now." when we embarked on the _sirius_, we had grave doubts as to our safety and the probability of our reaching the other side, as we did not feel that ocean steamers had yet been fairly tried. but, after a passage of eighteen days, eleven hours, and fifteen minutes, we reached boston, having spent six hours at halifax. we little thought that the steamer _sirius_ of fifty years ago would ever develop into the magnificent floating palaces of to-day--three times as large and three times as swift. in spite of the steamer, however, we had a cold, rough, dreary voyage, and i have no pleasant memories connected with it. our fellow-passengers were all in their staterooms most of the time. our good friend mr. birney had sailed two weeks before us, and as mr. stanton was confined to his berth, i was thrown on my own resources. i found my chief amusement in reading novels and playing chess with a british officer on his way to canada. when it was possible i walked on deck with the captain, or sat in some sheltered corner, watching the waves. we arrived in new york, by rail, the day before christmas. everything looked bright and gay in our streets. it seemed to me that the sky was clearer, the air more refreshing, and the sunlight more brilliant than in any other land! chapter vii. motherhood. we found my sister harriet in a new home in clinton place (eighth street), new york city, then considered so far up town that mr. eaton's friends were continually asking him why he went so far away from the social center, though in a few months they followed him. here we passed a week. i especially enjoyed seeing my little niece and nephew, the only grandchildren in the family. the girl was the most beautiful child i ever saw, and the boy the most intelligent and amusing. he was very fond of hearing me recite the poem by oliver wendell holmes entitled "the height of the ridiculous," which i did many times, but he always wanted to see the lines that almost killed the man with laughing. he went around to a number of the bookstores one day and inquired for them. i told him afterward they were never published; that when mr. holmes saw the effect on his servant he suppressed them, lest they should produce the same effect on the typesetters, editors, and the readers of the boston newspapers. my explanation never satisfied him. i told him he might write to mr. holmes, and ask the privilege of reading the original manuscript, if it still was or ever had been in existence. as one of my grand-nephews was troubled in exactly the same way, i decided to appeal myself to dr. holmes for the enlightenment of this second generation. so i wrote him the following letter, which he kindly answered, telling us that his "wretched man" was a myth like the heroes in "mother goose's melodies": "dear dr. holmes: "i have a little nephew to whom i often recite 'the height of the ridiculous,' and he invariably asks for the lines that produced the fatal effect on your servant. he visited most of the bookstores in new york city to find them, and nothing but your own word, i am sure, will ever convince him that the 'wretched man' is but a figment of your imagination. i tried to satisfy him by saying you did not dare to publish the lines lest they should produce a similar effect on the typesetters, editors, and the readers of the boston journals. "however, he wishes me to ask you whether you kept a copy of the original manuscript, or could reproduce the lines with equal power. if not too much trouble, please send me a few lines on this point, and greatly oblige, "yours sincerely, "elizabeth cady stanton." "my dear mrs. stanton: "i wish you would explain to your little nephew that the story of the poor fellow who almost died laughing was a kind of a dream of mine, and not a real thing that happened, any more than that an old woman 'lived in a shoe and had so many children she didn't know what to do,' or that jack climbed the bean stalk and found the giant who lived at the top of it. you can explain to him what is meant by imagination, and thus turn my youthful rhymes into a text for a discourse worthy of the concord school of philosophy. i have not my poems by me here, but i remember that 'the height of the ridiculous' ended with this verse: "ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, i watched that wretched man, and since, i never dare to write as funny as i can." "but tell your nephew he mustn't cry about it any more than because geese go barefoot and bald eagles have no nightcaps. the verses are in all the editions of my poems. "believe me, dear mrs. stanton, "very truly and respectfully yours, "oliver wendell holmes." after spending the holidays in new york city, we started for johnstown in a "stage sleigh, conveying the united states mail," drawn by spanking teams of four horses, up the hudson river valley. we were three days going to albany, stopping over night at various points; a journey now performed in three hours. the weather was clear and cold, the sleighing fine, the scenery grand, and our traveling companions most entertaining, so the trip was very enjoyable. from albany to schenectady we went in the railway cars; then another sleighride of thirty miles brought us to johnstown. my native hills, buried under two feet of snow, tinted with the last rays of the setting sun, were a beautiful and familiar sight. though i had been absent but ten months, it seemed like years, and i was surprised to find how few changes had occurred since i left. my father and mother, sisters madge and kate, the old house and furniture, the neighbors, all looked precisely the same as when i left them. i had seen so much and been so constantly on the wing that i wondered that all things here should have stood still. i expected to hear of many births, marriages, deaths, and social upheavals, but the village news was remarkably meager. this hunger for home news on returning is common, i suppose, to all travelers. our trunks unpacked, wardrobes arranged in closets and drawers, the excitement of seeing friends over, we spent some time in making plans for the future. my husband, after some consultation with my father, decided to enter his office and commence the study of the law. as this arrangement kept me under the parental roof, i had two added years of pleasure, walking, driving, and riding on horseback with my sisters. madge and kate were dearer to me than ever, as i saw the inevitable separation awaiting us in the near future. in due time they were married and commenced housekeeping--madge in her husband's house near by, and kate in buffalo. all my sisters were peculiarly fortunate in their marriages; their husbands being men of fine presence, liberal education, high moral character, and marked ability. these were pleasant and profitable years. i devoted them to reading law, history, and political economy, with occasional interruptions to take part in some temperance or anti-slavery excitement. eliza murray and i had classes of colored children in the sunday school. on one occasion, when there was to be a festival, speaking in the church, a procession through the streets, and other public performances for the sunday-school celebration, some narrow-minded bigots objected to the colored children taking part. they approached miss murray and me with most persuasive tones on the wisdom of not allowing them to march in the procession to the church. we said, "oh, no! it won't do to disappoint the children. they are all dressed, with their badges on, and looking forward with great pleasure to the festivities of the day. besides, we would not cater to any of these contemptible prejudices against color." we were all assembled in the courthouse preparatory to forming in the line of march. some were determined to drive the colored children home, but miss murray and i, like two defiant hens, kept our little brood close behind us, determined to conquer or perish in the struggle. at last milder counsels prevailed, and it was agreed that they might march in the rear. we made no objection and fell into line, but, when we reached the church door, it was promptly closed as the last white child went in. we tried two other doors, but all were guarded. we shed tears of vexation and pity for the poor children, and, when they asked us the reason why they could not go in, we were embarrassed and mortified with the explanation we were forced to give. however, i invited them to my father's house, where miss murray and i gave them refreshments and entertained them for the rest of the day. the puzzling questions of theology and poverty that had occupied so much of my thoughts, now gave place to the practical one, "what to do with a baby." though motherhood is the most important of all the professions,--requiring more knowledge than any other department in human affairs,--yet there is not sufficient attention given to the preparation for this office. if we buy a plant of a horticulturist we ask him many questions as to its needs, whether it thrives best in sunshine or in shade, whether it needs much or little water, what degrees of heat or cold; but when we hold in our arms for the first time, a being of infinite possibilities, in whose wisdom may rest the destiny of a nation, we take it for granted that the laws governing its life, health, and happiness are intuitively understood, that there is nothing new to be learned in regard to it. yet here is a science to which philosophers have, as yet, given but little attention. an important fact has only been discovered and acted upon within the last ten years, that children come into the world tired, and not hungry, exhausted with the perilous journey. instead of being thoroughly bathed and dressed, and kept on the rack while the nurse makes a prolonged toilet and feeds it some nostrum supposed to have much needed medicinal influence, the child's face, eyes, and mouth should be hastily washed with warm water, and the rest of its body thoroughly oiled, and then it should be slipped into a soft pillow case, wrapped in a blanket, and laid to sleep. ordinarily, in the proper conditions, with its face uncovered in a cool, pure atmosphere, it will sleep twelve hours. then it should be bathed, fed, and clothed in a high-necked, long-sleeved silk shirt and a blanket, all of which could be done in five minutes. as babies lie still most of the time the first six weeks, they need no dressing. i think the nurse was a full hour bathing and dressing my firstborn, who protested with a melancholy wail every blessed minute. ignorant myself of the initiative steps on the threshold of time, i supposed this proceeding was approved by the best authorities. however, i had been thinking, reading, observing, and had as little faith in the popular theories in regard to babies as on any other subject. i saw them, on all sides, ill half the time, pale and peevish, dying early, having no joy in life. i heard parents complaining of weary days and sleepless nights, while each child, in turn, ran the gauntlet of red gum, jaundice, whooping cough, chicken-pox, mumps, measles, scarlet fever, and fits. they all seemed to think these inflictions were a part of the eternal plan--that providence had a kind of pandora's box, from which he scattered these venerable diseases most liberally among those whom he especially loved. having gone through the ordeal of bearing a child, i was determined, if possible, to keep him, so i read everything i could find on the subject. but the literature on this subject was as confusing and unsatisfactory as the longer and shorter catechisms and the thirty-nine articles of our faith. i had recently visited our dear friends, theodore and angelina grimke-weld, and they warned me against books on this subject. they had been so misled by one author, who assured them that the stomach of a child could only hold one tablespoonful, that they nearly starved their firstborn to death. though the child dwindled, day by day, and, at the end of a month, looked like a little old man, yet they still stood by the distinguished author. fortunately, they both went off, one day, and left the child with sister "sarah," who thought she would make an experiment and see what a child's stomach could hold, as she had grave doubts about the tablespoonful theory. to her surprise the baby took a pint bottle full of milk, and had the sweetest sleep thereon he had known in his earthly career. after that he was permitted to take what he wanted, and "the author" was informed of his libel on the infantile stomach. so here, again, i was entirely afloat, launched on the seas of doubt without chart or compass. the life and well-being of the race seemed to hang on the slender thread of such traditions as were handed down by-ignorant mothers and nurses. one powerful ray of light illuminated the darkness; it was the work of andrew combe on "infancy." he had, evidently watched some of the manifestations of man in the first stages of his development, and could tell, at least, as much of babies as naturalists could of beetles and bees. he did give young mothers some hints of what to do, the whys and wherefores of certain lines of procedure during antenatal life, as well as the proper care thereafter. i read several chapters to the nurse. although, out of her ten children, she had buried five, she still had too much confidence in her own wisdom and experience to pay much attention to any new idea that might be suggested to her. among other things, combe said that a child's bath should be regulated by the thermometer, in order to be always of the same temperature. she ridiculed the idea, and said her elbow was better than any thermometer, and, when i insisted on its use, she would invariably, with a smile of derision, put her elbow in first, to show how exactly it tallied with the thermometer. when i insisted that the child should not be bandaged, she rebelled outright, and said she would not take the responsibility of nursing a child without a bandage. i said, "pray, sit down, dear nurse, and let us reason together. do not think i am setting up my judgment against yours, with all your experience. i am simply trying to act on the opinions of a distinguished physician, who says there should be no pressure on a child anywhere; that the limbs and body should be free; that it is cruel to bandage an infant from hip to armpit, as is usually done in america; or both body and legs, as is done in europe; or strap them to boards, as is done by savages on both continents. can you give me one good reason, nurse, why a child should be bandaged?" "yes," she said emphatically, "i can give you a dozen." "i only asked for one," i replied. "well," said she, after much hesitation, "the bones of a newborn infant are soft, like cartilage, and, unless you pin them up snugly, there is danger of their falling apart." "it seems to me," i replied, "you have given the strongest reason why they should be carefully guarded against the slightest pressure. it is very remarkable that kittens and puppies should be so well put together that they need no artificial bracing, and the human family be left wholly to the mercy of a bandage. suppose a child was born where you could not get a bandage, what then? now i think this child will remain intact without a bandage, and, if i am willing to take the risk, why should you complain?" "because," said she, "if the child should die, it would injure my name as a nurse. i therefore wash my hands of all these new-fangled notions." so she bandaged the child every morning, and i as regularly took it off. it has been fully proved since to be as useless an appendage as the vermiform. she had several cups with various concoctions of herbs standing on the chimney-corner, ready for insomnia, colic, indigestion, etc., etc., all of which were spirited away when she was at her dinner. in vain i told her we were homeopathists, and afraid of everything in the animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdoms lower than the two-hundredth dilution. i tried to explain the hahnemann system of therapeutics, the philosophy of the principle _similia similibus curantur_, but she had no capacity for first principles, and did not understand my discourse. i told her that, if she would wash the baby's mouth with pure cold water morning and night and give it a teaspoonful to drink occasionally during the day, there would be no danger of red gum; that if she would keep the blinds open and let in the air and sunshine, keep the temperature of the room at sixty-five degrees, leave the child's head uncovered so that it could breathe freely, stop rocking and trotting it and singing such melancholy hymns as "hark, from the tombs a doleful sound!" the baby and i would both be able to weather the cape without a bandage. i told her i should nurse the child once in two hours, and that she must not feed it any of her nostrums in the meantime; that a child's stomach, being made on the same general plan as our own, needed intervals of rest as well as ours. she said it would be racked with colic if the stomach was empty any length of time, and that it would surely have rickets if it were kept too still. i told her if the child had no anodynes, nature would regulate its sleep and motions. she said she could not stay in a room with the thermometer at sixty-five degrees, so i told her to sit in the next room and regulate the heat to suit herself; that i would ring a bell when her services were needed. the reader will wonder, no doubt, that i kept such a cantankerous servant. i could get no other. dear "mother monroe," as wise as she was good, and as tender as she was strong, who had nursed two generations of mothers in our village, was engaged at that time, and i was compelled to take an exotic. i had often watched "mother monroe" with admiration, as she turned and twisted my sister's baby. it lay as peacefully in her hands as if they were lined with eider down. she bathed and dressed it by easy stages, turning the child over and over like a pancake. but she was so full of the magnetism of human love, giving the child, all the time, the most consoling assurance that the operation was to be a short one, that the whole proceeding was quite entertaining to the observer and seemingly agreeable to the child, though it had a rather surprised look as it took a bird's-eye view, in quick succession, of the ceiling and the floor. still my nurse had her good points. she was very pleasant when she had her own way. she was neat and tidy, and ready to serve me at any time, night or day. she did not wear false teeth that rattled when she talked, nor boots that squeaked when she walked. she did not snuff nor chew cloves, nor speak except when spoken to. our discussions, on various points, went on at intervals, until i succeeded in planting some ideas in her mind, and when she left me, at the end of six weeks, she confessed that she had learned some valuable lessons. as the baby had slept quietly most of the time, had no crying spells, nor colic, and i looked well, she naturally came to the conclusion that pure air, sunshine, proper dressing, and regular feeding were more necessary for babies than herb teas and soothing syrups. besides the obstinacy of the nurse, i had the ignorance of physicians to contend with. when the child was four days old we discovered that the collar bone was bent. the physician, wishing to get a pressure on the shoulder, braced the bandage round the wrist. "leave that," he said, "ten days, and then it will be all right." soon after he left i noticed that the child's hand was blue, showing that the circulation was impeded. "that will never do," said i; "nurse, take it off." "no, indeed," she answered, "i shall never interfere with the doctor." so i took it off myself, and sent for another doctor, who was said to know more of surgery. he expressed great surprise that the first physician called should have put on so severe a bandage. "that," said he, "would do for a grown man, but ten days of it on a child would make him a cripple." however, he did nearly the same thing, only fastening it round the hand instead of the wrist. i soon saw that the ends of the fingers were all purple, and that to leave that on ten days would be as dangerous as the first. so i took that off. "what a woman!" exclaimed the nurse. "what do you propose to do?" "think out something better, myself; so brace me up with some pillows and give the baby to me." she looked at me aghast and said, "you'd better trust the doctors, or your child will be a helpless cripple." "yes," i replied, "he would be, if we had left either of those bandages on, but i have an idea of something better." "now," said i, talking partly to myself and partly to her, "what we want is a little pressure on that bone; that is what both those men aimed at. how can we get it without involving the arm, is the question?" "i am sure i don't know," said she, rubbing her hands and taking two or three brisk turns round the room. "well, bring me three strips of linen, four double." i then folded one, wet in arnica and water, and laid it on the collar bone, put two other bands, like a pair of suspenders, over the shoulders, crossing them both in front and behind, pinning the ends to the diaper, which gave the needed pressure without impeding the circulation anywhere. as i finished she gave me a look of budding confidence, and seemed satisfied that all was well. several times, night and day, we wet the compress and readjusted the bands, until all appearances of inflammation had subsided. at the end of ten days the two sons of aesculapius appeared and made their examination and said all was right, whereupon i told them how badly their bandages worked and what i had done myself. they smiled at each other, and one said: "well, after all, a mother's instinct is better than a man's reason." "thank you, gentlemen, there was no instinct about it. i did some hard thinking before i saw how i could get a pressure on the shoulder without impeding the circulation, as you did." thus, in the supreme moment of a young mother's life, when i needed tender care and support, i felt the whole responsibility of my child's supervision; but though uncertain at every step of my own knowledge, i learned another lesson in self-reliance. i trusted neither men nor books absolutely after this, either in regard to the heavens above or the earth beneath, but continued to use my "mother's instinct," if "reason" is too dignified a term to apply to woman's thoughts. my advice to every mother is, above all other arts and sciences, study first what relates to babyhood, as there is no department of human action in which there is such lamentable ignorance. at the end of six weeks my nurse departed, and i had a good woman in her place who obeyed my orders, and now a new difficulty arose from an unexpected quarter. my father and husband took it into their heads that the child slept too much. if not awake when they wished to look at him or to show him to their friends, they would pull him out of his crib on all occasions. when i found neither of them was amenable to reason on this point, i locked the door, and no amount of eloquent pleading ever gained them admittance during the time i considered sacred to the baby's slumbers. at six months having, as yet, had none of the diseases supposed to be inevitable, the boy weighed thirty pounds. then the stately peter came again into requisition, and in his strong arms the child spent many of his waking hours. peter, with a long, elephantine gait, slowly wandered over the town, lingering especially in the busy marts of trade. peter's curiosity had strengthened with years, and, wherever a crowd gathered round a monkey and hand organ, a vender's wagon, an auction stand, or the post office at mail time, there stood peter, black as coal, with "the beautiful boy in white," the most conspicuous figure in the crowd. as i told peter never to let children kiss the baby, for fear of some disease, he kept him well aloft, allowing no affectionate manifestations except toward himself. my reading, at this time, centered on hygiene. i came to the conclusion, after much thought and observation, that children never cried unless they were uncomfortable. a professor at union college, who used to combat many of my theories, said he gave one of his children a sound spanking at six weeks, and it never disturbed him a night afterward. another solomon told me that a very weak preparation of opium would keep a child always quiet and take it through the dangerous period of teething without a ripple on the surface of domestic life. as children cannot tell what ails them, and suffer from many things of which parents are ignorant, the crying of the child should arouse them to an intelligent examination. to spank it for crying is to silence the watchman on the tower through fear, to give soothing syrup is to drug the watchman while the evils go on. parents may thereby insure eight hours' sleep at the time, but at the risk of greater trouble in the future with sick and dying children. tom moore tells us "the heart from love to one, grows bountiful to all." i know the care of one child made me thoughtful of all. i never hear a child cry, now, that i do not feel that i am bound to find out the reason. in my extensive travels on lecturing tours, in after years, i had many varied experiences with babies. one day, in the cars, a child was crying near me, while the parents were alternately shaking and slapping it. first one would take it with an emphatic jerk, and then the other. at last i heard the father say in a spiteful tone, "if you don't stop i'll throw you out of the window." one naturally hesitates about interfering between parents and children, so i generally restrain myself as long as i can endure the torture of witnessing such outrages, but at length i turned and said: "let me take your child and see if i can find out what ails it." "nothing ails it," said the father, "but bad temper." the child readily came to me. i felt all around to see if its clothes pinched anywhere, or if there were any pins pricking. i took off its hat and cloak to see if there were any strings cutting its neck or choking it. then i glanced at the feet, and lo! there was the trouble. the boots were at least one size too small. i took them off, and the stockings, too, and found the feet as cold as ice and the prints of the stockings clearly traced on the tender flesh. we all know the agony of tight boots. i rubbed the feet and held them in my hands until they were warm, when the poor little thing fell asleep. i said to the parents, "you are young people, i see, and this is probably your first child." they said, "yes." "you don't intend to be cruel, i know, but if you had thrown those boots out of the window, when you threatened to throw the child, it would have been wiser. this poor child has suffered ever since it was dressed this morning." i showed them the marks on the feet, and called their attention to the fact that the child fell asleep as soon as its pain was relieved. the mother said she knew the boots were tight, as it was with difficulty she could get them on, but the old ones were too shabby for the journey and they had no time to change the others. "well," said the husband, "if i had known those boots were tight, i would have thrown them out of the window." "now," said i, "let me give you one rule: when your child cries, remember it is telling you, as well as it can, that something hurts it, either outside or in, and do not rest until you find what it is. neither spanking, shaking, or scolding can relieve pain." i have seen women enter the cars with their babies' faces completely covered with a blanket shawl. i have often thought i would like to cover their faces for an hour and see how they would bear it. in such circumstances, in order to get the blanket open, i have asked to see the baby, and generally found it as red as a beet. ignorant nurses and mothers have discovered that children sleep longer with their heads covered. they don't know why, nor the injurious effect of breathing over and over the same air that has been thrown off the lungs polluted with carbonic acid gas. this stupefies the child and prolongs the unhealthy slumber. one hot day, in the month of may, i entered a crowded car at cedar rapids, ia., and took the only empty seat beside a gentleman who seemed very nervous about a crying child. i was scarcely seated when he said: "mother, do you know anything about babies?" "oh, yes!" i said, smiling, "that is a department of knowledge on which i especially pride myself." "well," said he, "there is a child that has cried most of the time for the last twenty-four hours. what do you think ails it?" making a random supposition, i replied, "it probably needs a bath." he promptly rejoined, "if you will give it one, i will provide the necessary means." i said, "i will first see if the child will come to me and if the mother is willing." i found the mother only too glad to have a few minutes' rest, and the child too tired to care who took it. she gave me a suit of clean clothes throughout, the gentleman spread his blanket shawl on the seat, securing the opposite one for me and the bathing appliances. then he produced a towel, sponge, and an india-rubber bowl full of water, and i gave the child a generous drink and a thorough ablution. it stretched and seemed to enjoy every step of the proceeding, and, while i was brushing its golden curls as gently as i could, it fell asleep; so i covered it with the towel and blanket shawl, not willing to disturb it for dressing. the poor mother, too, was sound asleep, and the gentleman very happy. he had children of his own and, like me, felt great pity for the poor, helpless little victim of ignorance and folly. i engaged one of the ladies to dress it when it awoke, as i was soon to leave the train. it slept the two hours i remained--how much longer i never heard. a young man, who had witnessed the proceeding, got off at the same station and accosted me, saying: "i should be very thankful if you would come and see my baby. it is only one month old and cries all the time, and my wife, who is only sixteen years old, is worn out with it and neither of us know what to do, so we all cry together, and the doctor says he does not see what ails it." so i went on my mission of mercy and found the child bandaged as tight as a drum. when i took out the pins and unrolled it, it fairly popped like the cork out of a champagne bottle. i rubbed its breast and its back and soon soothed it to sleep. i remained a long time, telling them how to take care of the child and the mother, too. i told them everything i could think of in regard to clothes, diet, and pure air. i asked the mother why she bandaged her child as she did. she said her nurse told her that there was danger of hernia unless the abdomen was well bandaged. i told her that the only object of a bandage was to protect the navel, for a few days, until it was healed, and for that purpose all that was necessary was a piece of linen four inches square, well oiled, folded four times double, with a hole in the center, laid over it. i remembered, next day, that i forgot to tell them to give the child water, and so i telegraphed them, "give the baby water six times a day." i heard of that baby afterward. it lived and flourished, and the parents knew how to administer to the wants of the next one. the father was a telegraph operator and had many friends--knights of the key--throughout iowa. for many years afterward, in leisure moments, these knights would "call up" this parent and say, over the wire, "give the baby water six times a day." thus did they "repeat the story, and spread the truth from pole to pole." chapter viii. boston and chelsea. in the autumn of my husband was admitted to the bar and commenced the practice of law in boston with mr. bowles, brother-in-law of the late general john a. dix. this gave me the opportunity to make many pleasant acquaintances among the lawyers in boston, and to meet, intimately, many of the noble men and women among reformers, whom i had long worshiped at a distance. here, for the first time, i met lydia maria child, abby kelly, paulina wright, elizabeth peabody, maria chapman and her beautiful sisters, the misses weston, oliver and marianna johnson, joseph and thankful southwick and their three bright daughters. the home of the southwicks was always a harbor of rest for the weary, where the anti-slavery hosts were wont to congregate, and where one was always sure to meet someone worth knowing. their hospitality was generous to an extreme, and so boundless that they were, at last, fairly eaten out of house and home. here, too, for the first time, i met theodore parker, john pierpont, john g. whittier, emerson, alcott, lowell, hawthorne, mr. and mrs. samuel e. sewall, sidney howard gay, pillsbury, foster, frederick douglass, and last though not least, those noble men, charles hovey and francis jackson, the only men who ever left any money to the cause of woman suffrage. i also met miss jackson, afterward mrs. eddy, who left half her fortune, fifty thousand dollars, for the same purpose. i was a frequent visitor at the home of william lloyd garrison. though he had a prolonged battle to fight in the rough outside world, his home was always a haven of rest. mrs. garrison was a sweet-tempered, conscientious woman, who tried, under all circumstances, to do what was right. she had sound judgment and rare common sense, was tall and fine-looking, with luxuriant brown hair, large tender blue eyes, delicate features, and affable manners. they had an exceptionally fine family of five sons and one daughter. fanny, now the wife of henry villard, the financier, was the favorite and pet. all the children, in their maturer years, have fulfilled the promises of their childhood. though always in straitened circumstances, the garrisons were very hospitable. it was next to impossible for mr. garrison to meet a friend without inviting him to his house, especially at the close of a convention. i was one of twelve at one of his impromptu tea parties. we all took it for granted that his wife knew we were coming, and that her preparations were already made. surrounded by half a dozen children, she was performing the last act in the opera of lullaby, wholly unconscious of the invasion downstairs. but mr. garrison was equal to every emergency, and, after placing his guests at their ease in the parlor, he hastened to the nursery, took off his coat, and rocked the baby until his wife had disposed of the remaining children. then they had a consultation about the tea, and when, basket in hand, the good man sallied forth for the desired viands, mrs. garrison, having made a hasty toilet, came down to welcome her guests. she was as genial and self-possessed as if all things had been prepared. she made no apologies for what was lacking in the general appearance of the house nor in the variety of the _menu_--it was sufficient for her to know that mr. garrison was happy in feeling free to invite his friends. the impromptu meal was excellent, and we had a most enjoyable evening. i have no doubt that mrs. garrison had more real pleasure than if she had been busy all day making preparations and had been tired out when her guests arrived. the anti-slavery conventions and fairs, held every year during the holidays, brought many charming people from other states, and made boston a social center for the coadjutors of garrison and phillips. these conventions surpassed any meetings i had ever attended; the speeches were eloquent and the debates earnest and forcible. garrison and phillips were in their prime, and slavery was a question of national interest. the hall in which the fairs were held, under the auspices of mrs. chapman and her cohorts, was most artistically decorated. there one could purchase whatever the fancy could desire, for english friends, stimulated by the appeals of harriet martineau and elizabeth pease, used to send boxes of beautiful things, gathered from all parts of the eastern continent. there, too, one could get a most _recherché_ luncheon in the society of the literati of boston; for, however indifferent many were to slavery _per se_, they enjoyed these fairs, and all classes flocked there till far into the night. it was a kind of ladies' exchange for the holiday week, where each one was sure to meet her friends. the fair and the annual convention, coming in succession, intensified the interest in both. i never grew weary of the conventions, though i attended all the sessions, lasting, sometimes, until eleven o'clock at night. the fiery eloquence of the abolitionists, the amusing episodes that occurred when some crank was suppressed and borne out on the shoulders of his brethren, gave sufficient variety to the proceedings to keep the interest up to high-water mark. there was one old man dressed in white, carrying a scythe, who imagined himself the personification of "time," though called "father lampson." occasionally he would bubble over with some prophetic vision, and, as he could not be silenced, he was carried out. he usually made himself as limp as possible, which added to the difficulty of his exit and the amusement of the audience. a ripple of merriment would unsettle, for a moment, even the dignity of the platform when abigail folsom, another crank, would shout from the gallery, "stop not, my brother, on the order of your going, but go." the abolitionists were making the experiment, at this time, of a free platform, allowing everyone to speak as moved by the spirit, but they soon found that would not do, as those evidently moved by the spirit of mischief were quite as apt to air their vagaries as those moved by the spirit of truth. however, the garrisonian platform always maintained a certain degree of freedom outside its regular programme, and, although this involved extra duty in suppressing cranks, yet the meeting gained enthusiasm by some good spontaneous speaking on the floor as well as on the platform. a number of immense mass meetings were held in faneuil hall, a large, dreary place, with its bare walls and innumerable dingy windows. the only attempt at an ornament was the american eagle, with its wings spread and claws firmly set, in the middle of the gallery. the gilt was worn off its beak, giving it the appearance, as edmund quincy said, of having a bad cold in the head. this old hall was sacred to so many memories connected with the early days of the revolution that it was a kind of mecca for the lovers of liberty visiting boston. the anti-slavery meetings held there were often disturbed by mobs that would hold the most gifted orator at bay hour after hour, and would listen only to the songs of the hutchinson family. although these songs were a condensed extract of the whole anti-slavery constitution and by-laws, yet the mob was as peaceful under these paeans to liberty as a child under the influence of an anodyne. what a welcome and beautiful vision that was when the four brothers, in blue broadcloth and white collars, turned down _à la_ byron, and little sister abby in silk, soft lace, and blue ribbon, appeared on the platform to sing their quaint ballads of freedom! fresh from the hills of new hampshire, they looked so sturdy, so vigorous, so pure, so true that they seemed fitting representatives of all the cardinal virtues, and even a howling mob could not resist their influence. perhaps, after one of their ballads, the mob would listen five minutes to wendell phillips or garrison until he gave them some home thrusts, when all was uproar again. the northern merchants who made their fortunes out of southern cotton, the politicians who wanted votes, and the ministers who wanted to keep peace in the churches, were all as much opposed to the anti-slavery agitation as were the slaveholders themselves. these were the classes the mob represented, though seemingly composed of gamblers, liquor dealers, and demagogues. for years the anti-slavery struggle at the north was carried on against statecraft, priestcraft, the cupidity of the moneyed classes, and the ignorance of the masses, but, in spite of all these forces of evil, it triumphed at last. i was in boston at the time that lane and wright, some metaphysical englishmen, and our own alcott held their famous philosophical conversations, in which elizabeth peabody took part. i went to them regularly. i was ambitious to absorb all the wisdom i could, but, really, i could not give an intelligent report of the points under discussion at any sitting. oliver johnson asked me, one day, if i enjoyed them. i thought, from a twinkle in his eye, that he thought i did not, so i told him i was ashamed to confess that i did not know what they were talking about. he said, "neither do i,--very few of their hearers do,--so you need not be surprised that they are incomprehensible to you, nor think less of your own capacity." i was indebted to mr. johnson for several of the greatest pleasures i enjoyed in boston. he escorted me to an entire course of theodore parker's lectures, given in marlborough chapel. this was soon after the great preacher had given his famous sermon on "the permanent and transient in religion," when he was ostracised, even by the unitarians, for his radical utterances, and not permitted to preach in any of their pulpits. his lectures were deemed still more heterodox than that sermon. he shocked the orthodox churches of that day--more, even, than ingersoll has in our times. the lectures, however, were so soul-satisfying to me that i was surprised at the bitter criticisms i heard expressed. though they were two hours long, i never grew weary, and, when the course ended, i said to mr. johnson: "i wish i could hear them over again." "well, you can," said he, "mr. parker is to repeat them in cambridgeport, beginning next week." accordingly we went there and heard them again with equal satisfaction. during the winter in boston i attended all the lectures, churches, theaters, concerts, and temperance, peace, and prison-reform conventions within my reach. i had never lived in such an enthusiastically literary and reform latitude before, and my mental powers were kept at the highest tension. we went to chelsea, for the summer, and boarded with the baptist minister, the rev. john wesley olmstead, afterward editor of _the watchman and reflector_. he had married my cousin, mary livingston, one of the most lovely, unselfish characters i ever knew. there i had the opportunity of meeting several of the leading baptist ministers in new england, and, as i was thoroughly imbued with parker's ideas, we had many heated discussions on theology. there, too, i met orestes bronson, a remarkably well-read man, who had gone through every phase of religious experience from blank atheism to the bosom of the catholic church, where i believe he found repose at the end of his days. he was so arbitrary and dogmatic that most people did not like him; but i appreciated his acquaintance, as he was a liberal thinker and had a world of information which he readily imparted to those of a teachable spirit. as i was then in a hungering, thirsting condition for truth on every subject, the friendship of such a man was, to me, an inestimable blessing. reading theodore parker's lectures, years afterward, i was surprised to find how little there was in them to shock anybody--the majority of thinking people having grown up to them. while living in chelsea two years, i used to walk (there being no public conveyances running on sunday) from the ferry to marlborough chapel to hear mr. parker preach. it was a long walk, over two miles, and i was so tired, on reaching the chapel, that i made it a point to sleep through all the preliminary service, so as to be fresh for the sermon, as the friend next whom i sat always wakened me in time. one sunday, when my friend was absent, it being a very warm day and i unusually fatigued, i slept until the sexton informed me that he was about to close the doors! in an unwary moment i imparted this fact to my baptist friends. they made all manner of fun ever afterward of the soothing nature of mr. parker's theology, and my long walk, every sunday, to repose in the shadow of a heterodox altar. still, the loss of the sermon was the only vexatious part of it, and i had the benefit of the walk and the refreshing slumber, to the music of mr. parker's melodious voice and the deep-toned organ. mrs. oliver johnson and i spent two days at the brook farm community when in the height of its prosperity. there i met the ripleys,--who were, i believe, the backbone of the experiment,--william henry channing, bronson alcott, charles a. dana, frederick cabot, william chase, mrs. horace greeley, who was spending a few days there, and many others, whose names i cannot recall. here was a charming family of intelligent men and women, doing their own farm and house work, with lectures, readings, music, dancing, and games when desired; realizing, in a measure, edward bellamy's beautiful vision of the equal conditions of the human family in the year . the story of the beginning and end of this experiment of community life has been told so often that i will simply say that its failure was a grave disappointment to those most deeply interested in its success. mr. channing told me, years after, when he was pastor of the unitarian church in rochester, as we were wandering through mount hope one day, that, when the roxbury community was dissolved and he was obliged to return to the old life of competition, he would gladly have been laid under the sod, as the isolated home seemed so solitary, silent, and selfish that the whole atmosphere was oppressive. in my father moved to albany, to establish my brothers-in-law, mr. wilkeson and mr. mcmartin, in the legal profession. that made albany the family rallying point for a few years. this enabled me to spend several winters at the capital and to take an active part in the discussion of the married woman's property bill, then pending in the legislature. william h. seward, governor of the state from to , recommended the bill, and his wife, a woman of rare intelligence, advocated it in society. together we had the opportunity of talking with many members, both of the senate and the assembly, in social circles, as well as in their committee rooms. bills were pending from until , when the measure finally passed. my second son was born in albany, in march, , under more favorable auspices than the first, as i knew, then, what to do with a baby. returning to chelsea we commenced housekeeping, which afforded me another chapter of experience. a new house, newly furnished, with beautiful views of boston bay, was all i could desire. mr. stanton announced to me, in starting, that his business would occupy all his time, and that i must take entire charge of the housekeeping. so, with two good servants and two babies under my sole supervision, my time was pleasantly occupied. when first installed as mistress over an establishment, one has that same feeling of pride and satisfaction that a young minister must have in taking charge of his first congregation. it is a proud moment in a woman's life to reign supreme within four walls, to be the one to whom all questions of domestic pleasure and economy are referred, and to hold in her hand that little family book in which the daily expenses, the outgoings and incomings, are duly registered. i studied up everything pertaining to housekeeping, and enjoyed it all. even washing day--that day so many people dread--had its charms for me. the clean clothes on the lines and on the grass looked so white, and smelled so sweet, that it was to me a pretty sight to contemplate. i inspired my laundress with an ambition to have her clothes look white and to get them out earlier than our neighbors, and to have them ironed and put away sooner. as mr. stanton did not come home to dinner, we made a picnic of our noon meal on mondays, and all thoughts and energies were turned to speed the washing. no unnecessary sweeping or dusting, no visiting nor entertaining angels unawares on that day--it was held sacred to soap suds, blue-bags, and clotheslines. the children, only, had no deviation in the regularity of their lives. they had their drives and walks, their naps and rations, in quantity and time, as usual. i had all the most approved cook books, and spent half my time preserving, pickling, and experimenting in new dishes. i felt the same ambition to excel in all departments of the culinary art that i did at school in the different branches of learning. my love of order and cleanliness was carried throughout, from parlor to kitchen, from the front door to the back. i gave a man an extra shilling to pile the logs of firewood with their smooth ends outward, though i did not have them scoured white, as did our dutch grandmothers. i tried, too, to give an artistic touch to everything--the dress of my children and servants included. my dining table was round, always covered with a clean cloth of a pretty pattern and a centerpiece of flowers in their season, pretty dishes, clean silver, and set with neatness and care. i put my soul into everything, and hence enjoyed it. i never could understand how housekeepers could rest with rubbish all round their back doors; eggshells, broken dishes, tin cans, and old shoes scattered round their premises; servants ragged and dirty, with their hair in papers, and with the kitchen and dining room full of flies. i have known even artists to be indifferent to their personal appearance and their surroundings. surely a mother and child, tastefully dressed, and a pretty home for a framework, is, as a picture, even more attractive than a domestic scene hung on the wall. the love of the beautiful can be illustrated as well in life as on canvas. there is such a struggle among women to become artists that i really wish some of their gifts could be illustrated in clean, orderly, beautiful homes. our house was pleasantly situated on the chelsea hills, commanding a fine view of boston, the harbor, and surrounding country. there, on the upper piazza, i spent some of the happiest days of my life, enjoying, in turn, the beautiful outlook, my children, and my books. here, under the very shadow of bunker hill monument, my third son was born. shortly after this gerrit smith and his wife came to spend a few days with us, so this boy, much against my will, was named after my cousin. i did not believe in old family names unless they were peculiarly euphonious. i had a list of beautiful names for sons and daughters, from which to designate each newcomer; but, as yet, not one on my list had been used. however, i put my foot down, at no. , and named him theodore, and, thus far, he has proved himself a veritable "gift of god," doing his uttermost, in every way possible, to fight the battle of freedom for woman. during the visit of my cousin i thought i would venture on a small, select dinner party, consisting of the rev. john pierpont and his wife, charles sumner, john g. whittier, and joshua leavitt. i had a new cook, rose, whose viands, thus far, had proved delicious, so i had no anxiety on that score. but, unfortunately, on this occasion i had given her a bottle of wine for the pudding sauce and whipped cream, of which she imbibed too freely, and hence there were some glaring blunders in the _menu_ that were exceedingly mortifying. as mr. smith and my husband were both good talkers, i told them they must cover all defects with their brilliant conversation, which they promised to do. rose had all the points of a good servant, phrenologically and physiologically. she had a large head, with great bumps of caution and order, her eyes were large and soft and far apart. in selecting her, scientifically, i had told my husband, in triumph, several times what a treasure i had found. shortly after dinner, one evening when i was out, she held the baby while the nurse was eating her supper, and carelessly burned his foot against the stove. then mr. stanton suggested that, in selecting the next cook, i would better not trust to science, but inquire of the family where she lived as to her practical virtues. poor rose! she wept over her lapses when sober, and made fair promises for the future, but i did not dare to trust her, so we parted. the one drawback to the joys of housekeeping was then, as it is now, the lack of faithful, competent servants. the hope of co-operative housekeeping, in the near future, gives us some promise of a more harmonious domestic life. one of the books in my library i value most highly is the first volume of whittier's poems, published in , "dedicated to henry b. stanton, as a token of the author's personal friendship, and of his respect for the unreserved devotion of exalted talents to the cause of humanity and freedom." soon after our marriage we spent a few days with our gifted quaker poet, on his farm in massachusetts. i shall never forget those happy days in june; the long walks and drives, and talks under the old trees of anti-slavery experiences, and whittier's mirth and indignation as we described different scenes in the world's anti-slavery convention in london. he laughed immoderately at the tom campbell episode. poor fellow! he had taken too much wine that day, and when whittier's verses, addressed to the convention, were read, he criticised them severely, and wound up by saying that the soul of a poet was not in him. mr. stanton sprang to his feet and recited some of whittier's stirring stanzas on freedom, which electrified the audience, and, turning to campbell, he said: "what do you say to that?" "ah! that's real poetry," he replied. "and john greenleaf whittier is its author," said mr. stanton. i enjoyed, too, the morning and evening service, when the revered mother read the scriptures and we all bowed our heads in silent worship. there was, at times, an atmosphere of solemnity pervading everything, that was oppressive in the midst of so much that appealed to my higher nature. there was a shade of sadness in even the smile of the mother and sister, and a rigid plainness in the house and its surroundings, a depressed look in whittier himself that the songs of the birds, the sunshine, and the bracing new england air seemed powerless to chase away, caused, as i afterward heard, by pecuniary embarrassment, and fears in regard to the delicate health of the sister. she, too, had rare poetical talent, and in her whittier found not only a helpful companion in the practical affairs of life, but one who sympathized with him in the highest flights of which his muse was capable. their worst fears were realized in the death of the sister not long after. in his last volume several of her poems were published, which are quite worthy the place the brother's appreciation has given them. whittier's love and reverence for his mother and sister, so marked in every word and look, were charming features of his home life. all his poems to our sex breathe the same tender, worshipful sentiments. soon after this visit at amesbury, our noble friend spent a few days with us in chelsea, near boston. one evening, after we had been talking a long time of the unhappy dissensions among anti-slavery friends, by way of dissipating the shadows i opened the piano, and proposed that we should sing some cheerful songs. "oh, no!" exclaimed mr. stanton, "do not touch a note; you will put every nerve of whittier's body on edge." it seemed, to me, so natural for a poet to love music that i was surprised to know that it was a torture to him. from our upper piazza we had a fine view of boston harbor. sitting there late one moonlight night, admiring the outlines of bunker hill monument and the weird effect of the sails and masts of the vessels lying in the harbor, we naturally passed from the romance of our surroundings to those of our lives. i have often noticed that the most reserved people are apt to grow confidential at such an hour. it was under such circumstances that the good poet opened to me a deeply interesting page of his life, a sad romance of love and disappointment, that may not yet be told, as some who were interested in the events are still among the living. whittier's poems were not only one of the most important factors in the anti-slavery war and victory, but they have been equally potent in emancipating the minds of his generation from the gloomy superstitions of the puritanical religion. oliver wendell holmes, in his eulogy of whittier, says that his influence on the religious thought of the american people has been far greater than that of the occupant of any pulpit. as my husband's health was delicate, and the new england winters proved too severe for him, we left boston, with many regrets, and sought a more genial climate in central new york. chapter ix. the first woman's rights convention. in the spring of we moved to seneca falls. here we spent sixteen years of our married life, and here our other children--two sons and two daughters--were born. just as we were ready to leave boston, mr. and mrs. eaton and their two children arrived from europe, and we decided to go together to johnstown, mr. eaton being obliged to hurry to new york on business, and mr. stanton to remain still in boston a few months. at the last moment my nurse decided she could not leave her friends and go so far away. accordingly my sister and i started, by rail, with five children and seventeen trunks, for albany, where we rested over night and part of the next day. we had a very fatiguing journey, looking after so many trunks and children, for my sister's children persisted in standing on the platform at every opportunity, and the younger ones would follow their example. this kept us constantly on the watch. we were thankful when safely landed once more in the old homestead in johnstown, where we arrived at midnight. as our beloved parents had received no warning of our coming, the whole household was aroused to dispose of us. but now in safe harbor, 'mid familiar scenes and pleasant memories, our slumbers were indeed refreshing. how rapidly one throws off all care and anxiety under the parental roof, and how at sea one feels, no matter what the age may be, when the loved ones are gone forever and the home of childhood is but a dream of the past. after a few days of rest i started, alone, for my new home, quite happy with the responsibility of repairing a house and putting all things in order. i was already acquainted with many of the people and the surroundings in seneca falls, as my sister, mrs. bayard, had lived there several years, and i had frequently made her long visits. we had quite a magnetic circle of reformers, too, in central new york. at rochester were william henry channing, frederick douglass, the anthonys, posts, hallowells, stebbins,--some grand old quaker families at farmington,--the sedgwicks, mays, mills, and matilda joslyn gage at syracuse; gerrit smith at peterboro, and beriah green at whitesboro. the house we were to occupy had been closed for some years and needed many repairs, and the grounds, comprising five acres, were overgrown with weeds. my father gave me a check and said, with a smile, "you believe in woman's capacity to do and dare; now go ahead and put your place in order." after a minute survey of the premises and due consultation with one or two sons of adam, i set the carpenters, painters, paper-hangers, and gardeners at work, built a new kitchen and woodhouse, and in one month took possession. having left my children with my mother, there were no impediments to a full display of my executive ability. in the purchase of brick, timber, paint, etc., and in making bargains with workmen, i was in frequent consultation with judge sackett and mr. bascom. the latter was a member of the constitutional convention, then in session in albany, and as he used to walk down whenever he was at home, to see how my work progressed, we had long talks, sitting on boxes in the midst of tools and shavings, on the status of women. i urged him to propose an amendment to article ii, section , of the state constitution, striking out the word "male," which limits the suffrage to men. but, while he fully agreed with all i had to say on the political equality of women, he had not the courage to make himself the laughing-stock of the convention. whenever i cornered him on this point, manlike he turned the conversation to the painters and carpenters. however, these conversations had the effect of bringing him into the first woman's convention, where he did us good service. in seneca falls my life was comparatively solitary, and the change from boston was somewhat depressing. there, all my immediate friends were reformers, i had near neighbors, a new home with all the modern conveniences, and well-trained servants. here our residence was on the outskirts of the town, roads very often muddy and no sidewalks most of the way, mr. stanton was frequently from home, i had poor servants, and an increasing number of children. to keep a house and grounds in good order, purchase every article for daily use, keep the wardrobes of half a dozen human beings in proper trim, take the children to dentists, shoemakers, and different schools, or find teachers at home, altogether made sufficient work to keep one brain busy, as well as all the hands i could impress into the service. then, too, the novelty of housekeeping had passed away, and much that was once attractive in domestic life was now irksome. i had so many cares that the company i needed for intellectual stimulus was a trial rather than a pleasure. there was quite an irish settlement at a short distance, and continual complaints were coming to me that my boys threw stones at their pigs, cows, and the roofs of their houses. this involved constant diplomatic relations in the settlement of various difficulties, in which i was so successful that, at length, they constituted me a kind of umpire in all their own quarrels. if a drunken husband was pounding his wife, the children would run for me. hastening to the scene of action, i would take patrick by the collar, and, much to his surprise and shame, make him sit down and promise to behave himself. i never had one of them offer the least resistance, and in time they all came to regard me as one having authority. i strengthened my influence by cultivating good feeling. i lent the men papers to read, and invited their children into our grounds; giving them fruit, of which we had abundance, and my children's old clothes, books, and toys. i was their physician, also--with my box of homeopathic medicines i took charge of the men, women, and children in sickness. thus the most amicable relations were established, and, in any emergency, these poor neighbors were good friends and always ready to serve me. but i found police duty rather irksome, especially when called out dark nights to prevent drunken fathers from disturbing their sleeping children, or to minister to poor mothers in the pangs of maternity. alas! alas! who can measure the mountains of sorrow and suffering endured in unwelcome motherhood in the abodes of ignorance, poverty, and vice, where terror-stricken women and children are the victims of strong men frenzied with passion and intoxicating drink? up to this time life had glided by with comparative ease, but now the real struggle was upon me. my duties were too numerous and varied, and none sufficiently exhilarating or intellectual to bring into play my higher faculties. i suffered with mental hunger, which, like an empty stomach, is very depressing. i had books, but no stimulating companionship. to add to my general dissatisfaction at the change from boston, i found that seneca falls was a malarial region, and in due time all the children were attacked with chills and fever which, under homeopathic treatment in those days, lasted three months. the servants were afflicted in the same way. cleanliness, order, the love of the beautiful and artistic, all faded away in the struggle to accomplish what was absolutely necessary from hour to hour. now i understood, as i never had before, how women could sit down and rest in the midst of general disorder. housekeeping, under such conditions, was impossible, so i packed our clothes, locked up the house, and went to that harbor of safety, home, as i did ever after in stress of weather. i now fully understood the practical difficulties most women had to contend with in the isolated household, and the impossibility of woman's best development if in contact, the chief part of her life, with servants and children. fourier's phalansterie community life and co-operative households had a new significance for me. emerson says, "a healthy discontent is the first step to progress." the general discontent i felt with woman's portion as wife, mother, housekeeper, physician, and spiritual guide, the chaotic conditions into which everything fell without her constant supervision, and the wearied, anxious look of the majority of women impressed me with a strong feeling that some active measures should be taken to remedy the wrongs of society in general, and of women in particular. my experience at the world's anti-slavery convention, all i had read of the legal status of women, and the oppression i saw everywhere, together swept across my soul, intensified now by many personal experiences. it seemed as if all the elements had conspired to impel me to some onward step. i could not see what to do or where to begin--my only thought was a public meeting for protest and discussion. in this tempest-tossed condition of mind i received an invitation to spend the day with lucretia mott, at richard hunt's, in waterloo. there i met several members of different families of friends, earnest, thoughtful women. i poured out, that day, the torrent of my long-accumulating discontent, with such vehemence and indignation that i stirred myself, as well as the rest of the party, to do and dare anything. my discontent, according to emerson, must have been healthy, for it moved us all to prompt action, and we decided, then and there, to call a "woman's rights convention." we wrote the call that evening and published it in the _seneca county courier_ the next day, the th of july, , giving only five days' notice, as the convention was to be held on the th and th. the call was inserted without signatures,--in fact it was a mere announcement of a meeting,--but the chief movers and managers were lucretia mott, mary ann mcclintock, jane hunt, martha c. wright, and myself. the convention, which was held two days in the methodist church, was in every way a grand success. the house was crowded at every session, the speaking good, and a religious earnestness dignified all the proceedings. these were the hasty initiative steps of "the most momentous reform that had yet been launched on the world--the first organized protest against the injustice which had brooded for ages over the character and destiny of one-half the race." no words could express our astonishment on finding, a few days afterward, that what seemed to us so timely, so rational, and so sacred, should be a subject for sarcasm and ridicule to the entire press of the nation. with our declaration of rights and resolutions for a text, it seemed as if every man who could wield a pen prepared a homily on "woman's sphere." all the journals from maine to texas seemed to strive with each other to see which could make our movement appear the most ridiculous. the anti-slavery papers stood by us manfully and so did frederick douglass, both in the convention and in his paper, _the north star_, but so pronounced was the popular voice against us, in the parlor, press, and pulpit, that most of the ladies who had attended the convention and signed the declaration, one by one, withdrew their names and influence and joined our persecutors. our friends gave us the cold shoulder and felt themselves disgraced by the whole proceeding. if i had had the slightest premonition of all that was to follow that convention, i fear i should not have had the courage to risk it, and i must confess that it was with fear and trembling that i consented to attend another, one month afterward, in rochester. fortunately, the first one seemed to have drawn all the fire, and of the second but little was said. but we had set the ball in motion, and now, in quick succession, conventions were held in ohio, indiana, massachusetts, pennsylvania, and in the city of new york, and have been kept up nearly every year since. the most noteworthy of the early conventions were those held in massachusetts, in which such men as garrison, phillips, channing, parker, and emerson took part. it was one of these that first attracted the attention of mrs. john stuart mill, and drew from her pen that able article on "the enfranchisement of woman," in the _westminster review_ of october, . the same year of the convention, the married woman's property bill, which had given rise to some discussion on woman's rights in new york, had passed the legislature. this encouraged action on the part of women, as the reflection naturally arose that, if the men who make the laws were ready for some onward step, surely the women themselves should express some interest in the legislation. ernestine l. rose, paulina wright (davis), and i had spoken before committees of the legislature years before, demanding equal property rights for women. we had circulated petitions for the married woman's property bill for many years, and so also had the leaders of the dutch aristocracy, who desired to see their life-long accumulations descend to their daughters and grandchildren rather than pass into the hands of dissipated, thriftless sons-in-law. judge hertell, judge fine, and mr. geddes of syracuse prepared and championed the several bills, at different times, before the legislature. hence the demands made in the convention were not entirely new to the reading and thinking public of new york--the first state to take any action on the question. as new york was the first state to put the word "male" in her constitution in , it was fitting that she should be first in more liberal legislation. the effect of the convention on my own mind was most salutary. the discussions had cleared my ideas as to the primal steps to be taken for woman's enfranchisement, and the opportunity of expressing myself fully and freely on a subject i felt so deeply about was a great relief. i think all women who attended the convention felt better for the statement of their wrongs, believing that the first step had been taken to right them. soon after this i was invited to speak at several points in the neighborhood. one night, in the quaker meeting house at farmington, i invited, as usual, discussion and questions when i had finished. we all waited in silence for a long time; at length a middle-aged man, with a broad-brimmed hat, arose and responded in a sing-song tone: "all i have to say is, if a hen can crow, let her crow," emphasizing "crow" with an upward inflection on several notes of the gamut. the meeting adjourned with mingled feelings of surprise and merriment. i confess that i felt somewhat chagrined in having what i considered my unanswerable arguments so summarily disposed of, and the serious impression i had made on the audience so speedily dissipated. the good man intended no disrespect, as he told me afterward. he simply put the whole argument in a nutshell: "let a woman do whatever she can." with these new duties and interests, and a broader outlook on human life, my petty domestic annoyances gradually took a subordinate place. now i began to write articles for the press, letters to conventions held in other states, and private letters to friends, to arouse them to thought on this question. the pastor of the presbyterian church, mr. bogue, preached several sermons on woman's sphere, criticising the action of the conventions in seneca falls and rochester. elizabeth mcclintock and i took notes and answered him in the county papers. gradually we extended our labors and attacked our opponents in the new york _tribune_, whose columns were open to us in the early days, mr. greeley being, at that time, one of our most faithful champions. in answering all the attacks, we were compelled to study canon and civil law, constitutions, bibles, science, philosophy, and history, sacred and profane. now my mind, as well as my hands, was fully occupied, and instead of mourning, as i had done, over what i had lost in leaving boston, i tried in every way to make the most of life in seneca falls. seeing that elaborate refreshments prevented many social gatherings, i often gave an evening entertainment without any. i told the young people, whenever they wanted a little dance or a merry time, to make our house their rallying point, and i would light up and give them a glass of water and some cake. in that way we had many pleasant informal gatherings. then, in imitation of margaret fuller's conversationals, we started one which lasted several years. we selected a subject each week on which we all read and thought; each, in turn, preparing an essay ten minutes in length. these were held, at different homes, saturday of each week. on coming together we chose a presiding officer for the evening, who called the meeting to order, and introduced the essayist. that finished, he asked each member, in turn, what he or she had read or thought on the subject, and if any had criticisms to make on the essay. everyone was expected to contribute something. much information was thus gained, and many spicy discussions followed. all the ladies, as well as the gentlemen, presided in turn, and so became familiar with parliamentary rules. the evening ended with music, dancing, and a general chat. in this way we read and thought over a wide range of subjects and brought together the best minds in the community. many young men and women who did not belong to what was considered the first circle,--for in every little country village there is always a small clique that constitutes the aristocracy,--had the advantages of a social life otherwise denied them. i think that all who took part in this conversation club would testify to its many good influences. i had three quite intimate young friends in the village who spent much of their spare time with me, and who added much to my happiness: frances hoskins, who was principal of the girls' department in the academy, with whom i discussed politics and religion; mary bascom, a good talker on the topics of the day, and mary crowninshield, who played well on the piano. as i was very fond of music, mary's coming was always hailed with delight. her mother, too, was a dear friend of mine, a woman of rare intelligence, refinement, and conversational talent. she was a schuyler, and belonged to the dutch aristocracy in albany. she died suddenly, after a short illness. i was with her in the last hours and held her hand until the gradually fading spark of life went out. her son is captain a.s. crowninshield of our navy. my nearest neighbors were a very agreeable, intelligent family of sons and daughters. but i always felt that the men of that household were given to domineering. as the mother was very amiable and self-sacrificing, the daughters found it difficult to rebel. one summer, after general house-cleaning, when fresh paint and paper had made even the kitchen look too dainty for the summer invasion of flies, the queens of the household decided to move the sombre cook-stove into a spacious woodhouse, where it maintained its dignity one week, in the absence of the head of the home. the mother and daughters were delighted with the change, and wondered why they had not made it before during the summer months. but their pleasure was shortlived. father and sons rose early the first morning after his return and moved the stove back to its old place. when the wife and daughters came down to get their breakfast (for they did all their own work) they were filled with grief and disappointment. the breakfast was eaten in silence, the women humbled with a sense of their helplessness, and the men gratified with a sense of their power. these men would probably all have said "home is woman's sphere," though they took the liberty of regulating everything in her sphere. [illustration: mrs. stanton and son, .] [illustration: susan b. anthony -feb. , --] chapter x. susan b. anthony. the reports of the conventions held in seneca falls and rochester, n.y., in , attracted the attention of one destined to take a most important part in the new movement--susan b. anthony, who, for her courage and executive ability, was facetiously called by william henry channing, the napoleon of our struggle. at this time she was teaching in the academy at canajoharie, a little village in the beautiful valley of the mohawk. "the woman's declaration of independence" issued from those conventions startled and amused her, and she laughed heartily at the novelty and presumption of the demand. but, on returning home to spend her vacation, she was surprised to find that her sober quaker parents and sister, having attended the rochester meetings, regarded them as very profitable and interesting, and the demands made as proper and reasonable. she was already interested in the anti-slavery and temperance reforms, was an active member of an organization called "the daughters of temperance," and had spoken a few times in their public meetings. but the new gospel of "woman's rights," found a ready response in her mind, and, from that time, her best efforts have been given to the enfranchisement of women. as, from this time, my friend is closely connected with my narrative and will frequently appear therein, a sketch of her seems appropriate. lord bacon has well said: "he that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises either of virtue or mischief. certainly the best works, and of greatest merit for the public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men; which, both in affection and means, have married and endowed the public." this bit of baconian philosophy, as alike applicable to women, was the subject, not long since, of a conversation with a remarkably gifted englishwoman. she was absorbed in many public interests and had conscientiously resolved never to marry, lest the cares necessarily involved in matrimony should make inroads upon her time and thought, to the detriment of the public good. "unless," said she, "some women dedicate themselves to the public service, society is robbed of needed guardians for the special wants of the weak and unfortunate. there should be, in the secular world, certain orders corresponding in a measure to the grand sisterhoods of the catholic church, to the members of which, as freely as to men, all offices, civic and ecclesiastical, should be open." that this ideal will be realized may be inferred from the fact that exceptional women have, in all ages, been leaders in great projects of charity and reform, and that now many stand waiting only the sanction of their century, ready for wide altruistic labors. the world has ever had its vestal virgins, its holy women, mothers of ideas rather than of men; its marys, as well as its marthas, who, rather than be busy housewives, preferred to sit at the feet of divine wisdom, and ponder the mysteries of the unknown. all hail to maria mitchell, harriet hosmer, charlotte cushman, alice and phoebe gary, louisa alcott, dr. elizabeth blackwell, frances willard, and clara barton! all honor to the noble women who have devoted earnest lives to the intellectual and moral needs of mankind! susan b. anthony was of sturdy new england stock, and it was at the foot of old greylock, south adams, mass., that she gave forth her first rebellious cry. there the baby steps were taken, and at the village school the first stitches were learned, and the a b c duly mastered. when five winters had passed over susan's head, there came a time of great domestic commotion, and, in her small way, the child seized the idea that permanence is not the rule of life. the family moved to battenville, n.y., where mr. anthony became one of the wealthiest men in washington county. susan can still recall the stately coldness of the great house--how large the bare rooms, with their yellow-painted floors, seemed, in contrast with her own diminutiveness, and the outlook of the schoolroom where for so many years, with her brothers and sisters, she pursued her studies under private tutors. mr. anthony was a stern hicksite quaker. in susan's early life he objected on principle to all forms of frivolous amusement, such as music, dancing, or novel reading, while games and even pictures were regarded as meaningless luxuries. such puritanical convictions might have easily degenerated into mere cant; but underlying all was a broad and firm basis of wholesome respect for individual freedom and a brave adherence to truth. he was a man of good business capacity, and a thorough manager of his wide and lucrative interests. he saw that compensation and not chance ruled in the commercial world, and he believed in the same just, though often severe, law in the sphere of morals. such a man was not apt to walk humbly in the path mapped out by his religious sect. he early offended by choosing a baptist for a wife. for this first offense he was "disowned," and, according to quaker usage, could only be received into fellowship again by declaring himself "sorry" for his crime in full meeting. he was full of devout thankfulness for the good woman by his side, and destined to be thankful to the very end for this companion, so calm, so just, so far-seeing. he rose in meeting, and said he was "sorry" that the rules of the society were such that, in marrying the woman he loved, he had committed offense! he admitted that he was "sorry" for something, so was taken back into the body of the faithful! but his faith had begun to weaken in many minor points of discipline. his coat soon became a cause of offense and called forth another reproof from those buttoned up in conforming garments. the petty forms of quakerism began to lose their weight with him altogether, and he was finally disowned for allowing the village youth to be taught dancing in an upper room of his dwelling. he was applied to for this favor on the ground that young men were under great temptation to drink if the lessons were given in the hotel; and, being a rigid temperance man, he readily consented, though his principles, in regard to dancing, would not allow his own sons and daughters to join in the amusement. but the society could accept no such discrimination in what it deemed sin, nor such compromise with worldly frivolity, and so mr. anthony was seen no more in meeting. but, in later years, in rochester he was an attentive listener to rev. william henry channing. the effect of all this on susan is the question of interest. no doubt she early weighed the comparative moral effects of coats cut with capes and those cut without, of purely quaker conjugal love and that deteriorated with baptist affection. susan had an earnest soul and a conscience tending to morbidity; but a strong, well-balanced body and simple family life soothed her too active moral nature and gave the world, instead of a religious fanatic, a sincere, concentrated worker. every household art was taught her by her mother, and so great was her ability that the duty demanding especial care was always given into her hands. but ever, amid school and household tasks, her day-dream was that, in time, she might be a "high-seat" quaker. each sunday, up to the time of the third disobedience, mr. anthony went to the quaker meeting house, some thirteen miles from home, his wife and children usually accompanying him, though, as non-members, they were rigidly excluded from all business discussions. exclusion was very pleasant in the bright days of summer; but, on one occasion in december, decidedly unpleasant for the seven-year-old susan. when the blinds were drawn, at the close of the religious meeting, and non-members retired, susan sat still. soon she saw a thin old lady with blue goggles come down from the "high seat." approaching her, the quakeress said softly, "thee is not a member--thee must go out." "no; my mother told me not to go out in the cold," was the child's firm response. "yes, but thee must go out--thee is not a member." "but my father is a member." "thee is not a member," and susan felt as if the spirit was moving her and soon found herself in outer coldness. fingers and toes becoming numb, and a bright fire in a cottage over the way beckoning warmly to her, the exile from the chapel resolved to seek secular shelter. but alas! she was confronted by a huge dog, and just escaped with whole skin though capeless jacket. we may be sure there was much talk, that night, at the home fireside, and the good baptist wife declared that no child of hers should attend meeting again till made a member. thereafter, by request of her father, susan became a member of the quaker church. later, definite convictions took root in miss anthony's heart. hers is, indeed, a sincerely religious nature. to be a simple, earnest quaker was the aspiration of her girlhood; but she shrank from adopting the formal language and plain dress. dark hours of conflict were spent over all this, and she interpreted her disinclination as evidence of unworthiness. poor little susan! as we look back with the knowledge of our later life, we translate the heart-burnings as unconscious protests against labeling your free soul, against testing your reasoning conviction of to-morrow by any shibboleth of to-day's belief. we hail this child-intuition as a prophecy of the uncompromising truthfulness of the mature woman. susan anthony was taught simply that she must enter into the holy of holies of her own self, meet herself, and be true to the revelation. she first found words to express her convictions in listening to rev. william henry channing, whose teaching had a lasting spiritual influence upon her. to-day miss anthony is an agnostic. as to the nature of the godhead and of the life beyond her horizon she does not profess to know anything. every energy of her soul is centered upon the needs of this world. to her, work is worship. she has not stood aside, shivering in the cold shadows of uncertainty, but has moved on with the whirling world, has done the good given her to do, and thus, in darkest hours, has been sustained by an unfaltering faith in the final perfection of all things. her belief is not orthodox, but it is religious. in ancient greece she would have been a stoic; in the era of the reformation, a calvinist; in king charles' time, a puritan; but in this nineteenth century, by the very laws of her being, she is a reformer. for the arduous work that awaited miss anthony her years of young womanhood had given preparation. her father, though a man of wealth, made it a matter of conscience to train his girls, as well as his boys, to self-support. accordingly susan chose the profession of teacher, and made her first essay during a summer vacation in a school her father had established for the children of his employés. her success was so marked, not only in imparting knowledge, but also as a disciplinarian, that she followed this career steadily for fifteen years, with the exception of some months given in philadelphia to her own training. of the many school rebellions which she overcame, one rises before me, prominent in its ludicrous aspect. this was in the district school at center falls, in the year . bad reports were current there of male teachers driven out by a certain strapping lad. rumor next told of a quaker maiden coming to teach--a quaker maiden of peace principles. the anticipated day and susan arrived. she looked very meek to the barbarian of fifteen, so he soon began his antics. he was called to the platform, told to lay aside his jacket, and, thereupon, with much astonishment received from the mild quaker maiden, with a birch rod applied calmly but with precision, an exposition of the _argumentum ad hominem_ based on the _a posteriori_ method of reasoning. thus susan departed from her principles, but not from the school. but, before long, conflicts in the outside world disturbed our young teacher. the multiplication table and spelling book no longer enchained her thoughts; larger questions began to fill her mind. about the year susan b. anthony hid her ferule away. temperance, anti-slavery, woman suffrage,--three pregnant questions,--presented themselves, demanding her consideration. higher, ever higher, rose their appeals, until she resolved to dedicate her energy and thought to the burning needs of the hour. owing to early experience of the disabilities of her sex, the first demand for equal rights for women found echo in susan's heart. and, though she was in the beginning startled to hear that women had actually met in convention, and by speeches and resolutions had declared themselves man's peer in political rights, and had urged radical changes in state constitutions and the whole system of american jurisprudence; yet the most casual review convinced her that these claims were but the logical outgrowth of the fundamental theories of our republic. at this stage of her development i met my future friend and coadjutor for the first time. how well i remember the day! george thompson and william lloyd garrison having announced an anti-slavery meeting in seneca falls, miss anthony came to attend it. these gentlemen were my guests. walking home, after the adjournment, we met mrs. bloomer and miss anthony on the corner of the street, waiting to greet us. there she stood, with her good, earnest face and genial smile, dressed in gray delaine, hat and all the same color, relieved with pale blue ribbons, the perfection of neatness and sobriety. i liked her thoroughly, and why i did not at once invite her home with me to dinner, i do not know. she accuses me of that neglect, and has never forgiven me, as she wished to see and hear all she could of our noble friends. i suppose my mind was full of what i had heard, or my coming dinner, or the probable behavior of three mischievous boys who had been busily exploring the premises while i was at the meeting. that i had abundant cause for anxiety in regard to the philosophical experiments these young savages might try the reader will admit, when informed of some of their performances. henry imagined himself possessed of rare powers of invention (an ancestral weakness for generations), and so made a life preserver of corks, and tested its virtues on his brother, who was about eighteen months old. accompanied by a troop of expectant boys, the baby was drawn in his carriage to the banks of the seneca, stripped, the string of corks tied under his arms, and set afloat in the river, the philosopher and his satellites, in a rowboat, watching the experiment. the baby, accustomed to a morning bath in a large tub, splashed about joyfully, keeping his head above water. he was as blue as indigo and as cold as a frog when rescued by his anxious mother. the next day the same victimized infant was seen, by a passing friend, seated on the chimney, on the highest peak of the house. without alarming anyone, the friend hurried up to the housetop and rescued the child. another time the three elder brothers entered into a conspiracy, and locked up the fourth, theodore, in the smoke-house. fortunately, he sounded the alarm loud and clear, and was set free in safety, whereupon the three were imprisoned in a garret with two barred windows. they summarily kicked out the bars, and, sliding down on the lightning rod, betook themselves to the barn for liberty. the youngest boy, gerrit, then only five years old, skinned his hands in the descent. this is a fair sample of the quiet happiness i enjoyed in the first years of motherhood. it was 'mid such exhilarating scenes that miss anthony and i wrote addresses for temperance, anti-slavery, educational, and woman's rights conventions. here we forged resolutions, protests, appeals, petitions, agricultural reports, and constitutional arguments; for we made it a matter of conscience to accept every invitation to speak on every question, in order to maintain woman's right to do so. to this end we took turns on the domestic watchtowers, directing amusements, settling disputes, protecting the weak against the strong, and trying to secure equal rights to all in the home as well as the nation. i can recall many a stern encounter between my friend and the young experimenter. it is pleasant to remember that he never seriously injured any of his victims, and only once came near fatally shooting himself with a pistol. the ball went through his hand; happily a brass button prevented it from penetrating his heart. it is often said, by those who know miss anthony best, that she has been my good angel, always pushing and goading me to work, and that but for her pertinacity i should never have accomplished the little i have. on the other hand it has been said that i forged the thunderbolts and she fired them. perhaps all this is, in a measure, true. with the cares of a large family i might, in time, like too many women, have become wholly absorbed in a narrow family selfishness, had not my friend been continually exploring new fields for missionary labors. her description of a body of men on any platform, complacently deciding questions in which woman had an equal interest, without an equal voice, readily roused me to a determination to throw a firebrand into the midst of their assembly. thus, whenever i saw that stately quaker girl coming across my lawn, i knew that some happy convocation of the sons of adam was to be set by the ears, by one of our appeals or resolutions. the little portmanteau, stuffed with facts, was opened, and there we had what the rev. john smith and hon. richard roe had said: false interpretations of bible texts, the statistics of women robbed of their property, shut out of some college, half paid for their work, the reports of some disgraceful trial; injustice enough to turn any woman's thoughts from stockings and puddings. then we would get out our pens and write articles for papers, or a petition to the legislature; indite letters to the faithful, here and there; stir up the women in ohio, pennsylvania, or massachusetts; call on _the lily, the una, the liberator, the standard_ to remember our wrongs as well as those of the slave. we never met without issuing a pronunciamento on some question. in thought and sympathy we were one, and in the division of labor we exactly complemented each other. in writing we did better work than either could alone. while she is slow and analytical in composition, i am rapid and synthetic. i am the better writer, she the better critic. she supplied the facts and statistics, i the philosophy and rhetoric, and, together, we have made arguments that have stood unshaken through the storms of long years; arguments that no one has answered. our speeches may be considered the united product of our two brains. so entirely one are we that, in all our associations, ever side by side on the same platform, not one feeling of envy or jealousy has ever shadowed our lives. we have indulged freely in criticism of each other when alone, and hotly contended whenever we have differed, but in our friendship of years there has never been the break of one hour. to the world we always seem to agree and uniformly reflect each other. like husband and wife, each has the feeling that we must have no differences in public. thus united, at an early day we began to survey the state and nation, the future field of our labors. we read, with critical eyes, the proceedings of congress and legislatures, of general assemblies and synods, of conferences and conventions, and discovered that, in all alike, the existence of woman was entirely ignored. night after night, by an old-fashioned fireplace, we plotted and planned the coming agitation; how, when, and where each entering wedge could be driven, by which women might be recognized and their rights secured. speedily the state was aflame with disturbances in temperance and teachers' conventions, and the press heralded the news far and near that women delegates had suddenly appeared, demanding admission in men's conventions; that their rights had been hotly contested session after session, by liberal men on the one side, the clergy and learned professors on the other; an overwhelming majority rejecting the women with terrible anathemas and denunciations. such battles were fought over and over in the chief cities of many of the northern states, until the bigotry of men in all the reforms and professions was thoroughly exposed. every right achieved, to enter a college, to study a profession, to labor in some new industry, or to advocate a reform measure was contended for inch by inch. many of those enjoying all these blessings now complacently say, "if these pioneers in reform had only pressed their measures more judiciously, in a more ladylike manner, in more choice language, with a more deferential attitude, the gentlemen could not have behaved so rudely." i give, in these pages, enough of the characteristics of these women, of the sentiments they expressed, of their education, ancestry, and position to show that no power could have met the prejudice and bigotry of that period more successfully than they did who so bravely and persistently fought and conquered them. miss anthony first carried her flag of rebellion into the state conventions of teachers, and there fought, almost single-handed, the battle for equality. at the close of the first decade she had compelled conservatism to yield its ground so far as to permit women to participate in all debates, deliver essays, vote, and hold honored positions as officers. she labored as sincerely in the temperance movement, until convinced that woman's moral power amounted to little as a civil agent, until backed by ballot and coined into state law. she still never loses an occasion to defend co-education and prohibition, and solves every difficulty with the refrain, "woman suffrage," as persistent as the "never more" of poe's raven. chapter xi. susan b. anthony--_continued_. it was in that anti-slavery, through the eloquent lips of such men as george thompson, phillips, and garrison, first proclaimed to miss anthony its pressing financial necessities. to their inspired words she gave answer, four years afterward, by becoming a regularly employed agent in the anti-slavery society. for her espoused cause she has always made boldest demands. in the abolition meetings she used to tell each class why it should support the movement financially; invariably calling upon democrats to give liberally, as the success of the cause would enable them to cease bowing the knee to the slave power. there is scarce a town, however small, from new york to san francisco, that has not heard her ringing voice. who can number the speeches she has made on lyceum platforms, in churches, schoolhouses, halls, barns, and in the open air, with a lumber wagon or a cart for her rostrum? who can describe the varied audiences and social circles she has cheered and interested? now we see her on the far-off prairies, entertaining, with sterling common sense, large gatherings of men, women, and children, seated on rough boards in some unfinished building; again, holding public debates in some town with half-fledged editors and clergymen; next, sailing up the columbia river and, in hot haste to meet some appointment, jolting over the rough mountains of oregon and washington; and then, before legislative assemblies, constitutional conventions, and congressional committees, discussing with senators and judges the letter and spirit of constitutional law. miss anthony's style of speaking is rapid and vehement. in debate she is ready and keen, and she is always equal to an emergency. many times in traveling with her through the west, especially on our first trip to kansas and california, we were suddenly called upon to speak to the women assembled at the stations. filled with consternation, i usually appealed to her to go first; and, without a moment's hesitation, she could always fill five minutes with some appropriate words and inspire me with thoughts and courage to follow. the climax of these occasions was reached in an institution for the deaf and dumb in michigan. i had just said to my friend, "there is one comfort in visiting this place; we shall not be asked to speak," when the superintendent, approaching us, said, "ladies, the pupils are assembled in the chapel, ready to hear you. i promised to invite you to speak to them as soon as i heard you were in town." the possibility of addressing such an audience was as novel to miss anthony as to me; yet she promptly walked down the aisle to the platform, as if to perform an ordinary duty, while i, half distracted with anxiety, wondering by what process i was to be placed in communication with the deaf and dumb, reluctantly followed. but the manner was simple enough, when illustrated. the superintendent, standing by our side, repeated, in the sign language, what was said as fast as uttered; and by laughter, tears, and applause, the pupils showed that they fully appreciated the pathos, humor, and argument. one night, crossing the mississippi at mcgregor, iowa, we were icebound in the middle of the river. the boat was crowded with people, hungry, tired, and cross with the delay. some gentlemen, with whom we had been talking on the cars, started the cry, "speech on woman suffrage!" accordingly, in the middle of the mississippi river, at midnight, we presented our claims to political representation, and debated the question of universal suffrage until we landed. our voyagers were quite thankful that we had shortened the many hours, and we equally so at having made several converts and held a convention on the very bosom of the great "mother of waters." only once in all these wanderings was miss anthony taken by surprise, and that was on being asked to speak to the inmates of an insane asylum. "bless me!" said she, "it is as much as i can do to talk to the sane! what could i say to an audience of lunatics?" her companion, virginia l. minor of st. louis, replied: "this is a golden moment for you, the first opportunity you have ever had, according to the constitutions, to talk to your 'peers,' for is not the right of suffrage denied to 'idiots, criminals, lunatics, and women'?" much curiosity has been expressed as to the love-life of miss anthony; but, if she has enjoyed or suffered any of the usual triumphs or disappointments of her sex, she has not yet vouchsafed this information to her biographers. while few women have had more sincere and lasting friendships, or a more extensive correspondence with a large circle of noble men, yet i doubt if one of them can boast of having received from her any exceptional attention. she has often playfully said, when questioned on this point, that she could not consent that the man she loved, described in the constitution as a white male, native born, american citizen, possessed of the right of self-government, eligible to the office of president of the great republic, should unite his destinies in marriage with a political slave and pariah. "no, no; when i am crowned with all the rights, privileges, and immunities of a citizen, i may give some consideration to this social institution; but until then i must concentrate all my energies on the enfranchisement of my own sex." miss anthony's love-life, like her religion, has manifested itself in steadfast, earnest labors for men in general. she has been a watchful and affectionate daughter, sister, friend, and those who have felt the pulsations of her great heart know how warmly it beats for all. as the custom has long been observed, among married women, of celebrating the anniversaries of their wedding-day, quite properly the initiative has been taken, in late years, of doing honor to the great events in the lives of single women. being united in closest bonds to her profession, dr. harriet k. hunt of boston celebrated her twenty-fifth year of faithful services as a physician by giving to her friends and patrons a large reception, which she called her silver wedding. from a feeling of the sacredness of her life work, the admirers of susan b. anthony have been moved to mark, by reception and convention, her rapid-flowing years and the passing decades of the suffrage movement. to the most brilliant occasion of this kind, the invitation cards were as follows: the ladies of the woman's bureau invite you to a reception on tuesday evening, february th, to celebrate the fiftieth birthday of susan b. anthony, when her friends will have an opportunity to show their appreciation of her long services in behalf of woman's emancipation. no. east d st., new york, february , . elizabeth b. phelps, anna b. darling, charlotte beebe wilbour. in response to the invitation, the parlors of the bureau were crowded with friends to congratulate miss anthony on the happy event, many bringing valuable gifts as an expression of their gratitude. among other presents were a handsome gold watch and checks to the amount of a thousand dollars. the guests were entertained with music, recitations, the reading of many piquant letters of regret from distinguished people, and witty rhymes written for the occasion by the cary sisters. miss anthony received her guests with her usual straightforward simplicity, and in a few earnest words expressed her thanks for the presents and praises showered upon her. the comments of the leading journals, next day, were highly complimentary, and as genial as amusing. all dwelt on the fact that, at last, a woman had arisen brave enough to assert her right to grow old and openly declare that half a century had rolled over her head. of carefully prepared written speeches miss anthony has made few; but these, by the high praise they called forth, prove that she can--in spite of her own declaration to the contrary--put her sterling thoughts on paper concisely and effectively. after her exhaustive plea, in , for a sixteenth amendment before the judiciary committee of the senate, senator edmunds accosted her, as she was leaving the capitol, and said he neglected to tell her, in the committee room, that she had made an argument, no matter what his personal feelings were as to the conclusions reached, which was unanswerable--an argument, unlike the usual platform oratory given at hearings, suited to a committee of men trained to the law. it was in that miss anthony gave her much criticised lecture on "social purity" in boston. as to the result she felt very anxious; for the intelligence of new england composed her audience, and it did not still her heart-beats to see, sitting just in front of the platform, her revered friend, william lloyd garrison. but surely every fear vanished when she felt the grand old abolitionist's hand warmly pressing hers, and heard him say that to listen to no one else would he have had courage to leave his sick room, and that he felt fully repaid by her grand speech, which neither in matter nor manner would he have changed in the smallest particular. but into miss anthony's private correspondence one must look for examples of her most effective writing. verb or substantive is often wanting, but you can always catch the thought, and will ever find it clear and suggestive. it is a strikingly strange dialect, but one that touches, at times, the deepest chords of pathos and humor, and, when stirred by some great event, is highly eloquent. from being the most ridiculed and mercilessly persecuted woman, miss anthony has become the most honored and respected in the nation. witness the praises of press and people, and the enthusiastic ovations she received on her departure for europe in . never were warmer expressions of regret for an absence, nor more sincere prayers for a speedy return, accorded to any american on leaving his native shores. this slow awaking to the character of her services shows the abiding sense of justice in the human soul. having spent the winter of - in washington, trying to press to a vote the bill for a sixteenth amendment before congress, and the autumn in a vigorous campaign through nebraska, where a constitutional amendment to enfranchise women had been submitted to the people, she felt the imperative need of an entire change in the current of her thoughts. accordingly, after one of the most successful conventions ever held at the national capital, and a most flattering ovation in the spacious parlors of the riggs house, and a large reception in philadelphia, she sailed for europe. fortunate in being perfectly well during the entire voyage, our traveler received perpetual enjoyment in watching the ever varying sea and sky. to the captain's merry challenge to find anything so grand as the ocean, she replied, "yes, these mighty forces in nature do indeed fill me with awe; but this vessel, with deep-buried fires, powerful machinery, spacious decks, and tapering masts, walking the waves like a thing of life, and all the work of man, impresses one still more deeply. lo! in man's divine creative power is fulfilled the prophecy, 'ye shall be as gods!'" in all her journeyings through germany, italy, and france, miss anthony was never the mere sight-seer, but always the humanitarian and reformer in traveler's guise. few of the great masterpieces of art gave her real enjoyment. the keen appreciation of the beauties of sculpture, painting, and architecture, which one would have expected to find in so deep a religious nature, was wanting, warped, no doubt, by her early quaker training. that her travels gave her more pain than pleasure was, perhaps, not so much that she had no appreciation of aesthetic beauty, but that she quickly grasped the infinitude of human misery; not because her soul did not feel the heights to which art had risen, but that it vibrated in every fiber to the depths to which mankind had fallen. wandering through a gorgeous palace one day, she exclaimed, "what do you find to admire here? if it were a school of five hundred children being educated into the right of self-government i could admire it, too; but standing for one man's pleasure, i say no!" in the quarters of one of the devotees, at the old monastery of the certosa, at florence, there lies, on a small table, an open book, in which visitors register. on the occasion of miss anthony's visit the pen and ink proved so unpromising that her entire party declined this opportunity to make themselves famous, but she made the rebellious pen inscribe, "perfect equality for women, civil, political, religious. susan b. anthony, u.s.a." friends, who visited the monastery next day, reported that lines had been drawn through this heretical sentiment. during her visit at the home of mr. and mrs. sargent, in berlin, miss anthony quite innocently posted her letters in the official envelopes of our suffrage association, which bore the usual mottoes, "no just government can be formed without the consent of the governed," etc. in a few days an official brought back a large package, saying, "such sentiments are not allowed to pass through the post office." probably nothing saved her from arrest as a socialist, under the tyrannical police regulations, but the fact that she was the guest of the minister plenipotentiary of the united states. my son theodore wrote of miss anthony's visit in paris: "i had never before seen her in the role of tourist. she seemed interested only in historical monuments, and in the men and questions of the hour. the galleries of the louvre had little attraction for her, but she gazed with deep pleasure at napoleon's tomb, notre dame, and the ruins of the tuileries. she was always ready to listen to discussions on the political problems before the french people, the prospects of the republic, the divorce agitation, and the education of women. 'i had rather see jules ferry than all the pictures of the louvre, luxembourg, and salon,' she remarked at table. a day or two later she saw ferry at laboulaye's funeral. the three things which made the deepest impression on miss anthony, during her stay at paris, were probably the interment of laboulaye (the friend of the united states and of the woman movement); the touching anniversary demonstration of the communists, at the cemetery of père la chaise, on the very spot where the last defenders of the commune of were ruthlessly shot and buried in a common grave; and a woman's rights meeting, held in a little hall in the rue de rivoli, at which the brave, far-seeing mlle. hubertine auchet was the leading spirit." while on the continent miss anthony experienced the unfortunate sensation of being deaf and dumb; to speak and not to be understood, to hear and not to comprehend, were to her bitter realities. we can imagine to what desperation she was brought when her quaker prudishness could hail an emphatic oath in english from a french official with the exclamation, "well, it sounds good to hear someone even swear in old anglo-saxon!" after two months of enforced silence, she was buoyant in reaching the british islands once more, where she could enjoy public speaking and general conversation. here she was the recipient of many generous social attentions, and, on may , a large public meeting of representative people, presided over by jacob bright, was called, in our honor, by the national association of great britain. she spoke on the educational and political status of women in america, i of their religious and social position. before closing my friend's biography i shall trace two golden threads in this closely woven life of incident. one of the greatest services rendered by miss anthony to the suffrage cause was in casting a vote in the presidential election of , in order to test the rights of women under the fourteenth amendment. for this offense the brave woman was arrested, on thanksgiving day, the national holiday handed down to us by pilgrim fathers escaped from england's persecutions. she asked for a writ of habeas corpus. the writ being flatly refused, in january, , her counsel gave bonds. the daring defendant finding, when too late, that this not only kept her out of jail, but her case out of the supreme court of the united states, regretfully determined to fight on, and gain the uttermost by a decision in the united states circuit court. her trial was set down for the rochester term in may. quickly she canvassed the whole county, laying before every probable juror the strength of her case. when the time for the trial arrived, the district attorney, fearing the result, if the decision were left to a jury drawn from miss anthony's enlightened county, transferred the trial to the ontario county term, in june, . it was now necessary to instruct the citizens of another county. in this task miss anthony received valuable assistance from matilda joslyn gage; and, to meet all this new expense, financial aid was generously given, unsolicited, by thomas wentworth higginson, gerrit smith, and other sympathizers. but in vain was every effort; in vain the appeal of miss anthony to her jurors; in vain the moral influence of the leading representatives of the bar of central new york filling the courtroom, for judge hunt, without precedent to sustain him, declaring it a case of law and not of fact, refused to give the case to the jury, reserving to himself final decision. was it not an historic scene which was enacted there in that little courthouse in canandaigua? all the inconsistencies were embodied in that judge, punctilious in manner, scrupulous in attire, conscientious in trivialities, and obtuse on great principles, fitly described by charles o'conor--"a very ladylike judge." behold him sitting there, balancing all the niceties of law and equity in his old world scales, and at last saying, "the prisoner will stand up." whereupon the accused arose. "the sentence of the court is that you pay a fine of one hundred dollars and the costs of the prosecution." then the unruly defendant answers: "may it please your honor, i shall never pay a dollar of your unjust penalty," and more to the same effect, all of which she has lived up to. the "ladylike" judge had gained some insight into the determination of the prisoner; so, not wishing to incarcerate her to all eternity, he added gently: "madam, the court will not order you committed until the fine is paid." it was on the th of june that the verdict was given. on that very day, a little less than a century before, the brave militia was driven back at bunker hill--back, back, almost wiped out; yet truth was in their ranks, and justice, too. but how ended that rebellion of weak colonists? the cause of american womanhood, embodied for the moment in the liberty of a single individual, received a rebuff on june , ; but, just as surely as our revolutionary heroes were in the end victorious, so will the inalienable rights of our heroines of the nineteenth century receive final vindication. in his speech of , before the phi beta kappa society at harvard, wendell phillips said--what as a rule is true--that "a reformer, to be conscientious, must be free from bread-winning." i will open miss anthony's accounts and show that this reformer, being, perhaps, the exception which proves the rule, has been consistently and conscientiously in debt. turning over her year-books the pages give a fair record up to . here began the first herculean labor. the woman's loyal league, sadly in need of funds, was not an incorporated association, so its secretary assumed the debts. accounts here became quite lamentable, the deficit reaching five thousand dollars. it must be paid, and, in fact, will be paid. anxious, weary hours were spent in crowding the cooper institute, from week to week, with paying audiences, to listen to such men as phillips, curtis, and douglass, who contributed their services, and lifted the secretary out of debt. at last, after many difficulties, her cash-book of was honorably pigeon-holed. in we can read account of herculean labor the second. twenty thousand tracts are needed to convert the voters of kansas to woman suffrage. traveling expenses to kansas, and the tracts, make the debtor column overreach the creditor some two thousand dollars. there is recognition on these pages of more than one thousand dollars obtained by soliciting advertisements, but no note is made of the weary, burning july days spent in the streets of new york to procure this money, nor of the ready application of the savings made by petty economies from her salary from the hovey committee. it would have been fortunate for my brave friend, if cash-books , , and had never come down from their shelves; for they sing and sing, in notes of debts, till all unite in one vast chorus of far more than ten thousand dollars. these were the days of the _revolution_, the newspaper, not the war, though it was warfare for the debt-ridden manager. several thousand dollars she paid with money earned by lecturing, and with money given her for personal use. one thanksgiving was, in truth, a time for returning thanks; for she received, canceled, from her cousin, anson lapham, her note for four thousand dollars. after the funeral of paulina wright davis, the bereaved widower pressed into miss anthony's hand canceled notes for five hundred dollars, bearing on the back the words, "in memory of my beloved wife." one other note was canceled in recognition of her perfect forgetfulness of self-interest and ready sacrifice to the needs of others. when laboring, in , to fill every engagement, in order to meet her debts, her mother's sudden illness called her home. without one selfish regret, the anxious daughter hastened to rochester. when recovery was certain, and miss anthony was about to return to her fatiguing labors, her mother gave her, at parting, her note for a thousand dollars, on which was written, in trembling lines, "in just consideration of the tender sacrifice made to nurse me in severe illness." at last all the _revolution_ debt was paid, except that due to her generous sister, mary anthony, who used often humorously to assure her she was a fit subject for the bankrupt act. there is something humorously pathetic in the death of the _revolution_--that firstborn of miss anthony. mrs. laura curtis bullard generously assumed the care of the troublesome child, and, in order to make the adoption legal, gave the usual consideration--one dollar. the very night of the transfer miss anthony went to rochester with the dollar in her pocket, and the little change left after purchasing her ticket. she arrived safely with her debts, but nothing more--her pocket had been picked! oh, thief, could you but know what value of faithful work you purloined! from the close of the year miss anthony's accounts showed favorable signs as to the credit column. indeed, at the end of five years there was a solid balance of several thousand dollars earned on lecturing tours. but alas! the accounts grow dim again--in fact the credit column fades away. "the history of woman suffrage" ruthlessly swallowed up every vestige of miss anthony's bank account. but, in , by the will of mrs. eddy, daughter of francis jackson of boston, miss anthony received twenty-four thousand dollars for the woman's suffrage movement, which lifted her out of debt once more. in vain will you search these telltale books for evidence of personal extravagance; for, although miss anthony thinks it true economy to buy the best, her tastes are simple. is there not something very touching in the fact that she never bought a book or picture for her own enjoyment? the meager personal balance-sheets show four lapses from discipline,--lapses that she even now regards as ruthless extravagance,--viz.: the purchase of two inexpensive brooches, a much needed watch, and a pair of cuffs to match a point-lace collar presented by a friend. those interested in miss anthony's personal appearance long ago ceased to trust her with the purchase-money for any ornament; for, however firm her resolution to comply with their wish, the check invariably found its way to the credit column of those little cash-books as "money received for the cause." now, reader, you have been admitted to a private view of miss anthony's financial records, and you can appreciate her devotion to an idea. do you not agree with me that a "bread-winner" can be a conscientious reformer? in finishing this sketch of the most intimate friend i have had for the past forty-five years,--with whom i have spent weeks and months under the same roof,--i can truly say that she is the most upright, courageous, self-sacrificing, magnanimous human being i have ever known. i have seen her beset on every side with the most petty annoyances, ridiculed and misrepresented, slandered and persecuted; i have known women refuse to take her extended hand; women to whom she presented copies of "the history of woman suffrage," return it unnoticed; others to keep it without one word of acknowledgment; others to write most insulting letters in answer to hers of affectionate conciliation. and yet, under all the cross-fires incident to a reform, never has her hope flagged, her self-respect wavered, or a feeling of resentment shadowed her mind. oftentimes, when i have been sorely discouraged, thinking that the prolonged struggle was a waste of force which in other directions might be rich in achievement, with her sublime faith in humanity, she would breathe into my soul renewed inspiration, saying, "pity rather than blame those who persecute us." so closely interwoven have been our lives, our purposes, and experiences that, separated, we have a feeling of incompleteness--united, such strength of self-assertion that no ordinary obstacles, difficulties, or dangers ever appear to us insurmountable. reviewing the life of susan b. anthony, i ever liken her to the doric column in grecian architecture, so simply, so grandly she stands, free from every extraneous ornament, supporting her one vast idea--the enfranchisement of woman. as our estimate of ourselves and our friendship may differ somewhat from that taken from an objective point of view, i will give an extract from what our common friend theodore tilton wrote of us in : "miss susan b. anthony, a well-known, indefatigable, and lifelong advocate of temperance, anti-slavery, and woman's rights, has been, since , mrs. stanton's intimate associate in reformatory labors. these celebrated women are of about equal age, but of the most opposite characteristics, and illustrate the theory of counterparts in affection by entertaining for each other a friendship of extraordinary strength. "mrs. stanton is a fine writer, but a poor executant; miss anthony is a thorough manager, but a poor writer. both have large brains and great hearts; neither has any selfish ambition for celebrity; but each vies with the other in a noble enthusiasm for the cause to which they are devoting their lives. "nevertheless, to describe them critically, i ought to say that, opposites though they be, each does not so much supplement the other's deficiencies as augment the other's eccentricities. thus they often stimulate each other's aggressiveness, and, at the same time, diminish each other's discretion. "but, whatever may be the imprudent utterances of the one or the impolitic methods of the other, the animating motives of both are evermore as white as the light. the good that they do is by design; the harm by accident. these two women, sitting together in their parlors, have, for the last thirty years, been diligent forgers of all manner of projectiles, from fireworks to thunderbolts, and have hurled them with unexpected explosion into the midst of all manner of educational, reformatory, religious, and political assemblies; sometimes to the pleasant surprise and half welcome of the members, more often to the bewilderment and prostration of numerous victims; and, in a few signal instances, to the gnashing of angry men's teeth. i know of no two more pertinacious incendiaries in the whole country. nor will they, themselves deny the charge. in fact this noise-making twain are the two sticks of a drum, keeping up what daniel webster called 'the rub-a-dub of agitation.'" chapter xii. my first speech before a legislature. women had been willing so long to hold a subordinate position, both in private and public affairs, that a gradually growing feeling of rebellion among them quite exasperated the men, and their manifestations of hostility in public meetings were often as ridiculous as humiliating. true, those gentlemen were all quite willing that women should join their societies and churches to do the drudgery; to work up the enthusiasm in fairs and revivals, conventions and flag presentations; to pay a dollar apiece into their treasury for the honor of being members of their various organizations; to beg money for the church; to circulate petitions from door to door; to visit saloons; to pray with or defy rumsellers; to teach school at half price, and sit round the outskirts of a hall, in teachers' state conventions, like so many wallflowers; but they would not allow them to sit on the platform, address the assembly, or vote for men and measures. those who had learned the first lessons of human rights from the lips of henry b. stanton, samuel j. may, and gerrit smith would not accept any such position. when women abandoned the temperance reform, all interest in the question gradually died out in the state, and practically nothing was done in new york for nearly twenty years. gerrit smith made one or two attempts toward an "anti-dramshop" party, but, as women could not vote, they felt no interest in the measure, and failure was the result. i soon convinced miss anthony that the ballot was the key to the situation; that when we had a voice in the laws we should be welcome to any platform. in turning the intense earnestness and religious enthusiasm of this great-souled woman into this channel, i soon felt the power of my convert in goading me forever forward to more untiring work. soon fastened, heart to heart, with hooks of steel in a friendship that years of confidence and affection have steadily strengthened, we have labored faithfully together. from the year conventions were held in various states, and their respective legislatures were continually besieged; new york was thoroughly canvassed by miss anthony and others. appeals, calls for meetings, and petitions were circulated without number. in i prepared my first speech for the new york legislature. that was a great event in my life. i felt so nervous over it, lest it should not be worthy the occasion, that miss anthony suggested that i should slip up to rochester and submit it to the rev. william henry channing, who was preaching there at that time. i did so, and his opinion was so favorable as to the merits of my speech that i felt quite reassured. my father felt equally nervous when he saw, by the albany _evening journal_, that i was to speak at the capitol, and asked me to read my speech to him also. accordingly, i stopped at johnstown on my way to albany, and, late one evening, when he was alone in his office, i entered and took my seat on the opposite side of his table. on no occasion, before or since, was i ever more embarrassed--an audience of one, and that the one of all others whose approbation i most desired, whose disapproval i most feared. i knew he condemned the whole movement, and was deeply grieved at the active part i had taken. hence i was fully aware that i was about to address a wholly unsympathetic audience. however, i began, with a dogged determination to give all the power i could to my manuscript, and not to be discouraged or turned from my purpose by any tender appeals or adverse criticisms. i described the widow in the first hours of her grief, subject to the intrusions of the coarse minions of the law, taking inventory of the household goods, of the old armchair in which her loved one had breathed his last, of the old clock in the corner that told the hour he passed away. i threw all the pathos i could into my voice and language at this point, and, to my intense satisfaction, i saw tears filling my father's eyes. i cannot express the exultation i felt, thinking that now he would see, with my eyes, the injustice women suffered under the laws he understood so well. feeling that i had touched his heart i went on with renewed confidence, and, when i had finished, i saw he was thoroughly magnetized. with beating heart i waited for him to break the silence. he was evidently deeply pondering over all he had heard, and did not speak for a long time. i believed i had opened to him a new world of thought. he had listened long to the complaints of women, but from the lips of his own daughter they had come with a deeper pathos and power. at last, turning abruptly, he said: "surely you have had a happy, comfortable life, with all your wants and needs supplied; and yet that speech fills me with self-reproach; for one might naturally ask, how can a young woman, tenderly brought up, who has had no bitter personal experience, feel so keenly the wrongs of her sex? where did you learn this lesson?" "i learned it here," i replied, "in your office, when a child, listening to the complaints women made to you. they who have sympathy and imagination to make the sorrows of others their own can readily learn all the hard lessons of life from the experience of others." "well, well!" he said, "you have made your points clear and strong; but i think i can find you even more cruel laws than those you have quoted." he suggested some improvements in my speech, looked up other laws, and it was one o'clock in the morning before we kissed each other good-night. how he felt on the question after that i do not know, as he never said anything in favor of or against it. he gladly gave me any help i needed, from time to time, in looking up the laws, and was very desirous that whatever i gave to the public should be carefully prepared. miss anthony printed twenty thousand copies of this address, laid it on the desk of every member of the legislature, both in the assembly and senate, and, in her travels that winter, she circulated it throughout the state. i am happy to say i never felt so anxious about the fate of a speech since. the first woman's convention in albany was held at this time, and we had a kind of protracted meeting for two weeks after. there were several hearings before both branches of the legislature, and a succession of meetings in association hall, in which phillips, channing, ernestine l. rose, antoinette l. brown, and susan b. anthony took part. being at the capital of the state, discussion was aroused at every fireside, while the comments of the press were numerous and varied. every little country paper had something witty or silly to say about the uprising of the "strong-minded." those editors whose heads were about the size of an apple were the most opposed to the uprising of women, illustrating what sidney smith said long ago: "there always was, and there always will be a class of men so small that, if women were educated, there would be nobody left below them." poor human nature loves to have something to look down upon! here is a specimen of the way such editors talked at that time. the _albany register_, in an article on "woman's rights in the legislature," dated march , , says: "while the feminine propagandists of women's rights confined themselves to the exhibition of short petticoats and long-legged boots, and to the holding of conventions and speech-making in concert rooms, the people were disposed to be amused by them, as they are by the wit of the clown in the circus, or the performances of punch and judy on fair days, or the minstrelsy of gentlemen with blackened faces, on banjos, the tambourine, and bones. but the joke is becoming stale. people are getting cloyed with these performances, and are looking for some healthier and more intellectual amusement. the ludicrous is wearing away, and disgust is taking the place of pleasurable sensations, arising from the novelty of this new phase of hypocrisy and infidel fanaticism. "people are beginning to inquire how far public sentiment should sanction or tolerate these unsexed women, who would step out from the true sphere of the mother, the wife, and the daughter, and taking upon themselves the duties and the business of men, stalk into the public gaze, and, by engaging in the politics, the rough controversies and trafficking of the world, upheave existing institutions, and overrun all the social relations of life. "it is a melancholy reflection that, among our american women, who have been educated to better things, there should be found any who are willing to follow the lead of such foreign propagandists as the ringleted, gloved exotic, ernestine l. rose. we can understand how such a man as the rev. mr. may, or the sleek-headed dr. channing, may be deluded by her into becoming one of her disciples. they are not the first instances of infatuation that may overtake weak-minded men, if they are honest in their devotion to her and her doctrines; nor would they be the first examples of a low ambition that seeks notoriety as a substitute for true fame, if they are dishonest. such men there are always, and, honest or dishonest, their true position is that of being tied to the apron strings of some strong-minded woman, and to be exhibited as rare specimens of human wickedness or human weakness and folly. but that one educated american should become her disciple and follow her insane teachings is a marvel." when we see the abuse and ridicule to which the best of men were subjected for standing on our platform in the early days, we need not wonder that so few have been brave enough to advocate our cause in later years, either in conventions or in the halls of legislation. after twelve added years of agitation, following the passage of the property bill, new york conceded other civil rights to married women. pending the discussion of these various bills, susan b. anthony circulated petitions, both for the civil and political rights of women, throughout the state, traveling in stage coaches, open wagons, and sleighs in all seasons, and on foot, from door to door through towns and cities, doing her uttermost to rouse women to some sense of their natural rights as human beings, and to their civil and political rights as citizens of a republic. and while expending her time, strength, and money to secure these blessings for the women of the state, they would gruffly tell her that they had all the rights they wanted, or rudely shut the door in her face; leaving her to stand outside, petition in hand, treating her with as much contempt as if she was asking alms for herself. none but those who did that work in the early days, for the slaves and the women, can ever know the hardships and humiliations that were endured. but it was done because it was only through petitions--a power seemingly so inefficient--that disfranchised classes could be heard in the state and national councils; hence their importance. the frivolous objections some women made to our appeals were as exasperating as they were ridiculous. to reply to them politely, at all times, required a divine patience. on one occasion, after addressing the legislature, some of the ladies, in congratulating me, inquired, in a deprecating tone, "what do you do with your children?" "ladies," i said, "it takes me no longer to speak, than you to listen; what have you done with your children the two hours you have been sitting here? but, to answer your question, i never leave my children to go to saratoga, washington, newport, or europe, or even to come here. they are, at this moment, with a faithful nurse at the delevan house, and, having accomplished my mission, we shall all return home together." when my children reached the magic number of seven, my good angel, susan b. anthony, would sometimes take one or two of them to her own quiet home, just out of rochester, where, on a well-cultivated little farm, one could enjoy uninterrupted rest and the choicest fruits of the season. that was always a safe harbor for my friend, as her family sympathized fully in the reforms to which she gave her life. i have many pleasant memories of my own flying visits to that hospitable quaker home and the broad catholic spirit of daniel and lucy anthony. whatever opposition and ridicule their daughter endured elsewhere, she enjoyed the steadfast sympathy and confidence of her own home circle. her faithful sister mary, a most successful teacher in the public schools of rochester for a quarter of a century, and a good financier, who with her patrimony and salary had laid by a competence, took on her shoulders double duty at home in cheering the declining years of her parents, that susan might do the public work in the reforms in which they were equally interested. now, with life's earnest work nearly accomplished, the sisters are living happily together; illustrating another of the many charming homes of single women, so rapidly multiplying of late. miss anthony, who was a frequent guest at my home, sometimes stood guard when i was absent. the children of our household say that among their earliest recollections is the tableau of "mother and susan," seated by a large table covered with books and papers, always writing and talking about the constitution, interrupted with occasional visits from others of the faithful. hither came elizabeth oakes smith, paulina wright davis, frances dana gage, dr. harriet hunt, rev. antoinette brown, lucy stone, and abby kelly, until all these names were as familiar as household words to the children. martha c. wright of auburn was a frequent visitor at the center of the rebellion, as my sequestered cottage on locust hill was facetiously called. she brought to these councils of war not only her own wisdom, but that of the wife and sister of william h. seward, and sometimes encouraging suggestions from the great statesman himself, from whose writings we often gleaned grand and radical sentiments. lucretia mott, too, being an occasional guest of her sister, martha c. wright, added the dignity of her presence at many of these important consultations. she was uniformly in favor of toning down our fiery pronunciamentos. for miss anthony and myself, the english language had no words strong enough to express the indignation we felt at the prolonged injustice to women. we found, however, that, after expressing ourselves in the most vehement manner and thus in a measure giving our feelings an outlet, we were reconciled to issue the documents in milder terms. if the men of the state could have known the stern rebukes, the denunciations, the wit, the irony, the sarcasm that were garnered there, and then judiciously pigeonholed and milder and more persuasive appeals substituted, they would have been truly thankful that they fared no worse. senator seward frequently left washington to visit in our neighborhood, at the house of judge g.v. sackett, a man of wealth and political influence. one of the senator's standing anecdotes, at dinner, to illustrate the purifying influence of women at the polls, which he always told with great zest for my especial benefit, was in regard to the manner in which his wife's sister exercised the right of suffrage. he said: "mrs. worden having the supervision of a farm near auburn, was obliged to hire two or three men for its cultivation. it was her custom, having examined them as to their capacity to perform the required labor, their knowledge of tools, horses, cattle, and horticulture, to inquire as to their politics. she informed them that, being a widow and having no one to represent her, she must have republicans to do her voting and to represent her political opinions, and it always so happened that the men who offered their services belonged to the republican party. i remarked to her, one day, 'are you sure your men vote as they promise?' 'yes,' she replied, 'i trust nothing to their discretion. i take them in my carriage within sight of the polls and put them in charge of some republican who can be trusted. i see that they have the right tickets and then i feel sure that i am faithfully represented, and i know i am right in so doing. i have neither husband, father, nor son; i am responsible for my own taxes; am amenable to all the laws of the state; must pay the penalty of my own crimes if i commit any; hence i have the right, according to the principles of our government, to representation, and so long as i am not permitted to vote in person, i have a right to do so by proxy; hence i hire men to vote my principles.'" these two sisters, mrs. worden and mrs. seward, daughters of judge miller, an influential man, were women of culture and remarkable natural intelligence, and interested in all progressive ideas. they had rare common sense and independence of character, great simplicity of manner, and were wholly indifferent to the little arts of the toilet. i was often told by fashionable women that they objected to the woman's rights movement because of the publicity of a convention, the immodesty of speaking from a platform, and the trial of seeing one's name in the papers. several ladies made such remarks to me one day, as a bevy of us were sitting together in one of the fashionable hotels in newport. we were holding a convention there at that time, and some of them had been present at one of the sessions. "really," said i, "ladies, you surprise me; our conventions are not as public as the ballroom where i saw you all dancing last night. as to modesty, it may be a question, in many minds, whether it is less modest to speak words of soberness and truth, plainly dressed on a platform, than gorgeously arrayed, with bare arms and shoulders, to waltz in the arms of strange gentlemen. and as to the press, i noticed you all reading, in this morning's papers, with evident satisfaction, the personal compliments and full descriptions of your dresses at the last ball. i presume that any one of you would have felt slighted if your name had not been mentioned in the general description. when my name is mentioned, it is in connection with some great reform movement. thus we all suffer or enjoy the same publicity--we are alike ridiculed. wise men pity and ridicule you, and fools pity and ridicule me--you as the victims of folly and fashion, me as the representative of many of the disagreeable 'isms' of the age, as they choose to style liberal opinions. it is amusing, in analyzing prejudices, to see on what slender foundation they rest." and the ladies around me were so completely cornered that no one attempted an answer. i remember being at a party at secretary seward's home, at auburn, one evening, when mr. burlingame, special ambassador from china to the united states, with a chinese delegation, were among the guests. as soon as the dancing commenced, and young ladies and gentlemen, locked in each other's arms, began to whirl in the giddy waltz, these chinese gentlemen were so shocked that they covered their faces with their fans, occasionally peeping out each side and expressing their surprise to each other. they thought us the most immodest women on the face of the earth. modesty and taste are questions of latitude and education; the more people know,--the more their ideas are expanded by travel, experience, and observation,--the less easily they are shocked. the narrowness and bigotry of women are the result of their circumscribed sphere of thought and action. a few years after judge hurlbert had published his work on "human rights," in which he advocated woman's right to the suffrage, and i had addressed the legislature, we met at a dinner party in albany. senator and mrs. seward were there. the senator was very merry on that occasion and made judge hurlbert and myself the target for all his ridicule on the woman's rights question, in which the most of the company joined, so that we stood quite alone. sure that we had the right on our side and the arguments clearly defined in our minds, and both being cool and self-possessed, and in wit and sarcasm quite equal to any of them, we fought the senator, inch by inch, until he had a very narrow platform to stand on. mrs. seward maintained an unbroken silence, while those ladies who did open their lips were with the opposition, supposing, no doubt, that senator seward represented his wife's opinions. when we ladies withdrew from the table my embarrassment may be easily imagined. separated from the judge, i would now be an hour with a bevy of ladies who evidently felt repugnance to all my most cherished opinions. it was the first time i had met mrs. seward, and i did not then know the broad, liberal tendencies of her mind. what a tide of disagreeable thoughts rushed through me in that short passage from the dining room to the parlor. how gladly i would have glided out the front door! but that was impossible, so i made up my mind to stroll round as if self-absorbed, and look at the books and paintings until the judge appeared; as i took it for granted that, after all i had said at the table on the political, religious, and social equality of women, not a lady would have anything to say to me. imagine, then, my surprise when, the moment the parlor door was closed upon us, mrs. seward, approaching me most affectionately, said: "let me thank you for the brave words you uttered at the dinner table, and for your speech before the legislature, that thrilled my soul as i read it over and over." i was filled with joy and astonishment. recovering myself, i said, "is it possible, mrs. seward, that you agree with me? then why, when i was so hard pressed by foes on every side, did you not come to the defense? i supposed that all you ladies were hostile to every one of my ideas on this question." "no, no!" said she; "i am with you thoroughly, but i am a born coward; there is nothing i dread more than mr. seward's ridicule. i would rather walk up to the cannon's mouth than encounter it." "i, too, am with you," "and i," said two or three others, who had been silent at the table. i never had a more serious, heartfelt conversation than with these ladies. mrs. seward's spontaneity and earnestness had moved them all deeply, and when the senator appeared the first words he said were: "before we part i must confess that i was fairly vanquished by you and the judge, on my own principles" (for we had quoted some of his most radical utterances). "you have the argument, but custom and prejudice are against you, and they are stronger than truth and logic." chapter xiii. reforms and mobs. there was one bright woman among the many in our seneca falls literary circle to whom i would give more than a passing notice--mrs. amelia bloomer, who represented three novel phases of woman's life. she was assistant postmistress; an editor of a reform paper advocating temperance and woman's rights; and an advocate of the new costume which bore her name! in her husband was appointed postmaster, and she became his deputy, was duly sworn in, and, during the administration of taylor and fillmore, served in that capacity. when she assumed her duties the improvement in the appearance and conduct of the office was generally acknowledged. a neat little room adjoining the public office became a kind of ladies' exchange, where those coming from different parts of the town could meet to talk over the news of the day and read the papers and magazines that came to mrs. bloomer as editor of the _lily_. those who enjoyed the brief reign of a woman in the post office can readily testify to the void felt by the ladies of the village when mrs. bloomer's term expired and a man once more reigned in her stead. however, she still edited the _lily_, and her office remained a fashionable center for several years. although she wore the bloomer dress, its originator was elizabeth smith miller, the only daughter of gerrit smith. in the winter of mrs. miller came to visit me in seneca falls, dressed somewhat in the turkish style--short skirt, full trousers of fine black broadcloth; a spanish cloak, of the same material, reaching to the knee; beaver hat and feathers and dark furs; altogether a most becoming costume and exceedingly convenient for walking in all kinds of weather. to see my cousin, with a lamp in one hand and a baby in the other, walk upstairs with ease and grace, while, with flowing robes, i pulled myself up with difficulty, lamp and baby out of the question, readily convinced me that there was sore need of reform in woman's dress, and i promptly donned a similar attire. what incredible freedom i enjoyed for two years! like a captive set free from his ball and chain, i was always ready for a brisk walk through sleet and snow and rain, to climb a mountain, jump over a fence, work in the garden, and, in fact, for any necessary locomotion. bloomer is now a recognized word in the english language. mrs. bloomer, having the _lily_ in which to discuss the merits of the new dress, the press generally took up the question, and much valuable information was elicited on the physiological results of woman's fashionable attire; the crippling effect of tight waists and long skirts, the heavy weight on the hips, and high heels, all combined to throw the spine out of plumb and lay the foundation for all manner of nervous diseases. but, while all agreed that some change was absolutely necessary for the health of women, the press stoutly ridiculed those who were ready to make the experiment. a few sensible women, in different parts of the country, adopted the costume, and farmers' wives especially proved its convenience. it was also worn by skaters, gymnasts, tourists, and in sanitariums. but, while the few realized its advantages, the many laughed it to scorn, and heaped such ridicule on its wearers that they soon found that the physical freedom enjoyed did not compensate for the persistent persecution and petty annoyances suffered at every turn. to be rudely gazed at in public and private, to be the conscious subjects of criticism, and to be followed by crowds of boys in the streets, were all, to the very last degree, exasperating. a favorite doggerel that our tormentors chanted, when we appeared in public places, ran thus: "heigh! ho! in rain and snow, the bloomer now is all the go. twenty tailors take the stitches, twenty women wear the breeches. heigh! ho! in rain or snow, the bloomer now is all the go." the singers were generally invisible behind some fence or attic window. those who wore the dress can recall countless amusing and annoying experiences. the patience of most of us was exhausted in about two years; but our leader, mrs. miller, bravely adhered to the costume for nearly seven years, under the most trying circumstances. while her father was in congress, she wore it at many fashionable dinners and receptions in washington. she was bravely sustained, however, by her husband, colonel miller, who never flinched in escorting his wife and her coadjutors, however inartistic their costumes might be. to tall, gaunt women with large feet and to those who were short and stout, it was equally trying. mrs. miller was also encouraged by the intense feeling of her father on the question of woman's dress. to him the whole revolution in woman's position turned on her dress. the long skirt was the symbol of her degradation. the names of those who wore the bloomer costume, besides those already mentioned, were paulina wright davis, lucy stone, susan b. anthony, sarah and angelina grimke, mrs. william burleigh, celia burleigh, charlotte beebe wilbour, helen jarvis, lydia jenkins, amelia willard, dr. harriet n. austin, and many patients in sanitariums, whose names i cannot recall. looking back to this experiment, i am not surprised at the hostility of men in general to the dress, as it made it very uncomfortable for them to go anywhere with those who wore it. people would stare, many men and women make rude remarks, boys followed in crowds, with jeers and laughter, so that gentlemen in attendance would feel it their duty to show fight, unless they had sufficient self-control to pursue the even tenor of their way, as the ladies themselves did, without taking the slightest notice of the commotion they created. but colonel miller went through the ordeal with coolness and dogged determination, to the vexation of his acquaintances, who thought one of his duties as a husband was to prescribe his wife's costume. though we did not realize the success we hoped for by making the dress popular, yet the effort was not lost. we were well aware that the dress was not artistic, and though we made many changes, our own good taste was never satisfied until we threw aside the loose trousers and adopted buttoned leggins. after giving up the experiment, we found that the costume in which diana the huntress is represented, and that worn on the stage by ellen tree in the play of "ion," would have been more artistic and convenient. but we, who had made the experiment, were too happy to move about unnoticed and unknown, to risk, again, the happiness of ourselves and our friends by any further experiments. i have never wondered since that the chinese women allow their daughters' feet to be encased in iron shoes, nor that the hindoo widows walk calmly to the funeral pyre; for great are the penalties of those who dare resist the behests of the tyrant custom. nevertheless the agitation has been kept up, in a mild form, both in england and america. lady harberton, in , was at the head of an organized movement in london to introduce the bifurcated skirt; mrs. jenness miller, in this country, is making an entire revolution in every garment that belongs to a woman's toilet; and common-sense shoemakers have vouchsafed to us, at last, a low, square heel to our boots and a broad sole in which the five toes can spread themselves at pleasure. evidently a new day of physical freedom is at last dawning for the most cribbed and crippled of eve's unhappy daughters. it was while living in seneca falls, and at one of the most despairing periods of my young life, that one of the best gifts of the gods came to me in the form of a good, faithful housekeeper. she was indeed a treasure, a friend and comforter, a second mother to my children, and understood all life's duties and gladly bore its burdens. she could fill any department in domestic life, and for thirty years was the joy of our household. but for this noble, self-sacrificing woman, much of my public work would have been quite impossible. if by word or deed i have made the journey of life easier for any struggling soul, i must in justice share the meed of praise accorded me with my little quaker friend amelia willard. there are two classes of housekeepers--one that will get what they want, if in the range of human possibilities, and then accept the inevitable inconveniences with cheerfulness and heroism; the other, from a kind of chronic inertia and a fear of taking responsibility, accept everything as they find it, though with gentle, continuous complainings. the latter are called amiable women. such a woman was our congressman's wife in , and, as i was the reservoir of all her sorrows, great and small, i became very weary of her amiable non-resistance. among other domestic trials, she had a kitchen stove that smoked and leaked, which could neither bake nor broil,--a worthless thing,--and too small for any purpose. consequently half their viands were spoiled in the cooking, and the cooks left in disgust, one after another. in telling me, one day, of these kitchen misadventures, she actually shed tears, which so roused my sympathies that, with surprise, i exclaimed: "why do you not buy a new stove?" to my unassisted common sense that seemed the most practical thing to do. "why," she replied, "i have never purchased a darning needle, to put the case strongly, without consulting mr. s., and he does not think a new stove necessary." "what, pray," said i, "does he know about stoves, sitting in his easy-chair in washington? if he had a dull old knife with broken blades, he would soon get a new one with which to sharpen his pens and pencils, and, if he attempted to cook a meal--granting he knew how--on your old stove, he would set it out of doors the next hour. now my advice to you is to buy a new one this very day!" "bless me!" she said, "that would make him furious; he would blow me sky-high." "well," i replied, "suppose he did go into a regular tantrum and use all the most startling expletives in the vocabulary for fifteen minutes! what is that compared with a good stove days in the year? just put all he could say on one side, and all the advantages you would enjoy on the other, and you must readily see that his wrath would kick the beam." as my logic was irresistible, she said, "well, if you will go with me, and help select a stove, i think i will take the responsibility." accordingly we went to the hardware store and selected the most approved, largest-sized stove, with all the best cooking utensils, best russian pipe, etc. "now," said she, "i am in equal need of a good stove in my sitting room, and i would like the pipes of both stoves to lead into dumb stoves above, and thus heat two or three rooms upstairs for my children to play in, as they have no place except the sitting room, where they must be always with me; but i suppose it is not best to do too much at one time." "on the contrary," i replied, "as your husband is wealthy, you had better get all you really need now. mr. s. will probably be no more surprised with two stoves than with one, and, as you expect a hot scene over the matter, the more you get out of it the better." so the stoves and pipes were ordered, holes cut through the ceiling, and all were in working order next day. the cook was delighted over her splendid stove and shining tins, copper-bottomed tea kettle and boiler, and warm sleeping room upstairs; the children were delighted with their large playrooms, and madam jubilant with her added comforts and that newborn feeling of independence one has in assuming responsibility. she was expecting mr. s. home in the holidays, and occasionally weakened at the prospect of what she feared might be a disagreeable encounter. at such times she came to consult with me, as to what she would say and do when the crisis arrived. having studied the _genus homo_ alike on the divine heights of exaltation and in the valleys of humiliation, i was able to make some valuable suggestions. "now," said i, "when your husband explodes, as you think he will, neither say nor do anything; sit and gaze out of the window with that far-away, sad look women know so well how to affect. if you can summon tears at pleasure, a few would not be amiss; a gentle shower, not enough to make the nose and eyes red or to detract from your beauty. men cannot resist beauty and tears. never mar their effect with anything bordering on sobs and hysteria; such violent manifestations being neither refined nor artistic. a scene in which one person does the talking must be limited in time. no ordinary man can keep at white heat fifteen minutes; if his victim says nothing, he will soon exhaust himself. remember every time you speak in the way of defense, you give him a new text on which to branch out again. if silence is ever golden, it is when a husband is in a tantrum." in due time mr. s. arrived, laden with christmas presents, and charlotte came over to tell me that she had passed through the ordeal. i will give the scene in her own words as nearly as possible. "my husband came yesterday, just before dinner, and, as i expected him, i had all things in order. he seemed very happy to see me and the children, and we had a gay time looking at our presents and chatting about washington and all that had happened since we parted. it made me sad, in the midst of our happiness, to think how soon the current of his feelings would change, and i wished in my soul that i had not bought the stoves. but, at last, dinner was announced, and i knew that the hour had come. he ran upstairs to give a few touches to his toilet, when lo! the shining stoves and pipes caught his eyes. he explored the upper apartments and came down the back stairs, glanced at the kitchen stove, then into the dining room, and stood confounded, for a moment, before the nickel-plated 'morning glory.' then he exclaimed, 'heavens and earth! charlotte, what have you been doing?' i remembered what you told me and said nothing, but looked steadily out of the window. i summoned no tears, however, for i felt more like laughing than crying; he looked so ridiculous flying round spasmodically, like popcorn on a hot griddle, and talking as if making a stump speech on the corruptions of the democrats. the first time he paused to take breath i said, in my softest tones: 'william, dinner is waiting; i fear the soup will be cold.' fortunately he was hungry, and that great central organ of life and happiness asserted its claims on his attention, and he took his seat at the table. i broke what might have been an awkward silence, chatting with the older children about their school lessons. fortunately they were late, and did not know what had happened, so they talked to their father and gradually restored his equilibrium. we had a very good dinner, and i have not heard a word about the stoves since. i suppose we shall have another scene when the bill is presented." a few years later, horace greeley came to seneca falls to lecture on temperance. as he stayed with us, we invited mr. s., among others, to dinner. the chief topic at the table was the idiosyncrasies of women. mr. greeley told many amusing things about his wife, of her erratic movements and sudden decisions to do and dare what seemed most impracticable. perhaps, on rising some morning, she would say: "i think i'll go to europe by the next steamer, horace. will you get tickets to-day for me, the nurse, and children?" "well," said mr. s., "she must be something like our hostess. every time her husband goes away she cuts a door or window. they have only ten doors to lock every night, now." "yes," i said, "and your own wife, too, mrs. s., has the credit of some high-handed measures when you are in washington." then i told the whole story, amid peals of laughter, just as related above. the dinner table scene fairly convulsed the congressman. the thought that he had made such a fool of himself in the eyes of charlotte that she could not even summon a tear in her defense, particularly pleased him. when sufficiently recovered to speak, he said: "well, i never could understand how it was that charlotte suddenly emerged from her thraldom and manifested such rare executive ability. now i see to whom i am indebted for the most comfortable part of my married life. i am a thousand times obliged to you; you did just right and so did she, and she has been a happier woman ever since. she now gets what she needs, and frets no more, to me, about ten thousand little things. how can a man know what implements are necessary for the work he never does? of all agencies for upsetting the equanimity of family life, none can surpass an old, broken-down kitchen stove!" in the winter of , just after the election of lincoln, the abolitionists decided to hold a series of conventions in the chief cities of the north. all their available speakers were pledged for active service. the republican party, having absorbed the political abolitionists within its ranks by its declared hostility to the extension of slavery, had come into power with overwhelming majorities. hence the garrisonian abolitionists, opposed to all compromises, felt that this was the opportune moment to rouse the people to the necessity of holding that party to its declared principles, and pushing it, if possible, a step or two forward. i was invited to accompany miss anthony and beriah green to a few points in central new york. but we soon found, by the concerted action of republicans all over the country, that anti-slavery conventions would not be tolerated. thus republicans and democrats made common cause against the abolitionists. the john brown raid, the year before, had intimidated northern politicians as much as southern slaveholders, and the general feeling was that the discussion of the question at the north should be altogether suppressed. from buffalo to albany our experience was the same, varied only by the fertile resources of the actors and their surroundings. thirty years of education had somewhat changed the character of northern mobs. they no longer dragged men through the streets with ropes around their necks, nor broke up women's prayer meetings; they no longer threw eggs and brickbats at the apostles of reform, nor dipped them in barrels of tar and feathers, they simply crowded the halls, and, with laughing, groaning, clapping, and cheering, effectually interrupted the proceedings. such was our experience during the two days we attempted to hold a convention in st. james' hall, buffalo. as we paid for the hall, the mob enjoyed themselves, at our expense, in more ways than one. every session, at the appointed time, we took our places on the platform, making, at various intervals of silence, renewed efforts to speak. not succeeding, we sat and conversed with each other and the many friends who crowded the platform and anterooms. thus, among ourselves, we had a pleasant reception and a discussion of many phases of the question that brought us together. the mob not only vouchsafed to us the privilege of talking to our friends without interruption, but delegations of their own came behind the scenes, from time to time, to discuss with us the right of free speech and the constitutionality of slavery. these buffalo rowdies were headed by ex-justice hinson, aided by younger members of the fillmore and seymour families, and the chief of police and fifty subordinates, who were admitted to the hall free, for the express purpose of protecting our right of free speech, but who, in defiance of the mayor's orders, made not the slightest effort in our defense. at lockport there was a feeble attempt in the same direction. at albion neither hall, church, nor schoolhouse could be obtained, so we held small meetings in the dining room of the hotel. at rochester, corinthian hall was packed long before the hour advertised. this was a delicately appreciative, jocose mob. at this point aaron powell joined us. as he had just risen from a bed of sickness, looking pale and emaciated, he slowly mounted the platform. the mob at once took in his look of exhaustion, and, as he seated himself, they gave an audible simultaneous sigh, as if to say, what a relief it is to be seated! so completely did the tender manifestation reflect mr. powell's apparent condition that the whole audience burst into a roar of laughter. here, too, all attempts to speak were futile. at port byron a generous sprinkling of cayenne pepper on the stove soon cut short all constitutional arguments and paeans to liberty. and so it was all the way to albany. the whole state was aflame with the mob spirit, and from boston and various points in other states the same news reached us. as the legislature was in session, and we were advertised in albany, a radical member sarcastically moved "that as mrs. stanton and miss anthony were about to move on albany, the militia be ordered out for the protection of the city." happily, albany could then boast of a democratic mayor, a man of courage and conscience, who said the right of free speech should never be trodden under foot where he had the right to prevent it. and grandly did that one determined man maintain order in his jurisdiction. through all the sessions of the convention mayor thatcher sat on the platform, his police stationed in different parts of the hall and outside the building, to disperse the crowd as fast as it collected. if a man or boy hissed or made the slightest interruption, he was immediately ejected. and not only did the mayor preserve order in the meetings, but, with a company of armed police, he escorted us, every time, to and from the delevan house. the last night gerrit smith addressed the mob from the steps of the hotel, after which they gave him three cheers and dispersed in good order. when proposing for the mayor a vote of thanks, at the close of the convention, mr. smith expressed his fears that it had been a severe ordeal for him to listen to these prolonged anti-slavery discussions. he smiled, and said: "i have really been deeply interested and instructed. i rather congratulate myself that a convention of this character has, at last, come in the line of my business; otherwise i should have probably remained in ignorance of many important facts and opinions i now understand and appreciate." while all this was going on publicly, an equally trying experience was progressing, day by day, behind the scenes. miss anthony had been instrumental in helping a much abused mother, with her child, to escape from a husband who had immured her in an insane asylum. the wife belonged to one of the first families of new york, her brother being a united states senator, and the husband, also, a man of position; a large circle of friends and acquaintances was interested in the result. though she was incarcerated in an insane asylum for eighteen months, yet members of her own family again and again testified that she was not insane. miss anthony, knowing that she was not, and believing fully that the unhappy mother was the victim of a conspiracy, would not reveal her hiding place. knowing the confidence miss anthony felt in the wisdom of mr. garrison and mr. phillips, they were implored to use their influence with her to give up the fugitives. letters and telegrams, persuasions, arguments, and warnings from mr. garrison, mr. phillips, and the senator on the one side, and from lydia mott, mrs. elizabeth f. ellet, and abby hopper gibbons, on the other, poured in upon her, day after day; but miss anthony remained immovable, although she knew that she was defying and violating the law and might be arrested any moment on the platform. we had known so many aggravated cases of this kind that, in daily counsel, we resolved that this woman should not be recaptured if it were possible to prevent it. to us it looked as imperative a duty to shield a sane mother, who had been torn from a family of little children and doomed to the companionship of lunatics, and to aid her in fleeing to a place of safety, as to help a fugitive from slavery to canada. in both cases an unjust law was violated; in both cases the supposed owners of the victims were defied; hence, in point of law and morals, the act was the same in both cases. the result proved the wisdom of miss anthony's decision, as all with whom mrs. p. came in contact for years afterward, expressed the opinion that she was, and always had been, perfectly sane. could the dark secrets of insane asylums be brought to light we should be shocked to know the great number of rebellious wives, sisters, and daughters who are thus sacrificed to false customs and barbarous laws made by men for women. chapter xiv. views on marriage and divorce. the widespread discussion we are having, just now, on the subject of marriage and divorce, reminds me of an equally exciting one in . a very liberal bill, introduced into the indiana legislature by robert dale owen, and which passed by a large majority, roused much public thought on the question, and made that state free soil for unhappy wives and husbands. a similar bill was introduced into the legislature of new york by mr. ramsey, which was defeated by four votes, owing, mainly, to the intense opposition of horace greeley. he and mr. owen had a prolonged discussion, in the new york _tribune_, in which mr. owen got decidedly the better of the argument. there had been several aggravated cases of cruelty to wives among the dutch aristocracy, so that strong influences in favor of the bill had been brought to bear on the legislature, but the _tribune_ thundered every morning in its editorial column its loudest peals, which reverberated through the state. so bitter was the opposition to divorce, for any cause, that but few dared to take part in the discussion. i was the only woman, for many years, who wrote and spoke on the question. articles on divorce, by a number of women, recently published in the _north american review_, are a sign of progress, showing that women dare speak out now more freely on the relations that most deeply concern them. my feelings had been stirred to their depths very early in life by the sufferings of a dear friend of mine, at whose wedding i was one of the bridesmaids. in listening to the facts in her case, my mind was fully made up as to the wisdom of a liberal divorce law. we read milton's essays on divorce, together, and were thoroughly convinced as to the right and duty not only of separation, but of absolute divorce. while the new york bill was pending, i was requested, by lewis benedict, one of the committee who had the bill in charge, to address the legislature. i gladly accepted, feeling that here was an opportunity not only to support my friend in the step she had taken, but to make the path clear for other unhappy wives who might desire to follow her example. i had no thought of the persecution i was drawing down on myself for thus attacking so venerable an institution. i was always courageous in saying what i saw to be true, for the simple reason that i never dreamed of opposition. what seemed to me to be right i thought must be equally plain to all other rational beings. hence i had no dread of denunciation. i was only surprised when i encountered it, and no number of experiences have, as yet, taught me to fear public opinion. what i said on divorce thirty-seven years ago seems quite in line with what many say now. the trouble was not in what i said, but that i said it too soon, and before the people were ready to hear it. it may be, however, that i helped them to get ready; who knows? as we were holding a woman suffrage convention in albany, at the time appointed for the hearing, ernestine l. rose and lucretia mott briefly added their views on the question. although mrs. mott had urged mrs. rose and myself to be as moderate as possible in our demands, she quite unconsciously made the most radical utterance of all, in saying that marriage was a question beyond the realm of legislation, that must be left to the parties themselves. we rallied lucretia on her radicalism, and some of the journals criticised us severely; but the following letter shows that she had no thought of receding from her position: "roadside, near philadelphia, " th mo., th, ' . "my dear lydia mott: "i have wished, ever since parting with thee and our other dear friends in albany, to send thee a line, and have only waited in the hope of contributing a little 'substantial aid' toward your neat and valuable 'depository.' the twenty dollars inclosed is from our female anti-slavery society. "i see the annual meeting, in new york, is not to be held this spring. sister martha is here, and was expecting to attend both anniversaries. but we now think the woman's rights meeting had better not be attempted, and she has written elizabeth c. stanton to this effect. "i was well satisfied with being at the albany meeting. i have since met with the following, from a speech of lord brougham's, which pleased me, as being as radical as mine in your stately hall of representatives: "'before women can have any justice by the laws of england, there must be a total reconstruction of the whole marriage system; for any attempt to amend it would prove useless. the great charter, in establishing the supremacy of law over prerogative, provides only for justice between man and man; for woman nothing is left but common law, accumulations and modifications of original gothic and roman heathenism, which no amount of filtration through ecclesiastical courts could change into christian laws. they are declared unworthy a christian people by great jurists; still they remain unchanged.' "so elizabeth stanton will see that i have authority for going to the root of the evil. "thine, "lucretia mott." those of us who met in albany talked the matter over in regard to a free discussion of the divorce question at the coming convention in new york. it was the opinion of those present that, as the laws on marriage and divorce were very unequal for man and woman, this was a legitimate subject for discussion on our platform; accordingly i presented a series of resolutions, at the annual convention, in new york city, to which i spoke for over an hour. i was followed by antoinette l, brown, who also presented a series of resolutions in opposition to mine. she was, in turn, answered by ernestine l. rose. wendell phillips then arose, and, in an impressive manner pronounced the whole discussion irrelevant to our platform, and moved that neither the speeches nor resolutions go on the records of the convention. as i greatly admired wendell phillips, and appreciated his good opinion, i was surprised and humiliated to find myself under the ban of his disapprobation. my face was scarlet, and i trembled with mingled feelings of doubt and fear--doubt as to the wisdom of my position and fear lest the convention should repudiate the whole discussion. my emotion was so apparent that rev. samuel longfellow, a brother of the poet, who sat beside me, whispered in my ear, "nevertheless you are right, and the convention will sustain you." mr. phillips said that as marriage concerned man and woman alike, and the laws bore equally on them, women had no special ground for complaint, although, in my speech, i had quoted many laws to show the reverse. mr. garrison and rev. antoinette l. brown were alike opposed to mr. phillips' motion, and claimed that marriage and divorce were legitimate subjects for discussion on our platform. miss anthony closed the debate. she said: "i hope mr. phillips will withdraw his motion that these resolutions shall not appear on the records of the convention. i am very sure that it would be contrary to all parliamentary usage to say that, when the speeches which enforced and advocated the resolutions are reported and published in the proceedings, the resolutions shall not be placed there. and as to the point that this question does not belong to this platform--from that i totally dissent. marriage has ever been a one-sided matter, resting most unequally upon the sexes. by it man gains all; woman loses all; tyrant law and lust reign supreme with him; meek submission and ready obedience alone befit her. woman has never been consulted; her wish has never been taken into consideration as regards the terms of the marriage compact. by law, public sentiment, and religion,--from the time of moses down to the present day,--woman has never been thought of other than as a piece of property, to be disposed of at the will and pleasure of man. and at this very hour, by our statute books, by our (so-called) enlightened christian civilization, she has no voice whatever in saying what shall be the basis of the relation. she must accept marriage as man proffers it, or not at all. "and then, again, on mr. phillips' own ground, the discussion is perfectly in order, since nearly all the wrongs of which we complain grow out of the inequality of the marriage laws, that rob the wife of the right to herself and her children; that make her the slave of the man she marries. i hope, therefore, the resolutions will be allowed to go out to the public; that there may be a fair report of the ideas which have actually been presented here; that they may not be left to the mercy of the secular press, i trust the convention will not vote to forbid the publication of those resolutions with the proceedings." rev. william hoisington (the blind preacher) followed miss anthony, and said: "publish all that you have done here, and let the public know it." the question was then put, on the motion of mr. phillips, and it was lost. as mr. greeley, in commenting on the convention, took the same ground with mr. phillips, that the laws on marriage and divorce were equal for man and woman, i answered them in the following letter to the new york _tribune_. "_to the editor of the new york tribune_: "sir: at our recent national woman's rights convention many were surprised to hear wendell phillips object to the question of marriage and divorce as irrelevant to our platform. he said: 'we had no right to discuss here any laws or customs but those where inequality existed for the sexes; that the laws on marriage and divorce rested equally on man and woman; that he suffers, as much as she possibly could, the wrongs and abuses of an ill-assorted marriage.' "now it must strike every careful thinker that an immense difference rests in the fact that man has made the laws cunningly and selfishly for his own purpose. from coke down to kent, who can cite one clause of the marriage contract where woman has the advantage? when man suffers from false legislation he has his remedy in his own hands. shall woman be denied the right of protest against laws in which she had no voice; laws which outrage the holiest affections of her nature; laws which transcend the limits of human legislation, in a convention called for the express purpose of considering her wrongs? he might as well object to a protest against the injustice of hanging a woman, because capital punishment bears equally on man and woman. "the contract of marriage is by no means equal. the law permits the girl to marry at twelve years of age, while it requires several years more of experience on the part of the boy. in entering this compact, the man gives up nothing that he before possessed, he is a man still; while the legal existence of the woman is suspended during marriage, and, henceforth, she is known but in and through the husband. she is nameless, purseless, childless--though a woman, an heiress, and a mother. "blackstone says: 'the husband and wife are one, and that one is the husband.' chancellor kent, in his 'commentaries' says: 'the legal effects of marriage are generally deducible from the principle of the common law, by which the husband and wife are regarded as one person, and her legal existence and authority lost or suspended during the continuance of the matrimonial union.' "the wife is regarded by all legal authorities as a _feme covert_, placed wholly _sub potestate viri_. her moral responsibility, even, is merged in her husband. the law takes it for granted that the wife lives in fear of her husband; that his command is her highest law; hence a wife is not punishable for the theft committed in the presence of her husband. an unmarried woman can make contracts, sue and be sued, enjoy the rights of property, to her inheritance--to her wages--to her person--to her children; but, in marriage, she is robbed by law of all and every natural and civil right. kent further says: 'the disability of the wife to contract, so as to bind herself, arises not from want of discretion, but because she has entered into an indissoluble connection by which she is placed under the power and protection of her husband.' she is possessed of certain rights until she is married; then all are suspended, to revive, again, the moment the breath goes out of the husband's body. (see 'cowen's treatise,' vol. , p. .) "if the contract be equal, whence come the terms 'marital power,' 'marital rights,' 'obedience and restraint,' 'dominion and control,' 'power and protection,' etc., etc.? many cases are stated, showing the exercise of a most questionable power over the wife, sustained by the courts. (see 'bishop on divorce,' p. .) "the laws on divorce are quite as unequal as those on marriage; yea, far more so. the advantages seem to be all on one side and the penalties on the other. in case of divorce, if the husband be not the guilty party, the wife goes out of the partnership penniless. (kent, vol. , p. ; 'bishop on divorce,' p. .) "in new york, and some other states, the wife of the guilty husband can now sue for a divorce in her own name, and the costs come out of the husband's estate; but, in the majority of the states, she is still compelled to sue in the name of another, as she has no means for paying costs, even though she may have brought her thousands into the partnership. 'the allowance to the innocent wife of _ad interim_ alimony and money to sustain the suit, is not regarded as a strict right in her, but of sound discretion in the court.' ('bishop on divorce,' p. .) "'many jurists,' says kent, 'are of opinion that the adultery of the husband ought not to be noticed or made subject to the same animadversions as that of the wife, because it is not evidence of such entire depravity nor equally injurious in its effects upon the morals, good order, and happiness of the domestic life. montesquieu, pothier, and dr. taylor all insist that the cases of husband and wife ought to be distinguished, and that the violation of the marriage vow, on the part of the wife, is the most mischievous, and the prosecution ought to be confined to the offense on her part. ("esprit des lois," tom. , ; "traité du contrat de mariage," no. ; "elements of civil law," p. ).' "say you, 'these are but the opinions of men'? on what else, i ask, are the hundreds of women depending, who, this hour, demand in our courts a release from burdensome contracts? are not these delicate matters left wholly to the discretion of courts? are not young women from the first families dragged into our courts,--into assemblies of men exclusively,--the judges all men, the jurors all men? no true woman there to shield them, by her presence, from gross and impertinent questionings, to pity their misfortunes, or to protest against their wrongs? "the administration of justice depends far more on the opinions of eminent jurists than on law alone, for law is powerless when at variance with public sentiment. "do not the above citations clearly prove inequality? are not the very letter and spirit of the marriage contract based on the idea of the supremacy of man as the keeper of woman's virtue--her sole protector and support? out of marriage, woman asks nothing, at this hour, but the elective franchise. it is only in marriage that she must demand her right to person, children, property, wages, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. how can we discuss all the laws and conditions of marriage, without perceiving its essential essence, end, and aim? now, whether the institution of marriage be human or divine, whether regarded as indissoluble by ecclesiastical courts or dissoluble by civil courts, woman, finding herself equally degraded in each and every phase of it, always the victim of the institution, it is her right and her duty to sift the relation and the compact through and through, until she finds out the true cause of her false position. how can we go before the legislatures of our respective states and demand new laws, or no laws, on divorce, until we have some idea of what the true relation is? "we decide the whole question of slavery by settling the sacred rights of the individual. we assert that man cannot hold property in man, and reject the whole code of laws that conflicts with the self-evident truth of the assertion. "again, i ask, is it possible to discuss all the laws of a relation, and not touch the relation itself? "yours respectfully, "elizabeth cady stanton." the discussion on the question of marriage and divorce occupied one entire session of the convention, and called down on us severe criticisms from the metropolitan and state press. so alarming were the comments on what had been said that i began to feel that i had inadvertently taken out the underpinning from the social system. enemies were unsparing in their denunciations, and friends ridiculed the whole proceeding. i was constantly called on for a definition of marriage and asked to describe home life as it would be when men changed their wives every christmas. letters and newspapers poured in upon me, asking all manner of absurd questions, until i often wept with vexation. so many things, that i had neither thought nor said, were attributed to me that, at times, i really doubted my own identity. however, in the progress of events the excitement died away, the earth seemed to turn on its axis as usual, women were given in marriage, children were born, fires burned as brightly as ever at the domestic altars, and family life, to all appearances, was as stable as usual. public attention was again roused to this subject by the mcfarland-richardson trial, in which the former shot the latter, being jealous of his attentions to his wife. mcfarland was a brutal, improvident husband, who had completely alienated his wife's affections, while mr. richardson, who had long been a cherished acquaintance of the family, befriended the wife in the darkest days of her misery. she was a very refined, attractive woman, and a large circle of warm friends stood by her through the fierce ordeal of her husband's trial. though mcfarland did not deny that he killed richardson, yet he was acquitted on the plea of insanity, and was, at the same time, made the legal guardian of his child, a boy, then, twelve years of age, and walked out of the court with him, hand in hand. what a travesty on justice and common sense that, while a man is declared too insane to be held responsible for taking the life of another, he might still be capable of directing the life and education of a child! and what an insult to that intelligent mother, who had devoted twelve years of her life to his care, while his worthless father had not provided for them the necessaries of life! she married mr. richardson on his deathbed. the ceremony was performed by henry ward beecher and rev. o.b. frothingham, while such men as horace greeley and joshua leavitt witnessed the solemn service. though no shadow had ever dimmed mrs. richardson's fair fame, yet she was rudely treated in the court and robbed of her child, though by far the most fitting parent to be intrusted with his care. as the indignation among women was general and at white heat with regard to her treatment, miss anthony suggested to me, one day, that it would be a golden opportunity to give women a lesson on their helplessness under the law--wholly in the power of man as to their domestic relations, as well as to their civil and political rights. accordingly we decided to hold some meetings, for women alone, to protest against the decision of this trial, the general conduct of the case, the tone of the press, and the laws that made it possible to rob a mother of her child. many ladies readily enlisted in the movement. i was invited to make the speech on the occasion, and miss anthony arranged for two great meetings, one in apollo hall, new york city, and one in the academy of music, in brooklyn. the result was all that we could desire. miss anthony, with wonderful executive ability, made all the arrangements, taking on her own shoulders the whole financial responsibility. my latest thought on this question i gave in _the arena_ of april, , from which i quote the following: "there is a demand just now for an amendment to the united states constitution that shall make the laws of marriage and divorce the same in all the states of the union. as the suggestion comes uniformly from those who consider the present divorce laws too liberal, we may infer that the proposed national law is to place the whole question on a narrower basis, rendering null and void the laws that have been passed in a broader spirit, according to the needs and experiences, in certain sections, of the sovereign people. and here let us bear in mind that the widest possible law would not make divorce obligatory on anyone, while a restricted law, on the contrary, would compel many, marrying, perhaps, under more liberal laws, to remain in uncongenial relations. "as we are still in the experimental stage on this question, we are not qualified to make a perfect law that would work satisfactorily over so vast an area as our boundaries now embrace. i see no evidence in what has been published on this question, of late, by statesmen, ecclesiastics, lawyers, and judges, that any of them have thought sufficiently on the subject to prepare a well-digested code, or a comprehensive amendment to the national constitution. some view it as a civil contract, though not governed by the laws of other contracts; some view it as a religious ordinance--a sacrament; some think it a relation to be regulated by the state, others by the church, and still others think it should be left wholly to the individual. with this wide divergence of opinion among our leading minds, it is quite evident that we are not prepared for a national law. "moreover, as woman is the most important factor in the marriage relation, her enfranchisement is the primal step in deciding the basis of family life. before public opinion on this question crystallizes into an amendment to the national constitution, the wife and mother must have a voice in the governing power and must be heard, on this great problem, in the halls of legislation. "there are many advantages in leaving all these questions, as now, to the states. local self-government more readily permits of experiments on mooted questions, which are the outcome of the needs and convictions of the community. the smaller the area over which legislation extends, the more pliable are the laws. by leaving the states free to experiment in their local affairs, we can judge of the working of different laws under varying circumstances, and thus learn their comparative merits. the progress education has achieved in america is due to the fact that we have left our system of public instruction in the hands of local authorities. how different would be the solution of the great educational question of manual labor in the schools, if the matter had to be settled at washington! "the whole nation might find itself pledged to a scheme that a few years would prove wholly impracticable. not only is the town meeting, as emerson says, 'the cradle of american liberties,' but it is the nursery of yankee experiment and wisdom. england, with its clumsy national code of education, making one inflexible standard of scholarship for the bright children of the manufacturing districts and the dull brains of the agricultural counties, should teach us a lesson as to the wisdom of keeping apart state and national government. "before we can decide the just grounds for divorce, we must get a clear idea of what constitutes marriage. in a true relation the chief object is the loving companionship of man and woman, their capacity for mutual help and happiness and for the development of all that is noblest in each other. the second object is the building up a home and family, a place of rest, peace, security, in which child-life can bud and blossom like flowers in the sunshine. "the first step toward making the ideal the real, is to educate our sons and daughters into the most exalted ideas of the sacredness of married life and the responsibilities of parenthood. i would have them give, at least, as much thought to the creation of an immortal being as the artist gives to his landscape or statue. watch him in his hours of solitude, communing with great nature for days and weeks in all her changing moods, and when at last his dream of beauty is realized and takes a clearly defined form, behold how patiently he works through long months and years on sky and lake, on tree and flower; and when complete, it represents to him more love and life, more hope and ambition, than the living child at his side, to whose conception and antenatal development not one soulful thought was ever given. to this impressible period of human life, few parents give any thought; yet here we must begin to cultivate virtues that can alone redeem the world. "the contradictory views in which woman is represented are as pitiful as varied. while the magnificat to the virgin is chanted in all our cathedrals round the globe on each returning sabbath day, and her motherhood extolled by her worshipers, maternity for the rest of womankind is referred to as a weakness, a disability, a curse, an evidence of woman's divinely ordained subjection. yet surely the real woman should have some points of resemblance in character and position with the ideal one, whom poets, novelists, and artists portray. "it is folly to talk of the sacredness of marriage and maternity, while the wife is practically regarded as an inferior, a subject, a slave. having decided that companionship and conscientious parenthood are the only true grounds for marriage, if the relation brings out the worst characteristics of each party, or if the home atmosphere is unwholesome for children, is not the very _raison d'être_ of the union wanting, and the marriage practically annulled? it cannot be called a holy relation,--no, not a desirable one,--when love and mutual respect are wanting. and let us bear in mind one other important fact: the lack of sympathy and content in the parents indicates radical physical unsuitability, which results in badly organized offspring. if, then, the real object of marriage is defeated, it is for the interest of the state, as well as the individual concerned, to see that all such pernicious unions be legally dissolved. inasmuch, then, as incompatibility of temper defeats the two great objects of marriage, it should be the primal cause for divorce. "the true standpoint from which to view this question is individual sovereignty, individual happiness. it is often said that the interests of society are paramount, and first to be considered. this was the roman idea, the pagan idea, that the individual was made for the state. the central idea of barbarism has ever been the family, the tribe, the nation--never the individual. but the great doctrine of christianity is the right of individual conscience and judgment. the reason it took such a hold on the hearts of the people was because it taught that the individual was primary; the state, the church, society, the family, secondary. however, a comprehensive view of any question of human interest, shows that the highest good and happiness of the individual and society lie in the same direction. "the question of divorce, like marriage, should be settled, as to its most sacred relations, by the parties themselves; neither the state nor the church having any right to intermeddle therein. as to property and children, it must be viewed and regulated as a civil contract. then the union should be dissolved with at least as much deliberation and publicity as it was formed. there might be some ceremony and witnesses to add to the dignity and solemnity of the occasion. like the quaker marriage, which the parties conduct themselves, so, in this case, without any statement of their disagreements, the parties might simply declare that, after living together for several years, they found themselves unsuited to each other, and incapable of making a happy home. "if divorce were made respectable, and recognized by society as a duty, as well as a right, reasonable men and women could arrange all the preliminaries, often, even, the division of property and guardianship of children, quite as satisfactorily as it could be done in the courts. where the mother is capable of training the children, a sensible father would leave them to her care rather than place them in the hands of a stranger. "but, where divorce is not respectable, men who have no paternal feeling will often hold the child, not so much for its good or his own affection, as to punish the wife for disgracing him. the love of children is not strong in most men, and they feel but little responsibility in regard to them. see how readily they turn off young sons to shift for themselves, and, unless the law compelled them to support their illegitimate children, they would never give them a second thought. but on the mother-soul rest forever the care and responsibility of human life. her love for the child born out of wedlock is often intensified by the infinite pity she feels through its disgrace. even among the lower animals we find the female ever brooding over the young and helpless. "limiting the causes of divorce to physical defects or delinquencies; making the proceedings public; prying into all the personal affairs of unhappy men and women; regarding the step as quasi criminal; punishing the guilty party in the suit; all this will not strengthen frail human nature, will not insure happy homes, will not banish scandals and purge society of prostitution. "no, no; the enemy of marriage, of the state, of society is not liberal divorce laws, but the unhealthy atmosphere that exists in the home itself. a legislative act cannot make a unit of a divided family." chapter xv. women as patriots. on april , , the president of the united states called out seventy-five thousand militia, and summoned congress to meet july , when four hundred thousand men were called for, and four hundred millions of dollars were voted to suppress the rebellion. these startling events roused the entire people, and turned the current of their thoughts in new directions. while the nation's life hung in the balance, and the dread artillery of war drowned, alike, the voices of commerce, politics, religion, and reform, all hearts were filled with anxious forebodings, all hands were busy in solemn preparations for the awful tragedies to come. at this eventful hour the patriotism of woman shone forth as fervently and spontaneously as did that of man; and her self-sacrifice and devotion were displayed in as many varied fields of action. while he buckled on his knapsack and marched forth to conquer the enemy, she planned the campaigns which brought the nation victory; fought in the ranks, when she could do so without detection; inspired the sanitary commission; gathered needed supplies for the grand army; provided nurses for the hospitals; comforted the sick; smoothed the pillows of the dying; inscribed the last messages of lave to those far away; and marked the resting places where the brave men fell. the labor women accomplished, the hardships they endured, the time and strength they sacrificed in the war that summoned three million men to arms, can never be fully appreciated. indeed, we may safely say that there is scarcely a loyal woman in the north who did not do something in aid of the cause; who did not contribute time, labor, and money to the comfort of our soldiers and the success of our arms. the story of the war will never be fully written if the achievements of women are left untold. they do not figure in the official reports; they are not gazetted for gallant deeds; the names of thousands are unknown beyond the neighborhood where they lived, or the hospitals where they loved to labor; yet there is no feature in our war more creditable to us as a nation, none from its positive newness so well worthy of record. while the mass of women never philosophize on the principles that underlie national existence, there were those in our late war who understood the political significance of the struggle; the "irrepressible conflict" between freedom and slavery, between national and state rights. they saw that to provide lint, bandages, and supplies for the army, while the war was not conducted on a wise policy, was to labor in vain; and while many organizations, active, vigilant, and self-sacrificing, were multiplied to look after the material wants of the army, these few formed themselves into a national loyal league, to teach sound principles of government and to impress on the nation's conscience that freedom for the slaves was the only way to victory. accustomed, as most women had been to works of charity and to the relief of outward suffering, it was difficult to rouse their enthusiasm for an idea, to persuade them to labor for a principle. they clamored for practical work, something for their hands to do; for fairs and sewing societies to raise money for soldier's families, for tableaux, readings, theatricals--anything but conventions to discuss principles and to circulate petitions for emancipation. they could not see that the best service they could render the army was to suppress the rebellion, and that the most effective way to accomplish that was to transform the slaves into soldiers. this woman's loyal league voiced the solemn lessons of the war: liberty to all; national protection for every citizen under our flag; universal suffrage, and universal amnesty. after consultation with horace greeley, william lloyd garrison, governor andrews, and robert dale owen, miss anthony and i decided to call a meeting of women in cooper institute and form a woman's loyal league, to advocate the immediate emancipation and enfranchisement of the southern slaves, as the most speedy way of ending the war, so we issued, in tract form, and extensively circulated the following call: "in this crisis of our country's destiny, it is the duty of every citizen to consider the peculiar blessings of a republican form of government, and decide what sacrifices of wealth and life are demanded for its defense and preservation. the policy of the war, our whole future life, depend on a clearly defined idea of the end proposed and the immense advantages to be secured to ourselves and all mankind by its accomplishment. no mere party or sectional cry, no technicalities of constitutional or military law, no mottoes of craft or policy are big enough to touch the great heart of a nation in the midst of revolution. a grand idea--such as freedom or justice--is needful to kindle and sustain the fires of a high enthusiasm. "at this hour, the best word and work of every man and woman are imperatively demanded. to man, by common consent, are assigned the forum, camp, and field. what is woman's legitimate work and how she may best accomplish it, is worthy our earnest counsel one with another. we have heard many complaints of the lack of enthusiasm, among northern women; but when a mother lays her son on the altar of her country, she asks an object equal to the sacrifice. in nursing the sick and wounded, knitting socks, scraping lint, and making jellies the bravest and best may weary if the thoughts mount not in faith to something beyond and above it all. work is worship only when a noble purpose fills the soul. woman is equally interested and responsible with man in the final settlement of this problem of self-government; therefore let none stand idle spectators now. when every hour is big with destiny, and each delay but complicates our difficulties, it is high time for the daughters of the revolution, in solemn council, to unseal the last will and testaments of the fathers, lay hold of their birthright of freedom, and keep it a sacred trust for all coming generations. "to this end we ask the loyal women of the nation to meet in the church of the puritans (dr. cheever's), new york, on thursday, the th of may next. "let the women of every state be largely represented in person or by letter. "on behalf of the woman's central committee, "elizabeth cady stanton, "susan b. anthony." among other resolutions adopted at the meeting were the following: "_resolved_, there never can be a true peace in this republic until the civil and political rights of all citizens of african descent and all women are practically established. "_resolved_, that the women of the revolution were not wanting in heroism and self-sacrifice, and we, their daughters, are ready, in this war, to pledge our time, our means, our talents, and our lives, if need be, to secure the final and complete consecration of america to freedom." it was agreed that the practical work to be done to secure freedom for the slaves was to circulate petitions through all the northern states. for months these petitions were circulated diligently everywhere, as the signatures show--some signed on fence posts, plows, the anvil, the shoemaker's bench--by women of fashion and those in the industries, alike in the parlor and the kitchen; by statesmen, professors in colleges, editors, bishops; by sailors, and soldiers, and the hard-handed children of toil, building railroads and bridges, and digging canals, and in mines in the bowels of the earth. petitions, signed by three hundred thousand persons, can now be seen in the national archives in the capitol at washington. three of my sons spent weeks in our office in cooper institute, rolling up the petitions from each state separately, and inscribing on the outside the number of names of men and women contained therein. we sent appeals to the president the house of representatives, and the senate, from time to time, urging emancipation and the passage of the proposed thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth amendments to the national constitution. during these eventful months we received many letters from senator sumner, saying, "send on the petitions as fast as received; they give me opportunities for speech." robert dale owen, chairman of the freedman's commission, was most enthusiastic in the work of the loyal league, and came to our rooms frequently to suggest new modes of agitation and to give us an inkling of what was going on behind the scenes in washington. those who had been specially engaged in the woman suffrage movement suspended their conventions during the war, and gave their time and thought wholly to the vital issues of the hour. seeing the political significance of the war, they urged the emancipation of the slaves as the sure, quick way of cutting the gordian knot of the rebellion. to this end they organized a national league, and rolled up a mammoth petition, urging congress so to amend the constitution as to prohibit the existence of slavery in the united states. from their headquarters in cooper institute, new york city, they sent out the appeals to the president, congress, and the people at large; tracts and forms of petition, franked by members of congress, were scattered like snowflakes from maine to texas. meetings were held every week, in which the policy of the government was freely discussed, and approved or condemned. that this league did a timely educational work is manifested by the letters received from generals, statesmen, editors, and from women in most of the northern states, fully indorsing its action and principles. the clearness to thinking women of the cause of the war; the true policy in waging it; their steadfastness in maintaining the principles of freedom, are worthy of consideration. with this league abolitionists and republicans heartily co-operated. a course of lectures was delivered for its benefit in cooper institute, by such men as horace greeley, george william curtis, william d. kelly, wendell phillips, e.p. whipple, frederick douglass, theodore d. weld, rev. dr. tyng, and dr. bellows. many letters are on its files from charles sumner, approving its measures, and expressing great satisfaction at the large number of emancipation petitions being rolled into congress. the republican press, too, was highly complimentary. the new york tribune said: "the women of the loyal league have shown great practical wisdom in restricting their efforts to one subject, the most important which any society can aim at in this hour, and great courage in undertaking to do what never has been done in the world before, to obtain one million of names to a petition." the leading journals vied with each other in praising the patience and prudence, the executive ability, the loyalty, and the patriotism of the women of the league, and yet these were the same women who, when demanding civil and political rights, privileges, and immunities for themselves, had been uniformly denounced as "unwise," "imprudent," "fanatical," and "impracticable." during the six years they held their own claims in abeyance to those of the slaves of the south, and labored to inspire the people with enthusiasm for the great measures of the republican party, they were highly honored as "wise, loyal, and clear-sighted." but when the slaves were emancipated, and these women asked that they should be recognized in the reconstruction as citizens of the republic, equal before the law, all these transcendent virtues vanished like dew before the morning sun. and thus it ever is: so long as woman labors to second man's endeavors and exalt his sex above her own, her virtues pass unquestioned; but when she dares to demand rights and privileges for herself, her motives, manners, dress, personal appearance, and character are subjects for ridicule and detraction. liberty, victorious over slavery on the battlefield, had now more powerful enemies to encounter at washington. the slaves set free, the master conquered, the south desolate; the two races standing face to face, sharing alike the sad results of war, turned with appealing looks to the general government, as if to say, "how stand we now?" "what next?" questions our statesmen, beset with dangers, with fears for the nation's life, of party divisions, of personal defeat, were wholly unprepared to answer. the reconstruction of the south involved the reconsideration of the fundamental principles of our government and the natural rights of man. the nation's heart was thrilled with prolonged debates in congress and state legislatures, in the pulpits and public journals, and at every fireside on these vital questions, which took final shape in the three historic amendments to the constitution. the first point, his emancipation, settled, the political status of the negro was next in order; and to this end various propositions were submitted to congress. but to demand his enfranchisement on the broad principle of natural rights was hedged about with difficulties, as the logical result of such action must be the enfranchisement of all ostracized classes; not only the white women of the entire country, but the slave women of the south. though our senators and representatives had an honest aversion to any proscriptive legislation against loyal women, in view of their varied and self-sacrificing work during the war, yet the only way they could open the constitutional door just wide enough to let the black man pass in was to introduce the word "male" into the national constitution. after the generous devotion of such women as anna carroll and anna dickinson in sustaining the policy of the republicans, both in peace and war, they felt it would come with a bad grace from that party to place new barriers in woman's path to freedom. but how could the amendment be written without the word "male," was the question. robert dale owen being at washington, and behind the scenes at the time, sent copies of the various bills to the officers of the loyal league, in new york, and related to us some of the amusing discussions. one of the committee proposed "persons" instead of "males." "that will never do," said another, "it would enfranchise wenches." "suffrage for black men will be all the strain the republican party can stand," said another. charles sumner said, years afterward, that he wrote over nineteen pages of foolscap to get rid of the word "male" and yet keep "negro suffrage" as a party measure intact; but it could not be done. miss anthony and i were the first to see the full significance of the word "male" in the fourteenth amendment, and we at once sounded the alarm, and sent out petitions for a constitutional amendment to "prohibit the states from disfranchising any of their citizens on the ground of sex." miss anthony, who had spent the year in kansas, started for new york the moment she saw the proposition before congress to put the word "male" into the national constitution, and made haste to rouse the women in the east to the fact that the time had come to begin vigorous work again for woman's enfranchisement. leaving rochester, october , she called on martha wright at auburn; phebe jones and lydia mott at albany; mmes. rose, gibbons, davis, at new york city; lucy stone and antoinette brown blackwell in new jersey; stephen and abby foster at worcester; mmes. severance, dall, nowell, dr. harriet k. hunt, dr. m.e. zackesewska, and messrs. phillips and garrison in boston, urging them to join in sending protests to washington against the pending legislation. mr. phillips at once consented to devote five hundred dollars from the "jackson fund" to commence the work. miss anthony and i spent all our christmas holidays in writing letters and addressing appeals and petitions to every part of the country, and, before the close of the session of - , petitions with ten thousand signatures were poured into congress. one of my letters was as follows: "_to the editor of the standard_: "sir: mr. broomall of pennsylvania, mr. schenck of ohio, mr. jenckes of rhode island, and mr. stevens of pennsylvania, have each a resolution before congress to amend the constitution. "article first, section second, reads thus: 'representatives and direct taxes shall be apportioned among the several states which may be included within this union, according to their respective numbers.' "mr. broomall proposes to amend by saying, 'male electors'; mr. schenck,'male citizens'; mr. jenckes, 'male citizens'; mr. stevens, 'male voters,' as, in process of time, women may be made 'legal voters' in the several states, and would then meet that requirement of the constitution. but those urged by the other gentlemen, neither time, effort, nor state constitutions could enable us to meet, unless, by a liberal interpretation of the amendment, a coat of mail to be worn at the polls might be judged all-sufficient. mr. jenckes and mr. schenck, in their bills, have the grace not to say a word about taxes, remembering, perhaps, that 'taxation without representation is tyranny.' but mr. broomall, though unwilling that we should share in the honors of government, would fain secure us a place in its burdens; for, while he apportions representatives to "male electors" only, he admits "all the inhabitants" into the rights, privileges, and immunities of taxation. magnanimous m.c.! "i would call the attention of the women of the nation to the fact that, under the federal constitution, as it now exists, there is not one word that limits the right of suffrage to any privileged class. this attempt to turn the wheels of civilization backward, on the part of republicans claiming to be the liberal party, should rouse every woman in the nation to a prompt exercise of the only right she has in the government, the right of petition. to this end a committee in new york have sent out thousands of petitions, which should be circulated in every district and sent to its representative at washington as soon as possible. "elizabeth cady stanton. "new york, january , ." chapter xvi. pioneer life in kansas--our newspaper, "the revolution." in the proposition to extend the suffrage to women and to colored men was submitted to the people of the state of kansas, and, among other eastern speakers, i was invited to make a campaign through the state. as the fall elections were pending, there was great excitement everywhere. suffrage for colored men was a republican measure, which the press and politicians of that party advocated with enthusiasm. as woman suffrage was not a party question, we hoped that all parties would favor the measure; that we might, at last, have one green spot on earth where women could enjoy full liberty as citizens of the united states. accordingly, in july, miss anthony and i started, with high hopes of a most successful trip, and, after an uneventful journey of one thousand five hundred miles, we reached the sacred soil where john brown and his sons had helped to fight the battles that made kansas a free state. lucy stone, mr. blackwell, and olympia brown had preceded us and opened the campaign with large meetings in all the chief cities. miss anthony and i did the same. then it was decided that, as we were to go to the very borders of the state, where there were no railroads, we must take carriages, and economize our forces by taking different routes. i was escorted by ex-governor charles robinson. we had a low, easy carriage, drawn by two mules, in which we stored about a bushel of tracts, two valises, a pail for watering the mules, a basket of apples, crackers, and other such refreshments as we could purchase on the way. some things were suspended underneath the carriage, some packed on behind, and some under the seat and at our feet. it required great skill to compress the necessary baggage into the allotted space. as we went to the very verge of civilization, wherever two dozen voters could be assembled, we had a taste of pioneer life. we spoke in log cabins, in depots, unfinished schoolhouses, churches, hotels, barns, and in the open air. i spoke in a large mill one night. a solitary tallow candle shone over my head like a halo of glory; a few lanterns around the outskirts of the audience made the darkness perceptible; but all i could see of my audience was the whites of their eyes in the dim distance. people came from twenty miles around to these meetings, held either in the morning, afternoon, or evening, as was most convenient. as the regular state election was to take place in the coming november, the interest increased from week to week, until the excitement of the people knew no bounds. there were speakers for and against every proposition before the people. this involved frequent debates on all the general principles of government, and thus a great educational work was accomplished, which is one of the advantages of our frequent elections. the friends of woman suffrage were doomed to disappointment. those in the east, on whom they relied for influence through the liberal newspapers, were silent, and we learned, afterward, that they used what influence they had to keep the abolitionists and republicans of the state silent, as they feared the discussion of the woman question would jeopardize the enfranchisement of the black man. however, we worked untiringly and hopefully, not seeing through the game of the politicians until nearly the end of the canvass, when we saw that our only chance was in getting the democratic vote. accordingly, george francis train, then a most effective and popular speaker, was invited into the state to see what could be done to win the democracy. he soon turned the tide, strengthened the weak-kneed republicans and abolitionists, and secured a large democratic vote. for three months we labored diligently, day after day, enduring all manner of discomforts in traveling, eating, and sleeping. as there were no roads or guide-posts, we often lost our way. in going through cañons and fording streams it was often so dark that the governor was obliged to walk ahead to find the way, taking off his coat so that i could see his white shirt and slowly drive after him. though seemingly calm and cool, i had a great dread of these night adventures, as i was in constant fear of being upset on some hill and rolled into the water. the governor often complimented me on my courage, when i was fully aware of being tempest-tossed with anxiety. i am naturally very timid, but, being silent under strong emotions of either pleasure or pain, i am credited with being courageous in the hour of danger. for days, sometimes, we could find nothing at a public table that we could eat. then passing through a little settlement we could buy dried herring, crackers, gum arabic, and slippery elm; the latter, we were told, was very nutritious. we frequently sat down to a table with bacon floating in grease, coffee without milk, sweetened with sorghum, and bread or hot biscuit, green with soda, while vegetables and fruit were seldom seen. our nights were miserable, owing to the general opinion among pioneers that a certain species of insect must necessarily perambulate the beds in a young civilization. one night, after traveling over prairies all day, eating nothing but what our larder provided, we saw a light in a cottage in the distance which seemed to beckon to us. arriving, we asked the usual question,--if we could get a night's lodging,--to which the response was inevitably a hearty, hospitable "yes." one survey of the premises showed me what to look for in the way of midnight companionship, so i said to the governor, "i will resign in your favor the comforts provided for me to-night, and sleep in the carriage, as you do so often." i persisted against all the earnest persuasions of our host, and in due time i was ensconced for the night, and all about the house was silent. i had just fallen into a gentle slumber, when a chorus of pronounced grunts and a spasmodic shaking of the carriage revealed to me the fact that i was surrounded by those long-nosed black pigs, so celebrated for their courage and pertinacity. they had discovered that the iron steps of the carriage made most satisfactory scratching posts, and each one was struggling for his turn. this scratching suggested fleas. alas! thought i, before morning i shall be devoured. i was mortally tired and sleepy, but i reached for the whip and plied it lazily from side to side; but i soon found nothing but a constant and most vigorous application of the whip could hold them at bay one moment. i had heard that this type of pig was very combative when thwarted in its desires, and they seemed in such sore need of relief that i thought there was danger of their jumping into the carriage and attacking me. this thought was more terrifying than that of the fleas, so i decided to go to sleep and let them alone to scratch at their pleasure. i had a sad night of it, and never tried the carriage again, though i had many equally miserable experiences within four walls. after one of these border meetings we stopped another night with a family of two bachelor brothers and two spinster sisters. the home consisted of one large room, not yet lathed and plastered. the furniture included a cooking stove, two double beds in remote corners, a table, a bureau, a washstand, and six wooden chairs. as it was late, there was no fire in the stove and no suggestion of supper, so the governor and i ate apples and chewed slippery elm before retiring to dream of comfortable beds and well-spread tables in the near future. the brothers resigned their bed to me just as it was. i had noticed that there was no ceremonious changing of bed linen under such circumstances, so i had learned to nip all fastidious notions of individual cleanliness in the bud, and to accept the inevitable. when the time arrived for retiring, the governor and the brothers went out to make astronomical observations or smoke, as the case might be, while the sisters and i made our evening toilet, and disposed ourselves in the allotted corners. that done, the stalwart sons of adam made their beds with skins and blankets on the floor. when all was still and darkness reigned, i reviewed the situation with a heavy heart, seeing that i was bound to remain a prisoner in the corner all night, come what might. i had just congratulated myself on my power of adaptability to circumstances, when i suddenly started with an emphatic "what is that?" a voice from the corner asked, "is your bed comfortable?" "oh, yes," i replied, "but i thought i felt a mouse run over my head." "well," said the voice from the corner, "i should not wonder. i have heard such squeaking from that corner during the past week that i told sister there must be a mouse nest in that bed." a confession she probably would not have made unless half asleep. this announcement was greeted with suppressed laughter from the floor. but it was no laughing matter to me. alas! what a prospect--to have mice running over one all night. but there was no escape. the sisters did not offer to make any explorations, and, in my fatigue costume, i could not light a candle and make any on my own account. the house did not afford an armchair in which i could sit up. i could not lie on the floor, and the other bed was occupied. fortunately, i was very tired and soon fell asleep. what the mice did the remainder of the night i never knew, so deep were my slumbers. but, as my features were intact, and my facial expression as benign as usual next morning, i inferred that their gambols had been most innocently and decorously conducted. these are samples of many similar experiences which we encountered during the three months of those eventful travels. heretofore my idea had been that pioneer life was a period of romantic freedom. when the long, white-covered wagons, bound for the far west, passed by, i thought of the novelty of a six-months' journey through the bright spring and summer days in a house on wheels, meals under shady trees and beside babbling brooks, sleeping in the open air, and finding a home, at last, where land was cheap, the soil rich and deep, and where the grains, vegetables, fruit, and flowers grew bountifully with but little toil. but a few months of pioneer life permanently darkened my rosy ideal of the white-covered wagon, the charming picnics by the way, and the paradise at last. i found many of these adventurers in unfinished houses and racked with malaria; in one case i saw a family of eight, all ill with chills and fever. the house was half a mile from the spring water on which they depended and from which those best able, from day to day, carried the needed elixir to others suffering with the usual thirst. their narrations of all the trials of the long journey were indeed heartrending. in one case a family of twelve left their comfortable farm in illinois, much against the earnest protests of the mother; she having ten children, the youngest a baby then in her arms. all their earthly possessions were stored in three wagons, and the farm which the mother owned was sold before they commenced their long and perilous journey. there was no reason for going except that the husband had the western fever. they were doing well in illinois, on a large farm within two miles of a village, but he had visions of a bonanza near the setting sun. accordingly they started. at the end of one month the baby died. a piece of wood from the cradle was all they had to mark its lonely resting place. with sad hearts they went on, and, in a few weeks, with grief for her child, her old home, her kindred and friends, the mother also died. she, too, was left alone on the far-off prairies, and the sad pageant moved on. another child soon shared the same fate, and then a span of horses died, and one wagon, with all the things they could most easily spare, was abandoned. arrived at their destination none of the golden dreams was realized. the expensive journey, the struggles in starting under new circumstances, and the loss of the mother's thrift and management, made the father so discouraged and reckless that much of his property was wasted, and his earthly career was soon ended. through the heroic energy and good management of the eldest daughter, the little patrimony, in time, was doubled, and the children well brought up and educated in the rudiments of learning, so that all became respectable members of society. her advice to all young people is, if you are comfortably established in the east, stay there. there is no royal road to wealth and ease, even in the western states! in spite of the discomforts we suffered in the kansas campaign, i was glad of the experience. it gave me added self-respect to know that i could endure such hardships and fatigue with a great degree of cheerfulness. the governor and i often laughed heartily, as we patiently chewed our gum arabic and slippery elm, to think on what a gentle stimulus we were accomplishing such wonderful feats as orators and travelers. it was fortunate our intense enthusiasm for the subject gave us all the necessary inspiration, as the supplies we gathered by the way were by no means sufficiently invigorating for prolonged propagandism. i enjoyed these daily drives over the vast prairies, listening to the governor's descriptions of the early days when the "bushwhackers and jayhawkers" made their raids on the inhabitants of the young free state. the courage and endurance of the women, surrounded by dangers and discomforts, surpassed all description. i count it a great privilege to have made the acquaintance of so many noble women and men who had passed through such scenes and conquered such difficulties. they seemed to live in an atmosphere altogether beyond their surroundings. many educated families from new england, disappointed in not finding the much talked of bonanzas, were living in log cabins, in solitary places, miles from any neighbors. but i found emerson, parker, holmes, hawthorne, whittier, and lowell on their bookshelves to gladden their leisure hours. miss anthony and i often comforted ourselves mid adverse winds with memories of the short time we spent under mother bickerdyke's hospitable roof at salina. there we had clean, comfortable beds, delicious viands, and everything was exquisitely neat. she entertained us with her reminiscences of the war. with great self-denial she had served her country in camp and hospital, and was with sherman's army in that wonderful march to the sea, and here we found her on the outpost of civilization, determined to start what kansas most needed--a good hotel. but alas! it was too good for that latitude and proved a financial failure. it was, to us, an oasis in the desert, where we would gladly have lingered if the opposition would have come to us for conversion. but, as we had to carry the gospel of woman's equality into the highways and hedges, we left dear mother bickerdyke with profound regret. the seed sown in kansas in is now bearing its legitimate fruits. there was not a county in the state where meetings were not held or tracts scattered with a generous hand. if the friends of our cause in the east had been true and had done for woman what they did for the colored man, i believe both propositions would have been carried; but with a narrow policy, playing off one against the other, both were defeated. a policy of injustice always bears its own legitimate fruit in failure. however, women learned one important lesson--namely, that it is impossible for the best of men to understand women's feelings or the humiliation of their position. when they asked us to be silent on our question during the war, and labor for the emancipation of the slave, we did so, and gave five years to his emancipation and enfranchisement. to this proposition my friend, susan b. anthony, never consented, but was compelled to yield because no one stood with her. i was convinced, at the time, that it was the true policy. i am now equally sure that it was a blunder, and, ever since, i have taken my beloved susan's judgment against the world. i have always found that, when we see eye to eye, we are sure to be right, and when we pull together we are strong. after we discuss any point together and fully agree, our faith in our united judgment is immovable and no amount of ridicule and opposition has the slightest influence, come from what quarter it may. together we withstood the republicans and abolitionists, when, a second time, they made us the most solemn promises of earnest labor for our enfranchisement, when the slaves were safe beyond a peradventure. they never redeemed their promise made during the war, hence, when they urged us to silence in the kansas campaign, we would not for a moment entertain the proposition. the women generally awoke to their duty to themselves. they had been deceived once and could not be again. if the leaders in the republican and abolition camps could deceive us, whom could we trust? again we were urged to be silent on our rights, when the proposition to take the word "white" out of the new york constitution was submitted to a vote of the people of the state, or, rather, to one-half the people, as women had no voice in the matter. again we said "no, no, gentlemen! if the 'white' comes out of the constitution, let the 'male' come out also. women have stood with the negro, thus far, on equal ground as ostracized classes, outside the political paradise; and now, when the door is open, it is but fair that we both should enter and enjoy all the fruits of citizenship. heretofore ranked with idiots, lunatics, and criminals in the constitution, the negro has been the only respectable compeer we had; so pray do not separate us now for another twenty years, ere the constitutional door will again be opened." we were persistently urged to give all our efforts to get the word "white" out, and thus secure the enfranchisement of the colored man, as that, they said, would prepare the way for us to follow. several editors threatened that, unless we did so, their papers should henceforth do their best to defeat every measure we proposed. but we were deaf alike to persuasions and threats, thinking it wiser to labor for women, constituting, as they did, half the people of the state, rather than for a small number of colored men; who, viewing all things from the same standpoint as white men, would be an added power against us. the question settled in kansas, we returned, with george francis train, to new york. he offered to pay all the expenses of the journey and meetings in all the chief cities on the way, and see that we were fully and well reported in their respective journals. after prolonged consultation miss anthony and i thought best to accept the offer and we did so. most of our friends thought it a grave blunder, but the result proved otherwise. mr. train was then in his prime--a large, fine-looking man, a gentleman in dress and manner, neither smoking, chewing, drinking, nor gormandizing. he was an effective speaker and actor, as one of his speeches, which he illustrated, imitating the poor wife at the washtub and the drunken husband reeling in, fully showed. he gave his audience charcoal sketches of everyday life rather than argument. he always pleased popular audiences, and even the most fastidious were amused with his caricatures. as the newspapers gave several columns to our meetings at every point through all the states, the agitation was widespread and of great value. to be sure our friends, on all sides, fell off, and those especially who wished us to be silent on the question of woman's rights, declared "the cause too sacred to be advocated by such a charlatan as george francis train." we thought otherwise, as the accession of mr. train increased the agitation twofold. if these fastidious ladies and gentlemen had come out to kansas and occupied the ground and provided "the sinews of war," there would have been no field for mr. train's labors, and we should have accepted their services. but, as the ground was unoccupied, he had, at least, the right of a reform "squatter" to cultivate the cardinal virtues and reap a moral harvest wherever he could. reaching new york, mr. train made it possible for us to establish a newspaper, which gave another impetus to our movement. the _revolution_, published by susan b. anthony and edited by parker pillsbury and myself, lived two years and a half and was then consolidated with the new york _christian enquirer_, edited by the rev. henry bellows, d.d. i regard the brief period in which i edited the _revolution_ as one of the happiest of my life, and i may add the most useful. in looking over the editorials i find but one that i sincerely regret, and that was a retort on mr. garrison, written under great provocation, but not by me, which circumstances, at the time, forbade me to disown. considering the pressure brought to bear on miss anthony and myself, i feel now that our patience and forbearance with our enemies in their malignant attacks on our good, name, which we never answered, were indeed marvelous. we said at all times and on all other subjects just what we thought, and advertised nothing that we did not believe in. no advertisements of quack remedies appeared in our columns. one of our clerks once published a bread powder advertisement, which i did not see until the paper appeared; so, in the next number, i said, editorially, what i thought of it. i was alone in the office, one day, when a man blustered in. "who," said he, "runs this concern?" "you will find the names of the editors and publishers," i replied, "on the editorial page." "are you one of them?" "i am," i replied. "well, do you know that i agreed to pay twenty dollars to have that bread powder advertised for one month, and then you condemn it editorially?" "i have nothing to do with the advertising; miss anthony pays me to say what i think." "have you any more thoughts to publish on that bread powder?" "oh, yes," i replied, "i have not exhausted the subject yet." "then," said he, "i will have the advertisement taken out. what is there to pay for the one insertion?" "oh, nothing," i replied, "as the editorial probably did you more injury than the advertisement did you good." on leaving, with prophetic vision, he said, "i prophesy a short life for this paper; the business world is based on quackery, and you cannot live without it." with melancholy certainty, i replied, "i fear you are right." chapter xvii. lyceums and lecturers. the lyceum bureau was, at one time, a great feature in american life. the three leading bureaus were in boston, new york, and chicago. the managers, map in hand, would lay out trips, more or less extensive according to the capacity or will of the speakers, and then, with a dozen or more victims in hand, make arrangements with the committees in various towns and cities to set them all in motion. as the managers of the bureaus had ten per cent. of what the speakers made, it was to their interest to keep the time well filled. hence the engagements were made without the slightest reference to the comfort of the travelers. with our immense distances, it was often necessary to travel night and day, sometimes changing cars at midnight, and perhaps arriving at the destination half an hour or less before going on the platform, and starting again on the journey immediately upon leaving it. the route was always carefully written out, giving the time the trains started from and arrived at various points; but as cross trains often failed to connect, one traveled, guidebook in hand, in a constant fever of anxiety. as, in the early days, the fees were from one to two hundred dollars a night, the speakers themselves were desirous of accomplishing as much as possible. in i gave my name, for the first time, to the new york bureau, and on november began the long, weary pilgrimages, from maine to texas, that lasted twelve years; speaking steadily for eight months--from october to june--every season. that was the heyday of the lecturing period, when a long list of bright men and women were constantly on the wing. anna dickinson, olive logan, kate field,--later, mrs. livermore and mrs. howe, alcott, phillips, douglass, tilton, curtis, beecher, and, several years later, general kilpatrick, with henry vincent, bradlaugh, and matthew arnold from england; these and many others were stars of the lecture platform. some of us occasionally managed to spend sunday together, at a good hotel in some city, to rest and feast and talk over our joys and sorrows, the long journeys, the hard fare in the country hotels, the rainy nights when committees felt blue and tried to cut down our fees; the being compelled by inconsiderate people to talk on the train; the overheated, badly ventilated cars; the halls, sometimes too warm, sometimes too cold; babies crying in our audiences; the rain pattering on the roof overhead or leaking on the platform--these were common experiences. in the west, women with babies uniformly occupied the front seats so that the little ones, not understanding what you said, might be amused with your gestures and changing facial expression. all these things, so trying, at the time, to concentrated and enthusiastic speaking, afterward served as subjects of amusing conversation. we unanimously complained of the tea and coffee. mrs. livermore had the wisdom to carry a spirit lamp with her own tea and coffee, and thus supplied herself with the needed stimulants for her oratorical efforts. the hardships of these lyceum trips can never be appreciated except by those who have endured them. with accidents to cars and bridges, with floods and snow blockades, the pitfalls in one of these campaigns were without number. [illustration: elizabeth smith miller.] [illustration] on one occasion, when engaged to speak at maquoketa, iowa, i arrived at lyons about noon, to find the road was blocked with snow, and no chance of the cars running for days. "well," said i to the landlord, "i must be at maquoketa at eight o'clock to-night; have you a sleigh, a span of fleet horses, and a skillful driver? if so, i will go across the country." "oh, yes, madam!" he replied, "i have all you ask; but you could not stand a six-hours' drive in this piercing wind." having lived in a region of snow, with the thermometer down to twenty degrees below zero, i had no fears of winds and drifts, so i said, "get the sleigh ready and i will try it." accordingly i telegraphed the committee that i would be there, and started. i was well bundled up in a fur cloak and hood, a hot oak plank at my feet, and a thick veil over my head and face. as the landlord gave the finishing touch, by throwing a large buffalo robe over all and tying the two tails together at the back of my head and thus effectually preventing me putting my hand to my nose, he said, "there, if you can only sit perfectly still, you will come out all right at maquoketa; that is, if you get there, which i very much doubt." it was a long, hard drive against the wind and through drifts, but i scarcely moved a finger, and, as the clock struck eight, we drove into the town. the hall was warm, and the church bell having announced my arrival, a large audience was assembled. as i learned that all the roads in northern iowa were blocked, i made the entire circuit, from point to point, in a sleigh, traveling forty and fifty miles a day. at the sherman house, in chicago, three weeks later, i met mr. bradlaugh and general kilpatrick, who were advertised on the same route ahead of me. "well," said i, "where have you gentlemen been?" "waiting here for the roads to be opened. we have lost three weeks' engagements," they replied. as the general was lecturing on his experiences in sherman's march to the sea, i chaffed him on not being able, in an emergency, to march across the state of iowa. they were much astonished and somewhat ashamed, when i told them of my long, solitary drives over the prairies from day to day. it was the testimony of all the bureaus that the women could endure more fatigue and were more conscientious than the men in filling their appointments. the pleasant feature of these trips was the great educational work accomplished for the people through their listening to lectures on all the vital questions of the hour. wherever any of us chanced to be on sunday, we preached in some church; and wherever i had a spare afternoon, i talked to women alone, on marriage, maternity, and the laws of life and health. we made many most charming acquaintances, too, scattered all over our western world, and saw how comfortable and happy sensible people could be, living in most straitened circumstances, with none of the luxuries of life. if most housekeepers could get rid of one-half their clothes and furniture and put their bric-a-brac in the town museum, life would be simplified and they would begin to know what leisure means. when i see so many of our american women struggling to be artists, who cannot make a good loaf of bread nor a palatable cup of coffee, i think of what theodore parker said when art was a craze in boston. "the fine arts do not interest me so much as the coarse arts which feed, clothe, house, and comfort a people. i would rather be a great man like franklin than a michael angelo--nay, if i had a son, i should rather see him a mechanic, like the late george stephenson, in england, than a great painter like rubens, who only copied beauty." one day i found at the office of the _revolution_ an invitation to meet mrs. moulton in the academy of music, where she was to try her voice for the coming concert for the benefit of the woman's medical college. and what a voice for power, pathos, pliability! i never heard the like. seated beside her mother, mrs. w.h. greenough, i enjoyed alike the mother's anxious pride and the daughter's triumph. i felt, as i listened, the truth of what vieuxtemps said the first time he heard her, "that is the traditional voice for which the ages have waited and longed." when, on one occasion, mrs. moulton sang a song of mozart's to auber's accompaniment, someone present asked, "what could be added to make this more complete?" auber looked up to heaven, and, with a sweet smile, said, "nothing but that mozart should have been here to listen." looking and listening, "here," thought i, "is another jewel in the crown of womanhood, to radiate and glorify the lives of all." i have such an intense pride of sex that the triumphs of woman in art, literature, oratory, science, or song rouse my enthusiasm as nothing else can. hungering, that day, for gifted women, i called on alice and phebe cary and mary clemmer ames, and together we gave the proud white male such a serving up as did our souls good and could not hurt him, intrenched, as he is, behind creeds, codes, customs, and constitutions, with vizor and breastplate of self-complacency and conceit. in criticising jessie boucherett's essay on "superfluous women," in which she advises men in england to emigrate in order to leave room and occupation for women, the _tribune_ said: "the idea of a home without a man in it!" in visiting the carys one always felt that there was a home--a very charming one, too--without a man in it. once when harriet beecher stowe was at dr. taylor's, i had the opportunity to make her acquaintance. in her sanctum, surrounded by books and papers, she was just finishing her second paper on the byron family, and her sister catherine was preparing papers on her educational work, preparatory to a coming meeting of the ladies of the school board. the women of the beecher family, though most of them wives and mothers, all had a definite life-work outside the family circle, and other objects of intense interest beside husbands, babies, cook stoves, and social conversations. catherine said she was opposed to woman suffrage, and if she thought there was the least danger of our getting it, she would write and talk against it vehemently. but, as the nation was safe against such a calamity, she was willing to let the talk go on, because the agitation helped her work. "it is rather paradoxical," i said to her, "that the pressing of a false principle can help a true one; but when you get the women all thoroughly educated, they will step off to the polls and vote in spite of you." one night on the train from new york to williamsport, pennsylvania, i found abundant time to think over the personal peculiarities of the many noble women who adorn this nineteenth century, and, as i recalled them, one by one, in america, england, france, and germany, and all that they are doing and saying, i wandered that any man could be so blind as not to see that woman has already taken her place as the peer of man. while the lords of creation have been debating her sphere and drawing their chalk marks here and there, woman has quietly stepped outside the barren fields where she was compelled to graze for centuries, and is now in green pastures and beside still waters, a power in the world of thought. these pleasant cogitations were cut short by my learning that i had taken the wrong train, and must change at harrisburg at two o'clock in the morning. how soon the reflection that i must leave my comfortable berth at such an unchristian hour changed the whole hue of glorious womanhood and every other earthly blessing! however, i lived through the trial and arrived at williamsport as the day dawned. i had a good audience at the opera house that evening, and was introduced to many agreeable people, who declared themselves converted to woman suffrage by my ministrations. among the many new jewels in my crown, i added, that night, judge bently. in november, , i passed one night in philadelphia, with miss anthony, at anna dickinson's home--a neat, three-story brick house in locust street. this haven of rest, where the world-famous little woman came, ever and anon, to recruit her overtaxed energies, was very tastefully furnished, adorned with engravings, books, and statuary. her mother, sister, and brother made up the household--a pleasing, cultivated trio. the brother was a handsome youth of good judgment, and given to sage remarks; the sister, witty, intuitive, and incisive in speech; the mother, dressed in rich quaker costume, and though nearly seventy, still possessed of great personal beauty. she was intelligent, dignified, refined, and, in manner and appearance, reminded one of angelina grimké as she looked in her younger days. everything about the house and its appointments indicated that it was the abode of genius and cultivation, and, although anna was absent, the hospitalities were gracefully dispensed by her family. napoleon and shakespeare seemed to be anna's patron saints, looking down, on all sides, from the wall. the mother amused us with the sore trials her little orator had inflicted on the members of the household by her vagaries in the world of fame. on the way to kennett square, a young gentleman pointed out to us the home of benjamin west, who distinguished himself, to the disgust of broadbrims generally, as a landscape painter. in commencing his career, it is said he made use of the tail of a cat in lieu of a brush. of course benjamin's first attempts were on the sly, and he could not ask paterfamilias for money to buy a brush without encountering the good man's scorn. whether, in the hour of his need and fresh enthusiasm, poor puss was led to the sacrificial altar, or whether he found her reposing by the roadside, having paid the debt of nature, our informant could not say; enough that, in time, he owned a brush and immortalized himself by his skill in its use. such erratic ones as whittier, west, and anna dickinson go to prove that even the prim, proper, perfect quakers are subject to like infirmities with the rest of the human family. i had long heard of the "progressive friends" in the region round longwood; had read the many bulls they issued from their "yearly meetings" on every question, on war, capital punishment, temperance, slavery, woman's rights; had learned that they were turning the cold shoulder on the dress, habits, and opinions of their fathers; listening to the ministrations of such worldlings as william lloyd garrison, theodore tilton, and oliver johnson, in a new meeting house, all painted and varnished, with cushions, easy seats, carpets, stoves, a musical instrument--shade of george fox, forgive--and three brackets with vases on the "high seat," and, more than all that, men and women were indiscriminately seated throughout the house. all this miss anthony and i beheld with our own eyes, and, in company with sarah pugh and chandler darlington, did sit together in the high seat and talk in the congregation of the people. there, too, we met hannah darlington and dinah mendenhall,--names long known in every good work,--and, for the space of one day, did enjoy the blissful serenity of that earthly paradise. the women of kennett square were celebrated not only for their model housekeeping but also for their rare cultivation on all subjects of general interest. in november i again started on one of my western trips, but, alas! on the very day the trains were changed, and so i could not make connections to meet my engagements at saginaw and marshall, and just saved myself at toledo by going directly from the cars before the audience, with the dust of twenty-four hours' travel on my garments. not being able to reach saginaw, i went straight to ann arbor, and spent three days most pleasantly in visiting old friends, making new ones, and surveying the town, with its grand university. i was invited to thanksgiving dinner at the home of mr. seaman, a highly cultivated democratic editor, author of "progress of nations." a choice number of guests gathered round his hospitable board on that occasion, over which his wife presided with dignity and grace. woman suffrage was the target for the combined wit and satire of the company, and, after four hours of uninterrupted sharpshooting, pyrotechnics, and laughter, we dispersed to our several abodes, fairly exhausted with the excess of enjoyment. one gentleman had the moral hardihood to assert that men had more endurance than women, whereupon a lady remarked that she would like to see the thirteen hundred young men in the university laced up in steel-ribbed corsets, with hoops, heavy skirts, trains, high heels, panniers, chignons, and dozens of hairpins sticking in their scalps, cooped up in the house year after year, with no exhilarating exercise, no hopes, aims, nor ambitions in life, and know if they could stand it as well as the girls. "nothing," said she, "but the fact that women, like cats, have nine lives, enables them to survive the present _régime_ to which custom dooms the sex." while in ann arbor i gave my lecture on "our girls" in the new methodist church--a large building, well lighted, and filled with a brilliant audience. the students, in large numbers, were there, and strengthened the threads of my discourse with frequent and generous applause; especially when i urged on the regents of the university the duty of opening its doors to the daughters of the state. there were several splendid girls in michigan, at that time, preparing themselves for admission to the law department. as judge cooley, one of the professors, was a very liberal man, as well as a sound lawyer, and strongly in favor of opening the college to girls, i had no doubt the women of michigan would soon distinguish themselves at the bar. some said the chief difficulty in the way of the girls of that day being admitted to the university was the want of room. that could have been easily obviated by telling the young men from abroad to betake themselves to the colleges in their respective states, that michigan might educate her daughters. as the women owned a good share of the property of the state, and had been heavily taxed to build and endow that institution, it was but fair that they should share in its advantages. the michigan university, with its extensive grounds, commodious buildings, medical and law schools, professors' residences, and the finest laboratory in the country, was an institution of which the state was justly proud, and, as the tuition was free, it was worth the trouble of a long, hard siege by the girls of michigan to gain admittance there. i advised them to organize their forces at once, get their minute guns, battering rams, monitors, projectiles, bombshells, cannon, torpedoes, and crackers ready, and keep up a brisk cannonading until the grave and reverend seigniors opened the door, and shouted, "hold, enough!" the ladies of ann arbor had a fine library of their own, where their clubs met once a week. they had just formed a suffrage association. my visit ended with a pleasant reception, at which i was introduced to the chaplain, several professors, and many ladies and gentlemen ready to accept the situation. judge cooley gave me a glowing account of the laws of michigan--how easy it was for wives to get possession of all the property, and then sunder the marriage tie and leave the poor husband to the charity of the cold world, with their helpless children about him. i heard of a rich lady, there, who made a will, giving her husband a handsome annuity as long as he remained her widower. it was evident that the poor "white male," sooner or later, was doomed to try for himself the virtue of the laws he had made for women. i hope, for the sake of the race, he will not bear oppression with the stupid fortitude we have for six thousand years. at flint i was entertained by mr. and mrs. jenny. mr. jenny was a democratic editor who believed in progress, and in making smooth paths for women in this great wilderness of life. his wife was a remarkable woman. she inaugurated the ladies' libraries in michigan. in flint they had a fine brick building and nearly two thousand volumes of choice books, owned by the association, and money always in the treasury. here, too, i had a fine audience and gave my lecture entitled "open the door." at coldwater, in spite of its name, i found a warm, appreciative audience. the president of the lyceum was a sensible young man who, after graduating at ann arbor, decided, instead of starving at the law, to work with his hands and brains at the same time. when all men go to their legitimate business of creating wealth, developing the resources of the country, and leave its mere exchange to the weaker sex, we shall not have so many superfluous women in the world with nothing to do. it is evident the time has come to hunt man into his appropriate sphere. coming from chicago, i met governor fairchild and senator williams of wisconsin. it was delightful to find them thoroughly grounded in the faith of woman suffrage. they had been devout readers of the _revolution_ ever since miss anthony induced them to subscribe, the winter before, at madison. of course a new glow of intelligence irradiated their fine faces (for they were remarkably handsome men) and there was a new point to all their words. senator williams, like myself, was on a lecturing tour. "man" was his theme, for which i was devoutly thankful; for, if there are any of god's creatures that need lecturing, it is this one that is forever advising us. i thought of all men, from father gregory down to horace bushnell, who had wearied their brains to describe woman's sphere, and how signally they had failed. throughout my lyceum journeys i was of great use to the traveling public, in keeping the ventilators in the cars open, and the dampers in fiery stoves shut up, especially in sleeping cars at night. how many times a day i thought what the sainted horace mann tried to impress on his stupid countrymen, that, inasmuch as the air is forty miles deep around the globe, it is a useless piece of economy to breathe any number of cubic feet over more than seven times! the babies, too, need to be thankful that i was in a position to witness their wrongs. many, through my intercessions, received their first drink of water, and were emancipated from woolen hoods, veils, tight strings under their chins, and endless swaddling bands. it is a startling assertion, but true, that i have met few women who know how to take care of a baby. and this fact led me, on one trip, to lecture to my fair countrywomen on "marriage and maternity," hoping to aid in the inauguration of a new era of happy, healthy babies. after twenty-four hours in the express i found myself in a pleasant room in the international hotel at la crosse, looking out on the great mother of waters, on whose cold bosom the ice and the steamers were struggling for mastery. beyond stretched the snow-clad bluffs, sternly looking down on the mississippi, as if to say, "'thus far shalt thou come and no farther'--though sluggish, you are aggressive, ever pushing where you should not; but all attempts in this direction are alike vain; since creation's dawn, we have defied you, and here we stand, to-day, calm, majestic, immovable. coquette as you will in other latitudes, with flowery banks and youthful piers in the busy marts of trade, and undermine them, one and all, with your deceitful wooings, but bow in reverence as you gaze on us. we have no eyes for your beauty; no ears for your endless song; our heads are in the clouds, our hearts commune with gods; you have no part in the eternal problems of the ages that fill our thoughts, yours the humble duty to wash our feet, and then pass on, remembering to keep in your appropriate sphere, within the barks that wise geographers have seen fit to mark." as i listened to these complacent hills and watched the poor mississippi weeping as she swept along, to lose her sorrows in ocean's depths, i thought how like the attitude of man to woman. let these proud hills remember that they, too, slumbered for centuries in deep valleys down, down, when, perchance, the sparkling mississippi rolled above their heads, and but for some generous outburst, some upheaval of old mother earth, wishing that her rock-ribbed sons, as well as graceful daughters, might enjoy the light, the sunshine and the shower--but for this soul of love in matter as well as mind--these bluffs and the sons of adam, too, might not boast the altitude they glory in to-day. those who have ears to hear discern low, rumbling noises that foretell convulsions in our social world that may, perchance, in the next upheaval, bring woman to the surface; up, up, from gloomy ocean depths, dark caverns, and damper valleys. the struggling daughters of earth are soon to walk in the sunlight of a higher civilization. escorted by mr. woodward, a member of the bar, i devoted a day to the lions of la crosse. first we explored the courthouse, a large, new brick building, from whose dome we had a grand view of the surrounding country. the courtroom where justice is administered was large, clean, airy--the bench carpeted and adorned with a large, green, stuffed chair, in which i sat down, and, in imagination, summoned up advocates, jurors, prisoners, and people, and wondered how i should feel pronouncing sentence of death on a fellow-being, or, like portia, wisely checkmating the shylocks of our times. here i met judge hugh cameron, formerly of johnstown. he invited us into his sanctum, where we had a pleasant chat about our native hills, scotch affiliations, the bench and bar of new york, and the wisconsin laws for women. the judge, having maintained a happy bachelor state, looked placidly on the aggressive movements of the sex, as his domestic felicity would be no way affected, whether woman was voted up or down. we next surveyed the pomeroy building, which contained a large, tastefully finished hall and printing establishment, where the la crosse _democrat_ was formerly published. as i saw the perfection, order, and good taste, in all arrangements throughout, and listened to mr. huron's description of the life and leading characteristics of its chief, it seemed impossible to reconcile the tone of the _democrat_ with the moral status of its editor. i never saw a more complete business establishment, and the editorial sanctum looked as if it might be the abiding place of the muses. mirrors, pictures, statuary, books, music, rare curiosities, and fine specimens of birds and minerals were everywhere. over the editor's table was a beautiful painting of his youthful daughter, whose flaxen hair, blue eyes, and angelic face should have inspired a father to nobler, purer, utterances than he was wont, at that time, to give to the world. but pomeroy's good deeds will live long after his profane words are forgotten. throughout the establishment cards, set up in conspicuous places, said, "smoking here is positively forbidden." drinking, too, was forbidden to all his employés. the moment a man was discovered using intoxicating drinks, he was dismissed. in the upper story of the building was a large, pleasant room, handsomely carpeted and furnished, where the employés, in their leisure hours, could talk, write, read, or amuse themselves in any rational way. mr. pomeroy was humane and generous with his employés, honorable in his business relations, and boundless in his charities to the poor. his charity, business honor, and public spirit were highly spoken of by those who knew him best. that a journal does not always reflect the editor is as much the fault of society as of the man. so long as the public will pay for gross personalities, obscenity, and slang, decent journals will be outbidden in the market. the fact that the la crosse _democrat_ found a ready sale in all parts of the country showed that mr. pomeroy fairly reflected the popular taste. while multitudes turned up the whites of their eyes and denounced him in public, they bought his paper and read it in private. i left la crosse in a steamer, just as the rising sun lighted the hilltops and gilded the mississippi. it was a lovely morning, and, in company with a young girl of sixteen, who had traveled alone from some remote part of canada, bound for a northern village in wisconsin, i promenaded the deck most of the way to winona, a pleased listener to the incidents of my young companion's experiences. she said that, when crossing lake huron, she was the only woman on board, but the men were so kind and civil that she soon forgot she was alone. i found many girls, traveling long distances, who had never been five miles from home before, with a self-reliance that was remarkable. they all spoke in the most flattering manner of the civility of our american men in looking after their baggage and advising them as to the best routes. as you approach st. paul, at fort snelling, where the mississippi and minnesota join forces, the country grows bold and beautiful. the town itself, then boasting about thirty thousand inhabitants, is finely situated, with substantial stone residences. it was in one of these charming homes i found a harbor of rest during my stay in the city. mrs. stuart, whose hospitalities i enjoyed, was a woman of rare common sense and sound health. her husband, dr. jacob h. stuart, was one of the very first surgeons to volunteer in the late war. in the panic at bull run, instead of running, as everybody else did, he stayed with the wounded, and was taken prisoner while taking a bullet from the head of a rebel. when exchanged, beauregard gave him his sword for his devotion to the dying and wounded. i had the pleasure of seeing several of the leading gentlemen and ladies of st. paul at the orphans' fair, where we all adjourned, after my lecture, to discuss woman's rights, over a bounteous supper. here i met william l. banning, the originator of the lake superior and mississippi railroad. he besieged congress and capitalists for a dozen years to build this road, but was laughed at and put off with sneers and contempt, until, at last, jay cooke became so weary of his continual coming that he said: "i will build the road to get rid of you." whittier seems to have had a prophetic vision of the peopling of this region. when speaking of the yankee, he says: "he's whittling by st. mary's falls, upon his loaded wain; he's measuring o'er the pictured rocks, with eager eyes of gain. "i hear the mattock in the mine, the ax-stroke in the dell, the clamor from the indian lodge, the jesuits' chapel bell! "i hear the tread of pioneers of nations yet to be; the first low wash of waves, where soon shall roll a human sea." the opening of these new outlets and mines of wealth was wholly due to the forecast and perseverance of mr. banning. the first engine that went over a part of the road had been christened at st. paul, with becoming ceremonies; the officiating priestess being a beautiful maiden. a cask of water from the pacific was sent by mr. banning's brother from california, and a small keg was brought from lake superior for the occasion. a glass was placed in the hands of miss ella b. banning, daughter of the president, who then christened the engine, saying: "with the waters of the pacific ocean in my right hand, and the waters of lake superior in my left, invoking the genius of progress to bring together, with iron band, two great commercial systems of the globe, i dedicate this engine to the use of the lake superior and mississippi railroad, and name it william l. banning." from st. paul to dubuque, as the boats had ceased running, a circuitous route and a night of discomfort were inevitable. leaving the main road to chicago at clinton junction, i had the pleasure of waiting at a small country inn until midnight for a freight train. this was indeed dreary, but, having mrs. child's sketches of mmes. de staël and roland at hand, i read of napoleon's persecutions of the one and robespierre's of the other, until, by comparison, my condition was tolerable, and the little meagerly furnished room, with its dull fire and dim lamp, seemed a paradise compared with years of exile from one's native land or the prison cell and guillotine. how small our ordinary, petty trials seem in contrast with the mountains of sorrow that have been piled up on the great souls of the past! absorbed in communion with them twelve o'clock soon came, and with it the train. a burly son of adam escorted me to the passenger car filled with german immigrants, with tin cups, babies, bags, and bundles innumerable. the ventilators were all closed, the stoves hot, and the air was like that of the black hole of calcutta. so, after depositing my cloak and bag in an empty seat, i quietly propped both doors open with a stick of wood, shut up the stoves, and opened all the ventilators with the poker. but the celestial breeze, so grateful to me, had the most unhappy effect on the slumbering exiles. paterfamilias swore outright; the companion of his earthly pilgrimage said, "we must be going north," and, as the heavy veil of carbonic acid gas was lifted from infant faces, and the pure oxygen filled their lungs and roused them to new life, they set up one simultaneous shout of joy and gratitude, which their parents mistook for agony. altogether there was a general stir. as i had quietly slipped into my seat and laid my head down to sleep, i remained unobserved--the innocent cause of the general purification and vexation. we reached freeport at three o'clock in the morning. as the depot for dubuque was nearly half a mile on the other side of the town, i said to a solitary old man who stood shivering there to receive us, "how can i get to the other station?" "walk, madam." "but i do not know the way." "there is no one to go with you." "how is my trunk going?" said i. "i have a donkey and cart to take that." "then," said i, "you, the donkey, the trunk, and i will go together." so i stepped into the cart, sat down on the trunk, and the old man laughed heartily as we jogged along through the mud of that solitary town in the pale morning starlight. just as the day was dawning, dubuque, with its rough hills and bold scenery, loomed up. soon, under the roof of myron beach, one of the distinguished lawyers of the west, with a good breakfast and sound nap, my night's sorrows were forgotten. i was sorry to find that mrs. beach, though a native of new york, and born on the very spot where the first woman's rights convention was held in this country, was not sound on the question of woman suffrage. she seemed to have an idea that voting and housekeeping could not be compounded; but i suggested that, if the nation could only enjoy a little of the admirable system with which she and other women administered their domestic affairs, uncle sam's interests would be better secured. this is just what the nation needs to-day, and women must wake up to the consideration that they, too, have duties as well as rights in the state. a splendid audience greeted me in the opera house, and i gave "our girls," bringing many male sinners to repentance, and stirring up some lethargic _femmes coverts_ to a state of rebellion against the existing order of things. from dubuque i went to dixon, a large town, where i met a number of pleasant people, but i have one cause of complaint against the telegraph operator, whose negligence to send a dispatch to mt. vernon, written and paid for, came near causing me a solitary night on the prairie, unsheltered and unknown. hearing that the express train went out sunday afternoon, i decided to go, so as to have all day at mt. vernon before speaking; but on getting my trunk checked, the baggageman said the train did not stop there. "well," said i, "check the trunk to the nearest point at which it does stop," resolving that i would persuade the conductor to stop one minute, anyway. accordingly, when the conductor came round, i presented my case as persuasively and eloquently as possible, telling him that i had telegraphed friends to meet me, etc., etc. he kindly consented to do so and had my trunk re-checked. on arriving, as there was no light, no sound, and the depot was half a mile from the town, the conductor urged me to go to cedar rapids and come back the next morning, as it was sunday night and the depot might not be opened, and i might be compelled to stay there on the platform all night in the cold. but, as i had telegraphed, i told him i thought someone would be there, and i would take the risk. so off went the train, leaving me solitary and alone. i could see the lights in the distant town and the dark outlines of two great mills near by, which suggested dams and races. i heard, too, the distant barking of dogs, and i thought there might be wolves, too; but no human sound. the platform was high and i could see no way down, and i should not have dared to go down if i had. so i walked all round the house, knocked at every door and window, called "john!" "james!" "patrick!" but no response. dressed in all their best, they had, no doubt, gone to visit sally, and i knew they would stay late. the night wind was cold. what could i do? the prospect of spending the night there filled me with dismay. at last i thought i would try my vocal powers; so i hallooed as loud as i could, in every note of the gamut, until i was hoarse. at last i heard a distant sound, a loud halloo, which i returned, and so we kept it up until the voice grew near, and, when i heard a man's heavy footsteps close at hand, i was relieved. he proved to be the telegraph operator, who had been a brave soldier in the late war. he said that no message had come from dixon. he escorted me to the hotel, where some members of the lyceum committee came in and had a hearty laugh at my adventure, especially that, in my distress, i should have called on james and john and patrick, instead of jane, ann, and bridget. they seemed to argue that that was an admission, on my part, of man's superiority, but i suggested that, as my sex had not yet been exalted to the dignity of presiding in depots and baggage rooms, there would have been no propriety in calling jane and ann. mt. vernon was distinguished for a very flourishing methodist college, open to boys and girls alike. the president and his wife were liberal and progressive people. i dined with them in their home near the college, and met some young ladies from massachusetts, who were teachers in the institution. all who gathered round the social board on that occasion were of one mind on the woman question. even the venerable mother of the president seemed to light up with the discussion of the theme. i gave "our girls" in the methodist church, and took the opportunity to compliment them for taking the word "obey" out of their marriage ceremony. i heard the most encouraging reports of the experiment of educating the sexes together. it was the rule in all the methodist institutions in iowa, and i found that the young gentlemen fully approved of it. at mt. vernon i also met mr. wright, former secretary of state, who gave me several interesting facts in regard to the women of iowa. the state could boast one woman who was an able lawyer, mrs. mansfield. mrs. berry and mrs. stebbins were notaries public. miss addington was superintendent of schools in mitchell county. she was nominated by a convention in opposition to a mr. brown. when the vote was taken, lo! there was a tie. mr. brown offered to yield through courtesy, but she declined; so they drew lots and miss addington was the victor. she once made an abstract of titles of all the lands in the county where she lived, and had received an appointment to office from the governor of the state, who requested the paper to be made out "l." instead of laura addington. he said it was enough for iowa to appoint women to such offices, without having it known the world over. i was sorry to tell the governor's secrets,--which i did everywhere,--but the cause of womanhood made it necessary. chapter xviii. westward ho! in the month of june, , miss anthony and i went to california, holding suffrage meetings in many of the chief cities from new york to san francisco, where we arrived about the middle of july, in time to experience the dry, dusty season. we tarried, on the way, one week in salt lake city. it was at the time of the godby secession, when several hundred mormons abjured that portion of the faith of their fathers which authorized polygamy. a decision had just been rendered by the united states supreme court declaring the first wife and her children the only legal heirs. whether this decision hastened the secession i do not know; however, it gave us the advantage of hearing all the arguments for and against the system. those who were opposed to it said it made slaves of men. to support four wives and twenty children was a severe strain on any husband. the women who believed in polygamy had much to say in its favor, especially in regard to the sacredness of motherhood during the period of pregnancy and lactation; a lesson of respect for that period being religiously taught all mormons. we were very thankful for the privilege granted us of speaking to the women alone in the smaller tabernacle. our meeting opened at two o'clock and lasted until seven, giving us five hours of uninterrupted conversation. judge mckeon had informed me of the recent decisions and the legal aspects of the questions, which he urged me to present to them fully and frankly, as no one had had such an opportunity before to speak to mormon women alone. so i made the most of my privilege. i gave a brief history of the marriage institution in all times and countries, of the matriarchate, when the mother was the head of the family and owned the property and children; of the patriarchate, when man reigned supreme and woman was enslaved; of polyandry, polygamy, monogamy, and prostitution. we had a full and free discussion of every phase of the question, and we all agreed that we were still far from having reached the ideal position for woman in marriage, however satisfied man might be with his various experiments. though the mormon women, like all others, stoutly defend their own religion, yet they are no more satisfied than any other sect. all women are dissatisfied with their position as inferiors, and their dissatisfaction increases in exact ratio with their intelligence and development. after this convocation the doors of the tabernacle were closed to our ministrations, as we thought they would be, but we had crowded an immense amount of science, philosophy, history, and general reflections into the five hours of such free talk as those women had never heard before. as the seceders had just built a new hall, we held meetings there every day, discussing all the vital issues of the hour; the mormon men and women taking an active part. we attended the fourth of july celebration, and saw the immense tabernacle filled to its utmost capacity. the various states of the union were represented by young girls, gayly dressed, carrying beautiful flags and banners. when that immense multitude joined in our national songs, and the deep-toned organ filled the vast dome the music was very impressive, and the spirit of patriotism manifested throughout was deep and sincere. as i stood among these simple people, so earnest in making their experiment in religion and social life, and remembered all the persecutions they had suffered and all they had accomplished in that desolate, far-off region, where they had, indeed, made "the wilderness blossom like the rose," i appreciated, as never before, the danger of intermeddling with the religious ideas of any people. their faith finds abundant authority in the bible, in the example of god's chosen people. when learned ecclesiastics teach the people that they can safely take that book as the guide of their lives, they must expect them to follow the letter and the specific teachings that lie on the surface. the ordinary mind does not generalize nor see that the same principles of conduct will not do for all periods and latitudes. when women understand that governments and religions are human inventions; that bibles, prayerbooks, catechisms, and encyclical letters are all emanations from the brain of man, they will no longer be oppressed by the injunctions that come to them with the divine authority of "thus saith the lord." that thoroughly democratic gathering in the tabernacle impressed me more than any other fourth of july celebration i ever attended. as most of the mormon families keep no servants, mothers must take their children wherever they go--to churches, theatres, concerts, and military reviews--everywhere and anywhere. hence the low, pensive wail of the individual baby, combining in large numbers, becomes a deep monotone, like the waves of the sea, a sort of violoncello accompaniment to all their holiday performances. it was rather trying to me at first to have my glowing periods punctuated with a rhythmic wail from all sides of the hall; but as soon as i saw that it did not distract my hearers, i simply raised my voice, and, with a little added vehemence, fairly rivaled the babies. commenting on this trial, to one of the theatrical performers, he replied: "it is bad enough for you, but alas! imagine me in a tender death scene, when the most profound stillness is indispensable, having my last gasp, my farewell message to loved ones, accentuated with the joyful crowings or impatient complainings of fifty babies." i noticed in the tabernacle that the miseries of the infantile host were in a measure mitigated by constant draughts of cold water, borne around in buckets by four old men. the question of the most profound interest to us at that time, in the mormon experiment, was the exercise of the suffrage by women. emeline b. wells, wife of the mayor of the city, writing to a washington convention, in , said of the many complications growing out of various bills before congress to rob women of this right: "women have voted in utah fourteen years, but, because of the little word 'male' that still stands upon the statutes, no woman is eligible to any office of emolument or trust. in three successive legislatures, bills have been passed, providing that the word 'male' be erased; but, each time, the governor of the territory, who has absolute veto power, has refused his signature. yet women attend primary meetings in the various precincts and are chosen as delegates. they are also members of county and territorial central committees, and are thus gaining practical political experience, and preparing themselves for positions of trust. "in a convention was held to frame a constitution to be submitted to the people and presented to the congress of the united states. women were delegates to this convention, and took part in all its deliberations, and were appointed to act on committees with equal privileges. it is the first instance on record, i think, where women have been members and taken an active part in a constitutional convention. "much has been said and written, and justly, too, of suffrage for women in wyoming; but, in my humble opinion, had utah stood on the same ground as wyoming, and women been eligible to office, as they are in that territory, they would, ere this, have been elected to the legislative assembly of utah. "it is currently reported that mormon women vote as they are told by their husbands. i most emphatically deny the assertion. all mormon women vote who are privileged to register. every girl born here, as soon as she is twenty-one years old, registers, and considers it as much a duty as to say her prayers. our women vote with the same freedom that characterizes any class of people in the most conscientious acts of their lives." these various questions were happily solved in , when utah became a state. its constitution gives women the right to vote on all questions, and makes them eligible to any office. the journey over the rocky mountains was more interesting and wonderful than i had imagined. a heavy shower the morning we reached the alkali plains made the trip through that region, where travelers suffer so much, quite endurable. although we reached california in its hot, dry season, we found the atmosphere in san francisco delightful, fanned with the gentle breezes of the pacific, cooled with the waters of its magnificent harbor. the golden gate does indeed open to the eye of the traveler one of the most beautiful harbors in the world. friends had engaged for us a suite of apartments at the grand hotel, then just opened. our rooms were constantly decked with fresh flowers, which our "suffrage children," as they called themselves, brought us from day to day. so many brought tokens of their good will--in fact, all our visitors came with offerings of fruits and flowers--that not only our apartments, but the public tables were crowded with rare and beautiful specimens of all varieties. we spoke every night, to crowded houses, on all phases of the woman question, and had a succession of visitors during the day. in fact, for one week, we had a perfect ovation. as senator stanford and his wife were at the same hotel, we had many pleasant interviews with them. while in san francisco we had many delightful sails in the harbor and drives to the seashore and for miles along the beach. we spent several hours at the little ocean house, watching the gambols of the celebrated seals. these, like the big trees, were named after distinguished statesmen. one very black fellow was named charles sumner, in honor of his love of the black race; another, with a little squint in his eye, was called ben butler; a stout, rotund specimen that seemed to take life philosophically, was named senator davis of illinois; a very belligerent one, who appeared determined to crowd his confrères into the sea, was called secretary stanton. grant and lincoln, on a higher ledge of the rocks, were complacently observing the gambols of the rest. california was on the eve of an important election, and john a. bingham of ohio and senator cole were stumping the state for the republican party. at several points we had the use of their great tents for our audiences, and of such of their able arguments as applied to woman. as mr. bingham's great speech was on the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth amendments, every principle he laid down literally enfranchised the women of the nation. i met the ohio statesman one morning at breakfast, after hearing him the night before. i told him his logic must compel him to advocate woman suffrage. with a most cynical smile he said "he was not the puppet of logic, but the slave of practical politics." we met most of our suffrage coadjutors in different parts of california. i spent a few days with mrs. elizabeth b. schenck, one of the earliest pioneers in the suffrage movement. she was a cultivated, noble woman, and her little cottage was a gem of beauty and comfort, surrounded with beautiful gardens and a hedge of fish-geraniums over ten feet high, covered with scarlet flowers. it seemed altogether more like a fairy bower than a human habitation. the windmills all over california, for pumping water, make a very pretty feature in the landscape, as well as an important one, as people are obliged to irrigate their gardens during the dry season. in august the hills are as brown as ours in december. here, too, i first met senator sargent's family, and visited them in sacramento city, where we had a suffrage meeting in the evening and one for women alone next day. at a similar meeting in san francisco six hundred women were present in platt's hall. we discussed marriage, maternity, and social life in general. supposing none but women were present, as all were dressed in feminine costume, the audience were quite free in their questions, and i equally so in my answers. to our astonishment, the next morning, a verbatim report of all that was said appeared in one of the leading papers, with most respectful comments. as i always wrote and read carefully what i had to say on such delicate subjects, the language was well chosen and the presentation of facts and philosophy quite unobjectionable; hence, the information being as important for men as for women, i did not regret the publication. during the day a committee of three gentlemen called to know if i would give a lecture to men alone. as i had no lecture prepared, i declined, with the promise to do so the next time i visited california. the idea was novel, but i think women could do much good in that way. my readers may be sure that such enterprising travelers as miss anthony and myself visited all the wonders, saw the geysers, big trees, the yosemite valley, and the immense mountain ranges, piled one above another, until they seemed to make a giant pathway from earth to heaven. we drove down the mountain sides with fox, the celebrated whip; sixteen people in an open carriage drawn by six horses, down, down, down, as fast as we could go. i expected to be dashed to pieces, but we safely descended in one hour, heights we had taken three to climb. fox held a steady rein, and seemed as calm as if we were trotting on a level, though any accident, such as a hot axle, a stumbling horse, or a break in the harness would have sent us down the mountain side, two thousand feet, to inevitable destruction. he had many amusing anecdotes to tell of horace greeley's trip to the geysers. the distinguished journalist was wholly unprepared for the race down the mountains and begged fox to hold up. sitting in front he made several efforts to seize the lines. but fox assured him that was the only possible way they could descend in safety, as the horses could guide the stage, but they could not hold it. at stockton we met a party of friends just returning from the yosemite, who gave us much valuable information for the journey. among other things, i was advised to write to mr. hutchins, the chief authority there, to have a good, strong horse in readiness to take me down the steep and narrow path into the valley. we took the same driver and carriage which our friends had found trustworthy, and started early in the morning. the dust and heat made the day's journey very wearisome, but the prospect of seeing the wonderful valley made all hardships of little consequence. quite a large party were waiting to mount their donkeys and mules when we arrived. one of the attendants, a man about as thin as a stair rod, asked me if i was the lady who had ordered a strong horse; i being the stoutest of the party, he readily arrived at that conclusion, so my steed was promptly produced. but i knew enough of horses and riding to see at a glance that he was a failure, with his low withers and high haunches, for descending steep mountains. in addition to his forward pitch, his back was immensely broad. miss anthony and i decided to ride astride and had suits made for that purpose; but alas! my steed was so broad that i could not reach the stirrups, and the moment we began to descend, i felt as if i were going over his head. so i fell behind, and, when the party had all gone forward, i dismounted, though my slender guide assured me there was no danger, he "had been up and down a thousand times." but, as i had never been at all, his repeated experiences did not inspire me with courage. i decided to walk. that, the guide said, was impossible. "well," said i, by way of compromise, "i will walk as far as i can, and when i reach the impossible, i will try that ill-constructed beast. i cannot see what you men were thinking of when you selected such an animal for this journey." and so we went slowly down, arguing the point whether it were better to ride or walk; to trust one's own legs, or, by chance, be precipitated thousands of feet down the mountain side. it was a hot august day; the sun, in the zenith, shining with full power. my blood was at boiling heat with exercise and vexation. alternately sliding and walking, catching hold of rocks and twigs, drinking at every rivulet, covered with dust, dripping with perspiration, skirts, gloves, and shoes in tatters, for four long hours i struggled down to the end, when i laid myself out on the grass, and fell asleep, perfectly exhausted, having sent the guide to tell mr. hutchins that i had reached the valley, and, as i could neither ride nor walk, to send a wheelbarrow, or four men with a blanket to transport me to the hotel. that very day the mariposa company had brought the first carriage into the valley, which, in due time, was sent to my relief. miss anthony, who, with a nice little mexican pony and narrow saddle, had made her descent with grace and dignity, welcomed me on the steps of the hotel, and laughed immoderately at my helpless plight. as hour after hour had passed, she said, there had been a general wonderment as to what had become of me; "but did you ever see such magnificent scenery?" "alas!" i replied, "i have been in no mood for scenery. i have been constantly watching my hands and feet lest i should come to grief." the next day i was too stiff and sore to move a finger. however, in due time i awoke to the glory and grandeur of that wonderful valley, of which no descriptions nor paintings can give the least idea. with sunset cox, the leading democratic statesman, and his wife, we had many pleasant excursions through the valley, and chats, during the evening, on the piazza. there was a constant succession of people going and coming, even in that far-off region, and all had their adventures to relate. but none quite equaled my experiences. we spent a day in the calaveras grove, rested beneath the "big trees," and rode on horseback through the fallen trunk of one of them. some vandals sawed off one of the most magnificent specimens twenty feet above the ground, and, on this the owners of the hotel built a little octagonal chapel. the polished wood, with bark for a border, made a very pretty floor. here they often had sunday services, as it held about one hundred people. here, too, we discussed the suffrage question, amid these majestic trees that had battled with the winds two thousand years, and had probably never before listened to such rebellion as we preached to the daughters of earth that day. here, again, we found our distinguished statesmen immortalized, each with his namesake among these stately trees. we asked our guide if there were any not yet appropriated, might we name them after women. as he readily consented, we wrote on cards the names of a dozen leading women, and tacked them on their respective trees. whether lucretia mott, lucy stone, phoebe couzins, and anna dickinson still retain their identity, and answer when called by the goddess sylvia in that majestic grove, i know not. twenty-five years have rolled by since then, and a new generation of visitors and guides may have left no trace of our work behind them. but we whispered our hopes and aspirations to the trees, to be wafted to the powers above, and we left them indelibly pictured on the walls of the little chapel, and for more mortal eyes we scattered leaflets wherever we went, and made all our pleasure trips so many propaganda for woman's enfranchisement. returning from california i made the journey straight through from san francisco to new york. though a long trip to make without a break, yet i enjoyed every moment, as i found most charming companions in bishop janes and his daughter. the bishop being very liberal in his ideas, we discussed the various theologies, and all phases of the woman question. i shall never forget those pleasant conversations as we sat outside on the platform, day after day, and in the soft moonlight late at night. we took up the thread of our debate each morning where we had dropped it the night before. the bishop told me about the resolution to take the word "obey" from the marriage ceremony which he introduced, two years before, into the methodist general conference and carried with but little opposition. all praise to the methodist church! when our girls are educated into a proper self-respect and laudable pride of sex, they will scout all these old barbarisms of the past that point in any way to the subject condition of women in either the state, the church, or the home. until the other sects follow her example, i hope our girls will insist on having their conjugal knots all tied by methodist bishops. the episcopal marriage service not only still clings to the word "obey," but it has a most humiliating ceremony in giving the bride away. i was never more struck with its odious and ludicrous features than on once seeing a tall, queenly-looking woman, magnificently arrayed, married by one of the tiniest priests that ever donned a surplice and gown, given away by the smallest guardian that ever watched a woman's fortunes, to the feeblest, bluest-looking little groom that ever placed a wedding ring on bridal finger. seeing these lilliputians around her, i thought, when the little priest said, "who gives this woman to this man," that she would take the responsibility and say, "i do," but no! there she stood, calm, serene, as if it were no affair of hers, while the little guardian, placing her hand in that of the little groom, said, "i do." thus was this stately woman bandied about by these three puny men, all of whom she might have gathered up in her arms and borne off to their respective places of abode. but women are gradually waking up to the degradation of these ceremonies. not long since, at a wedding in high life, a beautiful girl of eighteen was struck dumb at the word "obey." three times the priest pronounced it with emphasis and holy unction, each time slower, louder, than before. though the magnificent parlors were crowded, a breathless silence reigned. father, mother, and groom were in agony. the bride, with downcast eyes, stood speechless. at length the priest slowly closed his book and said, "the ceremony is at an end." one imploring word from the groom, and a faint "obey" was heard in the solemn stillness. the priest unclasped his book and the knot was tied. the congratulations, feast, and all, went on as though there had been no break in the proceedings, but the lesson was remembered, and many a rebel made by that short pause. i think all these reverend gentlemen who insist on the word "obey" in the marriage service should be removed for a clear violation of the thirteenth amendment to the federal constitution, which says there shall be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude within the united states. as i gave these experiences to bishop janes he laughed heartily, and asked me to repeat them to each newcomer. our little debating society was the center of attraction. one gentleman asked me if our woman suffrage conventions were as entertaining. i told him yes; that there were no meetings in washington so interesting and so well attended as ours. as i had some woman-suffrage literature in my valise, i distributed leaflets to all earnest souls who plied me with questions. like all other things, it requires great discretion in sowing leaflets, lest you expose yourself to a rebuff. i never offer one to a man with a small head and high heels on his boots, with his chin in the air, because i know, in the nature of things, that he will be jealous of superior women; nor to a woman whose mouth has the "prunes and prisms" expression, for i know she will say, "i have all the rights i want." going up to london one day, a few years later, i noticed a saintly sister, belonging to the salvation army, timidly offering some leaflets to several persons on board; all coolly declined to receive them. having had much experience in the joys and sorrows of propagandism, i put out my hand and asked her to give them to me. i thanked her and read them before reaching london. it did me no harm and her much good in thinking that she might have planted a new idea in my mind. whatever is given to us freely, i think, in common politeness, we should accept graciously. while i was enjoying once more the comforts of home, on the blue hills of jersey, miss anthony was lighting the fires of liberty on the mountain tops of oregon and washington territory. all through the months of october, november, and december, , she was jolting about in stages, over rough roads, speaking in every hamlet where a schoolhouse was to be found, and scattering our breezy leaflets to the four winds of heaven. from to miss anthony and i made several trips through iowa, missouri, illinois, and nebraska, holding meetings at most of the chief towns; i speaking in the afternoons to women alone on "marriage and maternity." as miss anthony had other pressing engagements in kansas and nebraska, i went alone to texas, speaking in dallas, sherman, and houston, where i was delayed two weeks by floods and thus prevented from going to austin, galveston, and some points in louisiana, where i was advertised to lecture. in fact i lost all my appointments for a month. however, there was a fine hotel in houston and many pleasant people, among whom i made some valuable acquaintances. beside several public meetings, i had parlor talks and scattered leaflets, so that my time was not lost. as the floods had upset my plans for the winter, i went straight from houston to new york over the iron mountain railroad. i anticipated a rather solitary trip; but, fortunately, i met general baird, whom i knew, and some other army officers, who had been down on the mexican border to settle some troubles in the "free zone." we amused ourselves on the long journey with whist and woman suffrage discussions. we noticed a dyspeptic-looking clergyman, evidently of a bilious temperament, eying us very steadily and disapprovingly the first day, and in a quiet way we warned each other that, in due time, he would give us a sermon on the sin of card playing. sitting alone, early next morning, he seated himself by my side, and asked me if i would allow him to express his opinion on card playing. i said "oh, yes! i fully believe in free speech." "well," said he, "i never touch cards. i think they are an invention of the devil to lead unwary souls from all serious thought of the stern duties of life and the realities of eternity! i was sorry to see you, with your white hair, probably near the end of your earthly career, playing cards and talking with those reckless army officers, who delight in killing their fellow-beings. no! i do not believe in war or card playing; such things do not prepare the soul for heaven." "well," said i, "you are quite right, with your views, to abjure the society of army officers and all games of cards. you, no doubt, enjoy your own thoughts and the book you are reading, more than you would the conversation of those gentlemen and a game of whist. we must regulate our conduct by our own highest ideal. while i deplore the necessity of war, yet i know in our army many of the noblest types of manhood, whose acquaintance i prize most highly. i enjoy all games, too, from chess down to dominoes. there is so much that is sad and stern in life that we need sometimes to lay down its burdens and indulge in innocent amusements. thus, you see, what is wise from my standpoint is unwise from yours. i am sorry that you repudiate all amusements, as they contribute to the health of body and soul. you are sorry that i do not think as you do and regulate my life accordingly. you are sure that you are right. i am equally sure that i am. hence there is nothing to be done in either case but to let each other alone, and wait for the slow process of evolution to give to each of us a higher standard." just then one of the officers asked me if i was ready for a game of whist, and i excused myself from further discussion. i met many of those dolorous saints in my travels, who spent so much thought on eternity and saving their souls that they lost all the joys of time, as well as those sweet virtues of courtesy and charity that might best fit them for good works on earth and happiness in heaven. in the spring i went to nebraska, and miss anthony and i again made a western tour, sometimes together and sometimes by different routes. a constitutional convention was in session in lincoln, and it was proposed to submit an amendment to strike the word "male" from the constitution. nebraska became a state in march, , and took "equality before the law" as her motto. her territorial legislature had discussed, many times, proposed liberal legislation for women, and her state legislature had twice considered propositions for woman's enfranchisement. i had a valise with me containing hon. benjamin f. butler's minority reports as a member of the judiciary committee of the united states house of representatives, in favor of woman's right to vote under the fourteenth amendment. as we were crossing the platte river, in transferring the baggage to the boat, my valise fell into the river. my heart stood still at the thought of such a fate for all those able arguments. after the great general had been in hot water all his life, it was grievous to think of any of his lucubrations perishing in cold water at last. fortunately they were rescued. on reaching lincoln i was escorted to the home of the governor, where i spread the documents in the sunshine, and they were soon ready to be distributed among the members of the constitutional convention. after i had addressed the convention, some of the members called on me to discuss the points of my speech. all the gentlemen were serious and respectful with one exception. a man with an unusually small head, diminutive form, and crooked legs tried, at my expense, to be witty and facetious. during a brief pause in the conversation he brought his chair directly before me and said, in a mocking tone, "don't you think that the best thing a woman can do is to perform well her part in the role of wife and mother? my wife has presented me with eight beautiful children; is not this a better life-work than that of exercising the right of suffrage?" i had had my eye on this man during the whole interview, and saw that the other members were annoyed at his behavior. i decided, when the opportune moment arrived, to give him an answer not soon to be forgotten; so i promptly replied to his question, as i slowly viewed him from head to foot, "i have met few men, in my life, worth repeating eight times." the members burst into a roar of laughter, and one of them, clapping him on the shoulder, said: "there, sonny, you have read and spelled; you better go." this scene was heralded in all the nebraska papers, and, wherever the little man went, he was asked why mrs. stanton thought he was not worth repeating eight times. during my stay in lincoln there was a celebration of the opening of some railroad. an immense crowd from miles about assembled on this occasion. the collation was spread and speeches were made in the open air. the men congratulated each other on the wonderful progress the state had made since it became an organized territory in . there was not the slightest reference, at first, to the women. one speaker said: "this state was settled by three brothers, john, james, and joseph, and from them have sprung the great concourse of people that greet us here to-day." i turned, and asked the governor if all these people had sprung, minerva-like, from the brains of john, james, and joseph. he urged me to put that question to the speaker; so, in one of his eloquent pauses, i propounded the query, which was greeted with loud and prolonged cheers, to the evident satisfaction of the women present. the next speaker took good care to give the due meed of praise to ann, jane, and mary, and to every mention of the mothers of nebraska the crowd heartily responded. in toasting "the women of nebraska," at the collation, i said: "here's to the mothers, who came hither by long, tedious journeys, closely packed with restless children in emigrant wagons, cooking the meals by day, and nursing the babies by night, while the men slept. leaving comfortable homes in the east, they endured all the hardships of pioneer life, suffered, with the men, the attacks of the dakota indians and the constant apprehension of savage raids, of prairie fires, and the devastating locusts. man's trials, his fears, his losses, all fell on woman with double force; yet history is silent concerning the part woman performed in the frontier life of the early settlers. men make no mention of her heroism and divine patience; they take no thought of the mental or physical agonies women endure in the perils of maternity, ofttimes without nurse or physician in the supreme hour of their need, going, as every mother does, to the very gates of death in giving life to an immortal being!" traveling all over these western states in the early days, seeing the privations women suffered, and listening to the tales of sorrow at the fireside, i wondered that men could ever forget the debt of gratitude they owed to their mothers, or fail to commemorate their part in the growth of a great people. yet the men of nebraska have twice defeated the woman suffrage amendment. in michigan was the point of interest to all those who had taken part in the woman-suffrage movement. the legislature, by a very large majority, submitted to a vote of the electors an amendment of the constitution, in favor of striking out the word "male" and thus securing civil and political rights to the women of the state. it was a very active campaign. crowded meetings were held in all the chief towns and cities. professor moses coit tyler, and a large number of ministers preached, every sunday, on the subject of woman's position. the methodist conference passed a resolution in favor of the amendment by a unanimous vote. i was in the state during the intense heat of may and june, speaking every evening to large audiences; in the afternoon to women alone, and preaching every sunday in some pulpit. the methodists, universalists, unitarians, and quakers all threw open their churches to the apostles of the new gospel of equality for women. we spoke in jails, prisons, asylums, depots, and the open air. wherever there were ears to hear, we lifted up our voices, and, on the wings of the wind, the glad tidings were carried to the remote corners of the state, and the votes of forty thousand men, on election day, in favor of the amendment were so many testimonials to the value of the educational work accomplished. i made many valuable acquaintances, on that trip, with whom i have maintained lifelong friendships. one pleasant day i passed in the home of governor bagley and his wife, with a group of pretty children. i found the governor deeply interested in prison reform. he had been instrumental in passing a law giving prisoners lights in their cells and pleasant reading matter until nine o'clock. his ideas of what prisons should be, as unfolded that day, have since been fully realized in the grand experiment now being successfully tried at elmira, new york. i visited the state prison at jackson, and addressed seven hundred men and boys, ranging from seventy down to seventeen years of age. seated on the dais with the chaplain, i saw them file in to dinner, and, while they were eating, i had an opportunity to study the sad, despairing faces before me. i shall never forget the hopeless expression of one young man, who had just been sentenced for twenty years, nor how ashamed i felt that one of my own sex, trifling with two lovers, had fanned the jealousy of one against the other, until the tragedy ended in the death of one and the almost lifelong imprisonment of the other. if girls should be truthful and transparent in any relations in life, surely it is in those of love, involving the strongest passions of which human nature is capable. as the chaplain told me the sad story, and i noticed the prisoner's refined face and well-shaped head, i felt that the young man was not under the right influences to learn the lesson he needed. fear, coercion, punishment, are the masculine remedies for moral weakness, but statistics show their failure for centuries. why not change the system and try the education of the moral and intellectual faculties, cheerful surroundings, inspiring influences? everything in our present system tends to lower the physical vitality, the self-respect, the moral tone, and to harden instead of reforming the criminal. my heart was so heavy i did not know what to say to such an assembly of the miserable. i asked the chaplain what i should say. "just what you please," he replied. thinking they had probably heard enough of their sins, their souls, and the plan of salvation, i thought i would give them the news of the day. so i told them about the woman suffrage amendment, what i was doing in the state, my amusing encounters with opponents, their arguments, my answers. i told them of the great changes that would be effected in prison life when the mothers of the nation had a voice in the buildings and discipline. i told them what governor bagley said, and of the good time coming when prisons would no longer be places of punishment but schools of reformation. to show them what women would do to realize this beautiful dream, i told them of elizabeth fry and dorothea l. dix, of mrs. farnham's experiment at sing sing, and louise michel's in new caledonia, and, in closing, i said: "now i want all of you who are in favor of the amendment to hold up your right hands." they gave a unanimous vote, and laughed heartily when i said, "i do wish you could all go to the polls in november and that we could lock our opponents up here until after the election." i felt satisfied that they had had one happy hour, and that i had said nothing to hurt the feelings of the most unfortunate. as they filed off to their respective workshops my faith and hope for brighter days went with them. then i went all through the prison. everything looked clean and comfortable on the surface, but i met a few days after a man, just set free, who had been there five years for forgery. he told me the true inwardness of the system; of the wretched, dreary life they suffered, and the brutality of the keepers. he said the prison was infested with mice and vermin, and that, during the five years he was there, he had never lain down one night to undisturbed slumber. the sufferings endured in summer for want of air, he said, were indescribable. in this prison the cells were in the center of the building, the corridors running all around by the windows, so the prisoners had no outlook and no direct contact with the air. hence, if a careless keeper forgot to open the windows after a storm, the poor prisoners panted for air in their cells, like fish out of water. my informant worked in the mattress department, over the room where prisoners were punished. he said he could hear the lash and the screams of the victims from morning till night. "hard as the work is all day," said he, "it is a blessed relief to get out of our cells to march across the yard and get one glimpse of the heavens above, and one breath of pure air, and to be in contact with other human souls in the workshops, for, although we could never speak to each other, yet there was a hidden current of sympathy conveyed by look that made us one in our misery." though the press of the state was largely in our favor, yet there were some editors who, having no arguments, exercised the little wit they did possess in low ridicule. it was in this campaign that an editor in a kalamazoo journal said: "that ancient daughter of methuselah, susan b. anthony, passed through our city yesterday, on her way to the plainwell meeting, with a bonnet on her head looking as if it had recently descended from noah's ark." miss anthony often referred to this description of herself, and said, "had i represented twenty thousand voters in michigan, that political editor would not have known nor cared whether i was the oldest or the youngest daughter of methuselah, or whether my bonnet came from the ark or from worth's." chapter xix. the spirit of ' . the year was one of intense excitement and laborious activity throughout the country. the anticipation of the centennial birthday of the republic, to be celebrated in philadelphia, stirred the patriotism of the people to the highest point of enthusiasm. as each state was to be represented in the great exhibition, local pride added another element to the public interest. then, too, everyone who could possibly afford the journey was making busy preparations to spend the fourth of july, the natal day of the republic, mid the scenes where the declaration of independence was issued in , the government inaugurated, and the first national councils were held. those interested in women's political rights decided to make the fourth a woman's day, and to celebrate the occasion, in their various localities, by delivering orations and reading their own declaration of rights, with dinners and picnics in the town halls or groves, as most convenient. but many from every state in the union made their arrangements to spend the historic period in philadelphia. owing, also, to the large number of foreigners who came over to join in the festivities, that city was crammed to its utmost capacity. with the crowd and excessive heat, comfort was everywhere sacrificed to curiosity. the enthusiasm throughout the country had given a fresh impulse to the lyceum bureaus. like the ferryboats in new york harbor, running hither and thither, crossing each other's tracks, the whole list of lecturers were on the wing, flying to every town and city from san francisco to new york. as soon as a new railroad ran through a village of five hundred inhabitants that could boast a schoolhouse, a church, or a hotel, and one enterprising man or woman, a course of lectures was at once inaugurated as a part of the winter's entertainments. on one occasion i was invited, by mistake, to a little town to lecture the same evening when the christy minstrels were to perform. it was arranged, as the town had only one hall, that i should speak from seven to eight o'clock and the minstrels should have the remainder of the time. one may readily see that, with the minstrels in anticipation, a lecture on any serious question would occupy but a small place in the hearts of the people in a town where they seldom had entertainments of any kind. all the time i was speaking there was a running to and fro behind the scenes, where the minstrels were transforming themselves with paints and curly wigs into africans, and laughing at each other's jests. as it was a warm evening, and the windows were open, the hilarity of the boys in the street added to the general din. under such circumstances it was difficult to preserve my equilibrium. i felt like laughing at my own comical predicament, and i decided to make my address a medley of anecdotes and stories, like a string of beads, held together by a fine thread of argument and illustration. the moment the hand of the clock pointed at eight o'clock the band struck up, thus announcing that the happy hour for the minstrels had come. those of my audience who wished to stay were offered seats at half price; those who did not, slipped out, and the crowd rushed in, soon packing the house to its utmost capacity. i stayed, and enjoyed the performance of the minstrels more than i had my own. as the lyceum season lasted from october to june, i was late in reaching philadelphia. miss anthony and mrs. gage had already been through the agony of finding appropriate headquarters for the national suffrage association. i found them pleasantly situated on the lower floor of no. chestnut street, with the work for the coming month clearly mapped out. as it was the year for nominating candidates for the presidency of the united states, the republicans and democrats were about to hold their great' conventions. hence letters were to be written to them recommending a woman suffrage plank in their platforms, and asking seats for women in the conventions, with the privilege of being heard in their own behalf. on these letters our united wisdom was concentrated, and twenty thousand copies of each were published. then it was thought pre-eminently proper that a woman's declaration of rights should be issued. days and nights were spent over that document. after many twists from our analytical tweezers, with a critical consideration of every word and sentence, it was at last, by a consensus of the competent, pronounced very good. thousands were ordered to be printed, and were folded, put in envelopes, stamped, directed, and scattered. miss anthony, mrs. gage, and i worked sixteen hours, day and night, pressing everyone who came in, into the service, and late at night carrying immense bundles to be mailed. with meetings, receptions, and a succession of visitors, all of whom we plied with woman suffrage literature, we felt we had accomplished a great educational work. among the most enjoyable experiences at our headquarters were the frequent visits of our beloved lucretia mott, who used to come from her country home bringing us eggs, cold chickens, and fine oolong tea. as she had presented us with a little black teapot that, like mercury's mysterious pitcher of milk, filled itself for every coming guest, we often improvised luncheons with a few friends. at parting, lucretia always made a contribution to our depleted treasury. here we had many prolonged discussions as to the part we should take, on the fourth of july, in the public celebration. we thought it would be fitting for us to read our declaration of rights immediately after that of the fathers was read, as an impeachment of them and their male descendants for their injustice and oppression. ours contained as many counts, and quite as important, as those against king george in . accordingly, we applied to the authorities to allow us seats on the platform and a place in the programme of the public celebration, which was to be held in the historic old independence hall. as general hawley was in charge of the arrangements for the day, i wrote him as follows: " chestnut street, july , . "general hawley. "_honored sir_: as president of the national woman's suffrage association, i am authorized to ask you for tickets to the platform, at independence hall, for the celebration on the fourth of july. we should like to have seats for at least one representative woman from each state. we also ask your permission to read our declaration of rights immediately after the reading of the declaration of independence of the fathers is finished. although these are small favors to ask as representatives of one-half of the nation, yet we shall be under great obligations to you if granted. "respectfully yours, "elizabeth cady stanton." to this i received the following reply: "u.s.c.c. headquarters, july . "mrs. elizabeth cady stanton. "_dear madam_: i send you, with pleasure, half a dozen cards of invitation. as the platform is already crowded, it is impossible to reserve the number of seats you desire. i regret to say it is also impossible for us to make any change in the programme at this late hour. we are crowded for time to carry out what is already proposed. "yours very respectfully, "joseph r. hawley, "president, u.s.c.c." with this rebuff, mrs. mott and i decided that we would not accept the offered seats, but would be ready to open our own convention called for that day, at the first unitarian church, where the rev. william h. furness had preached for fifty years. but some of our younger coadjutors decided that they would occupy the seats and present our declaration of rights. they said truly, women will be taxed to pay the expenses of this celebration, and we have as good a right to that platform and to the ears of the people as the men have, and we will be heard. that historic fourth of july dawned at last, one of the most oppressive days of that heated season. susan b. anthony, matilda joslyn gage, sara andrews spencer, lillie devereux blake, and phoebe w. couzins made their way through the crowds under the broiling sun of independence square, carrying the woman's declaration of rights. this declaration had been handsomely engrossed by one of their number, and signed by the oldest and most prominent advocates of woman's enfranchisement. their tickets of admission proved an "open sesame" through the military barriers, and, a few moments before the opening of the ceremonies, these women found themselves within the precincts from which most of their sex were excluded. the declaration of was read by richard henry lee of virginia, about whose family clusters so much historic fame. the moment he finished reading was determined upon as the appropriate time for the presentation of the woman's declaration. not quite sure how their approach might be met, not quite certain if, at this final moment, they would be permitted to reach the presiding officer, those ladies arose and made their way down the aisle. the bustle of preparation for the brazilian hymn covered their advance. the foreign guests and the military and civil officers who filled the space directly in front of the speaker's stand, courteously made way, while miss anthony, in fitting words, presented the declaration to the presiding officer. senator ferry's face paled as, bowing low, with no word he received the declaration, which thus became part of the day's proceedings. the ladies turned, scattering printed copies as they deliberately walked down the platform. on every side eager hands were outstretched, men stood on seats and asked for them, while general hawley, thus defied and beaten in his audacious denial to women of the right to present their declaration, shouted, "order, order!" passing out, these ladies made their way to a platform, erected for the musicians, in front of independence hall. here, under the shadow of washington's statue, back of them the old bell that proclaimed "liberty to all the land and all the inhabitants thereof," they took their places, and, to a listening, applauding crowd, miss anthony read the woman's declaration. during the reading of the declaration, mrs. gage stood beside miss anthony and held an umbrella over her head, to shelter her friend from the intense heat of the noonday sun. and thus in the same hour, on opposite sides of old independence hall, did the men and women express their opinions on the great principles proclaimed on the natal day of the republic. the declaration was handsomely framed, and now hangs in the vice president's room in the capitol at washington. these heroic ladies then hurried from independence hall to the church, already crowded with an expectant audience, to whom they gave a full report of the morning's proceedings. the hutchinsons of worldwide fame were present in their happiest vein, interspersing the speeches with appropriate songs and felicitous remarks. for five long hours on that hot midsummer day a crowded audience, many standing, listened with profound interest and reluctantly dispersed at last, all agreeing that it was one of the most impressive and enthusiastic meetings they had ever attended. all through our civil war the slaves on the southern plantations had an abiding faith that the terrible conflict would result in freedom for their race. just so through all the busy preparations of the centennial, the women of the nation felt sure that the great national celebration could not pass without the concession of some new liberties to them. hence they pressed their claims at every point, at the fourth of july celebration in the exposition buildings, and in the republican and democratic nominating conventions; hoping to get a plank in the platforms of both the great political parties. the woman's pavilion upon the centennial grounds was an afterthought, as theologians claim woman herself to have been. the women of the country, after having contributed nearly one hundred thousand dollars to the centennial stock, found there had been no provision made for the separate exhibition of their work. the centennial board, of which mrs. gillespie was president, then decided to raise funds for the erection of a separate building, to be known as the woman's pavilion. it covered an acre of ground, and was erected at an expense of thirty thousand dollars--a small sum in comparison with the money which had been raised by women and expended on the other buildings, not to speak of the state and national appropriations, which the taxes levied on them had largely helped to swell. the pavilion was no true exhibit of woman's art. few women are, as yet, owners of the business which their industry largely makes remunerative. cotton factories, in which thousands of women work, are owned by men. the shoe business, in some branches of which women are doing more than half the work, is under the ownership of men. rich embroideries from india, rugs of downy softness from turkey, the muslin of decca, anciently known as "the woven wind," the pottery and majolica ware of p. pipsen's widow, the cartridges and envelopes of uncle sam, waltham watches, whose finest mechanical work is done by women, and ten thousand other industries found no place in the pavilion. said united states commissioner meeker of colorado, "woman's work comprises three-fourths of the exposition; it is scattered through every building; take it away, and there would be no exposition." but this pavilion rendered one good service to woman in showing her capabilities as an engineer. the boiler, which furnished the force for running its work, was under the charge of a young canadian girl, miss allison, who, from childhood, had loved machinery, spending much time in the large saw and grist mills of her father, run by engines of two and three hundred horse-power, which she sometimes managed for amusement. when her name was proposed for running the pavilion machinery, it caused much opposition. it was said that the committee would, some day, find the pavilion blown to atoms; that the woman engineer would spend her time reading novels instead of watching the steam gauge; that the idea was impracticable and should not be thought of. but miss allison soon proved her capabilities and the falseness of these prophecies by taking her place in the engine room and managing its workings with perfect ease. six power looms, on which women wove carpets, webbing, silks, etc., were run by this engine. at a later period the printing of _the new century for woman_, a paper published by the centennial commission in the woman's building, was done by its means. miss allison declared the work to be more cleanly, more pleasant, and infinitely less fatiguing than cooking over a kitchen stove. "since i have been compelled to earn my own living," she said, "i have never been engaged in work i like so well. teaching school is much harder, and one is not paid so well." she expressed her confidence in her ability to manage the engines of an ocean steamer, and said that there were thousands of small engines in use in various parts of the country, and no reason existed why women should not be employed to manage them,--following the profession of engineer as a regular business,--an engine requiring far less attention than is given by a nursemaid or a mother to a child. but to have made the woman's pavilion grandly historic, upon its walls should have been hung the yearly protest of harriet k. hunt against taxation without representation; the legal papers served upon the smith sisters when, for their refusal to pay taxes while unrepresented, their alderney cows were seized and sold; the papers issued by the city of worcester for the forced sale of the house and lands of abby kelly foster, the veteran abolitionist, because she refused to pay taxes, giving the same reason our ancestors gave when they resisted taxation; a model of bunker hill monument, its foundation laid by lafayette in , but which remained unfinished nearly twenty years, until the famous german danseuse, fanny ellsler, gave the proceeds of a public performance for that purpose. with these should have been exhibited framed copies of all the laws bearing unjustly upon women--those which rob her of her name, her earnings, her property, her children, her person; also the legal papers in the case of susan b. anthony, who was tried and fined for claiming her right to vote under the fourteenth amendment, and the decision of mr. justice miller in the case of myra bradwell, denying national protection for woman's civil rights; and the later decision of chief justice waite of the united states supreme court against virginia l. minor, denying women national protection for their political rights; decisions in favor of state rights which imperil the liberties not only of all women, but of every white man in the nation. woman's most fitting contributions to the centennial exposition would have been these protests, laws, and decisions, which show her political slavery. but all this was left for rooms outside of the centennial grounds, upon chestnut street, where the national woman's suffrage association hoisted its flag, made its protests, and wrote the declaration of rights of the women of the united states. to many thoughtful people it seemed captious and unreasonable for women to complain of injustice in this free land, amidst such universal rejoicings. when the majority of women are seemingly happy, it is natural to suppose that the discontent of the minority is the result of their unfortunate individual idiosyncrasies, and not of adverse influences in established conditions. but the history of the world shows that the vast majority, in every generation, passively accept the conditions into which they are born, while those who demanded larger liberties are ever a small, ostracized minority, whose claims are ridiculed and ignored. from our standpoint we would honor any chinese woman who claimed the right to her feet and powers of locomotion; the hindoo widows who refused to ascend the funeral pyre of their husbands; the turkish women who threw off their masks and veils and left the harem; the mormon women who abjured their faith and demanded monogamic relations. why not equally honor the intelligent minority of american women who protest against the artificial disabilities by which their freedom is limited and their development arrested? that only a few, under any circumstances, protest against the injustice of long-established laws and customs, does not disprove the fact of the oppressions, while the satisfaction of the many, if real, only proves their apathy and deeper degradation. that a majority of the women of the united states accept, without protest, the disabilities which grow out of their disfranchisement is simply an evidence of their ignorance and cowardice, while the minority who demand a higher political status clearly prove their superior intelligence and wisdom. at the close of the forty-seventh congress we made two new demands: first, for a special committee to consider all questions in regard to the civil and political rights of women. we naturally asked the question, as congress has a special committee on the rights of indians, why not on those of women? are not women, as a factor in civilization, of more importance than indians? secondly, we asked for a room, in the capitol, where our committee could meet, undisturbed, whenever they saw fit. though these points were debated a long time, our demands were acceded to at last. we now have our special committee, and our room, with "woman suffrage" in gilt letters, over the door. in our struggle to achieve this, while our champion, the senior senator from massachusetts, stood up bravely in the discussion, the opposition not only ridiculed the special demand, but all attempts to secure the civil and political rights of women. as an example of the arguments of the opposition, i give what the senator from missouri said. it is a fair specimen of all that was produced on that side of the debate. mr. vest's poetical flights are most inspiring: "the senate now has forty-one committees, with a small army of messengers and clerks, one-half of whom, without exaggeration, are literally without employment. i shall not pretend to specify the committees of this body which have not one single bill, resolution, or proposition of any sort pending before them, and have not had for months. but, mr. president, out of all committees without business, and habitually without business, in this body, there is one that, beyond any question, could take jurisdiction of this matter and do it ample justice. i refer to that most respectable and antique institution, the committee on revolutionary claims. for thirty years it has been without business. for thirty long years the placid surface of that parliamentary sea has been without one single ripple. if the senator from massachusetts desires a tribunal for a calm, judicial equilibrium and examination--a tribunal far from the 'madding crowd's ignoble strife'--a tribunal eminently respectable, dignified and unique; why not send this question to the committee on revolutionary claims? it is eminently proper that this subject should go to that committee because, if there is any revolutionary claim in this country, it is that of woman suffrage. (laughter.) it revolutionizes society; it revolutionizes religion; it revolutionizes the constitution and laws; and it revolutionizes the opinions of those so old-fashioned among us as to believe that the legitimate and proper sphere of woman is the family circle, as wife and mother, and not as politician and voter--those of us who are proud to believe that "woman's noblest station is retreat: her fairest virtues fly from public sight; domestic worth--that shuns too strong a light. "before that committee on revolutionary claims why could not this most revolutionary of all claims receive immediate and ample attention? more than that, as i said before, if there is any tribunal that could give undivided time and dignified attention, is it not this committee? if there is one peaceful haven of rest, never disturbed by any profane bill or resolution of any sort, it is the committee on revolutionary claims. it is, in parliamentary life, described by that ecstatic verse in watts' hymn-- "there shall i bathe my wearied soul in seas of endless rest. and not one wave of trouble roll across my peaceful breast. "by all natural laws, stagnation breeds disease and death, and what could stir up this most venerable and respectable institution more than an application of the strong-minded, with short hair and shorter skirts, invading its dignified realm and elucidating all the excellences of female suffrage. moreover, if these ladies could ever succeed in the providence of god in obtaining a report from that committee, it would end this question forever; for the public at large and myself included, in view of that miracle of female blandishment and female influence, would surrender at once, and female suffrage would become constitutional and lawful. sir, i insist upon it that, in deference to this committee, in deference to the fact that it needs this sort of regimen and medicine, this whole subject should be so referred." this gives a very fair idea of the character of the arguments produced by our opponents, from the inauguration of the movement. but, as there are no arguments in a republican government in favor of an aristocracy of sex, ridicule was really the only available weapon. after declaring "that no just government can be formed without the consent of the governed," "that taxation without representation is tyranny," it is difficult to see on what basis one-half the people are disfranchised. chapter xx. writing "the history of woman suffrage." the four years following the centennial were busy, happy ones, of varied interests and employments, public and private. sons and daughters graduating from college, bringing troops of young friends to visit us; the usual matrimonial entanglements, with all their promises of celestial bliss intertwined with earthly doubts and fears; weddings, voyages to europe, business ventures--in this whirl of plans and projects our heads, hearts, and hands were fully occupied. seven boys and girls dancing round the fireside, buoyant with all life's joys opening before them, are enough to keep the most apathetic parents on the watch-towers by day and anxious even in dreamland by night. my spare time, if it can be said that i ever had any, was given during these days to social festivities. the inevitable dinners, teas, picnics, and dances with country neighbors, all came round in quick succession. we lived, at this time, at tenafly, new jersey, not far from the publisher of the _sun_, isaac w. england, who also had seven boys and girls as full of frolic as our own. mrs. england and i entered into all their games with equal zest. the youngest thought half the fun was to see our enthusiasm in "blindman's buff," "fox and geese," and "bean bags." it thrills me with delight, even now, to see these games! mr. england was the soul of hospitality. he was never more happy than when his house was crowded with guests, and his larder with all the delicacies of the season. though he and mr. stanton were both connected with that dignified journal, the new york _sun_, yet they often joined in the general hilarity. i laugh, as i write, at the memory of all the frolics we had on the blue hills of jersey. in addition to the domestic cares which a large family involved, mrs. gage, miss anthony, and i were already busy collecting material for "the history of woman suffrage." this required no end of correspondence. then my lecturing trips were still a part of the annual programme. washington conventions, too, with calls, appeals, resolutions, speeches and hearings before the committees of congress and state legislatures, all these came round in the year's proceedings as regularly as pumpkin pies for thanksgiving, plum pudding for christmas, and patriotism for washington's birthday. those who speak for glory or philanthropy are always in demand for college commencements and fourth of july orations, hence much of miss anthony's eloquence, as well as my own, was utilized in this way. on october , , i had an impromptu dinner party. elizabeth boynton harbert, may wright thompson (now sewall), phoebe w. couzins, and arethusa forbes, returning from a boston convention, all by chance met under my roof. we had a very merry time talking over the incidents of the convention, boston proprieties, and the general situation. as i gave them many early reminiscences, they asked if i had kept a diary. "no," i said, "not a pen scratch of the past have i except what might be gathered from many family letters." they urged me to begin a diary at once; so i promised i would on my coming birthday. my great grief that day was that we were putting in a new range, and had made no preparations for dinner. this completely upset the presiding genius of my culinary department, as she could not give us the bounteous feast she knew was expected on such occasions. i, as usual, when there was any lack in the viands, tried to be as brilliant as possible in conversation; discussing nirvana, karma, reincarnation, and thus turning attention from the evanescent things of earth to the joys of a life to come,--not an easy feat to perform with strong-minded women,--but, in parting, they seemed happy and refreshed, and all promised to come again. but we shall never meet there again, as the old, familiar oaks and the majestic chestnut trees have passed into other hands. strange lovers now whisper their vows of faith and trust under the tree where a most charming wedding ceremony--that of my daughter margaret--was solemnized one bright october day. all nature seemed to do her utmost to heighten the beauty of the occasion. the verdure was brilliant with autumnal tints, the hazy noonday sun lent a peculiar softness to every shadow--even the birds and insects were hushed to silence. as the wedding march rose soft and clear, two stately ushers led the way; then a group of vassar classmates, gayly decked in silks of different colors, followed by the bride and groom. an immense saint bernard dog, on his own account brought up the rear, keeping time with measured tread. he took his seat in full view, watching, alternately, the officiating clergyman, the bride and groom, and guests, as if to say: "what does all this mean?" no one behaved with more propriety and no one looked more radiant than he, with a ray of sunlight on his beautiful coat of long hair, his bright brass collar, and his wonderful head. bruno did not live to see the old home broken up, but sleeps peacefully there, under the chestnut trees, and fills a large place in many of our pleasant memories. on november , , i was sixty-five years old, and, pursuant to my promise, i then began my diary. it was a bright, sunny day, but the frost king was at work; all my grand old trees, that stood like sentinels, to mark the boundary of my domain, were stripped of their foliage, and their brilliant colors had faded into a uniform brown; but the evergreens and the tall, prim cedars held their own, and, when covered with snow, their exquisite beauty brought tears to my eyes. one need never be lonely mid beautiful trees. my thoughts were with my absent children--harriot in france, theodore in germany, margaret with her husband and brother gerrit, halfway across the continent, and bob still in college. i spent the day writing letters and walking up and down the piazza, and enjoyed, from my windows, a glorious sunset. alone, on birthdays or holidays, one is very apt to indulge in sad retrospections. the thought of how much more i might have done for the perfect development of my children than i had accomplished, depressed me. i thought of all the blunders in my own life and in their education. little has been said of the responsibilities of parental life; accordingly little or nothing has been done. i had such visions of parental duties that day that i came to the conclusion that parents never could pay the debt they owe their children for bringing them into this world of suffering, unless they can insure them sound minds in sound bodies, and enough of the good things of this life to enable them to live without a continual struggle for the necessaries of existence. i have no sympathy with the old idea that children owe parents a debt of gratitude for the simple fact of existence, generally conferred without thought and merely for their own pleasure. how seldom we hear of any high or holy preparation for the office of parenthood! here, in the most momentous act of life, all is left to chance. men and women, intelligent and prudent in all other directions, seem to exercise no forethought here, but hand down their individual and family idiosyncrasies in the most reckless mariner. on november the new york _tribune_ announced the death of lucretia mott, eighty-eight years old. having known her in the flush of life, when all her faculties were at their zenith, and in the repose of age, when her powers began to wane, her withdrawal from among us seemed as beautiful and natural as the changing foliage, from summer to autumn, of some grand old oak i have watched and loved. the arrival of miss anthony and mrs. gage, on november , banished all family matters from my mind. what planning, now, for volumes, chapters, footnotes, margins, appendices, paper, and type; of engravings, title, preface, and introduction! i had never thought that the publication of a book required the consideration of such endless details. we stood appalled before the mass of material, growing higher and higher with every mail, and the thought of all the reading involved made us feel as if our lifework lay before us. six weeks of steady labor all day, and often until midnight, made no visible decrease in the pile of documents. however, before the end of the month we had our arrangements all made with publishers and engravers, and six chapters in print. when we began to correct proof we felt as if something was accomplished. thus we worked through the winter and far into the spring, with no change except the washington convention and an occasional evening meeting in new york city. we had frequent visits from friends whom we were glad to see. hither came edward m. davis, sarah pugh, adeline thompson, frederick cabot of boston, dr. william f. channing, and sweet little clara spence, who recited for us some of the most beautiful selections in her repertoire. in addition we had numberless letters from friends and foes, some praising and some condemning our proposed undertaking, and, though much alone, we were kept in touch with the outside world. but so conflicting was the tone of the letters that, if we had not taken a very fair gauge of ourselves and our advisers, we should have abandoned our project and buried all the valuable material collected, to sleep in pine boxes forever. at this time i received a very amusing letter from the rev. robert collyer, on "literary righteousness," quizzing me for using one of his anecdotes in my sketch of lucretia mott, without giving him credit. i laughed him to scorn, that he should have thought it was my duty to have done so. i told him plainly that he belonged to a class of "white male citizens," who had robbed me of all civil and political rights; of property, children, and personal freedom; and now it ill became him to call me to account for using one of his little anecdotes that, ten to one, he had cribbed from some woman. i told him that i considered his whole class as fair game for literary pilfering. that women had been taxed to build colleges to educate men, and if we could pick up a literary crumb that had fallen from their feasts, we surely had a right to it. moreover, i told him that man's duty in the world was to work, to dig and delve for jewels, real and ideal, and lay them at woman's feet, for her to use as she might see fit; that he should feel highly complimented, instead of complaining, that he had written something i thought worth using. he answered like the nobleman he is; susceptible of taking in a new idea. he admitted that, in view of the shortcomings of his entire sex, he had not one word to say in the way of accusation, but lay prostrate at my feet in sackcloth and ashes, wondering that he had not taken my view of the case in starting. only twice in my life have i been accused of quoting without giving due credit. the other case was that of matilda joslyn gage. i had, on two or three occasions, used a motto of hers in autograph books, just as i had sentiments from longfellow, lowell, shakespeare, moses, or paul. in long lyceum trips innumerable autograph books met one at every turn, in the cars, depots, on the platform, at the hotel and in the omnibus. "a sentiment, please," cry half a dozen voices. one writes hastily different sentiments for each. in this way i unfortunately used a pet sentiment of matilda's. so, here and now, i say to my autograph admirers, from new york to san francisco, whenever you see "there is a word sweeter than mother, home, or heaven--that word is liberty," remember it belongs to matilda joslyn gage. i hope, now, that robert and matilda will say, in their posthumous works, that i made the _amende honorable_, as i always strive to do when friends feel they have not been fairly treated. in may, , the first volume of our history appeared; it was an octavo, containing pages, with good paper, good print, handsome engravings, and nicely bound. i welcomed it with the same feeling of love and tenderness as i did my firstborn. i took the same pleasure in hearing it praised and felt the same mortification in hearing it criticised. the most hearty welcome it received was from rev. william henry channing. he wrote us that it was as interesting and fascinating as a novel. he gave it a most flattering notice in one of the london papers. john w. forney, too, wrote a good review and sent a friendly letter. mayo w. hazeltine, one of the ablest critics in this country, in the new york _sun_, also gave it a very careful and complimentary review. in fact, we received far more praise and less blame than we anticipated. we began the second volume in june. in reading over the material concerning woman's work in the war, i felt how little our labors are appreciated. who can sum up all the ills the women of a nation suffer from war? they have all of the misery and none of the glory; nothing to mitigate their weary waiting and watching for the loved ones who will return no more. in the spring of , to vary the monotony of the work on the history, we decided to hold a series of conventions through the new england states. we began during the anniversary week in boston, and had several crowded, enthusiastic meetings in tremont temple. in addition to our suffrage meetings, i spoke before the free religious, moral education, and heredity associations. all our speakers stayed at the parker house, and we had a very pleasant time visiting together in our leisure hours. we were received by governor long, at the state house. he made a short speech, in favor of woman suffrage, in reply to mrs. hooker. we also called on the mayor, at the city hall, and went through jordan & marsh's great mercantile establishment, where the clerks are chiefly young girls, who are well fed and housed, and have pleasant rooms, with a good library, where they sit and read in the evening. we went through the sherborn reformatory prison for women, managed entirely by women. we found it clean and comfortable, more like a pleasant home than a place of punishment. mrs. robinson, miss anthony, and i were invited to dine with the bird club. no woman, other than i, had ever had that honor before. i dined with them in , escorted by "warrington" of the springfield _republican_ and edwin morton. there i met frank sanborn for the first time. frank bird held about the same place in political life in massachusetts, that thurlow weed did in the state of new york for forty years. in the evening we had a crowded reception at the home of mrs. fenno tudor, who occupied a fine old residence facing the common, where we met a large gathering of boston reformers. on decoration day, may , we went to providence, where i was the guest of dr. william f. channing. we had a very successful convention there. senator anthony and ex-governor sprague were in the audience and expressed great pleasure, afterward, in all they had heard. i preached in rev. frederick hinckley's church the previous sunday afternoon. from providence i hurried home, to meet my son theodore and his bride, who had just landed from france. we decorated our house and grounds with chinese lanterns and national flags for their reception. as we had not time to send to new york for bunting, our flags--french and american--were all made of bright red and blue cambric. the effect was fine when they arrived; but, unfortunately, there came up a heavy thunderstorm in the night and so drenched our beautiful flags that they became colorless rags. my little maid announced to me early in the morning that "the french and americans had had a great battle during the night and that the piazza was covered with blood." this was startling news to one just awakening from a sound sleep. "why, emma!" i said, "what do you mean?" "why," she replied, "the rain has washed all the color out of our flags, and the piazza is covered with red and blue streams of water." as the morning sun appeared in all its glory, chasing the dark clouds away, our decorations did indeed look pale and limp, and were promptly removed. i was happily surprised with my tall, stately daughter, marguerite berry. a fine-looking girl of twenty, straight, strong, and sound, modest and pleasing. she can walk miles, sketches from nature with great skill and rapidity, and speaks three languages. i had always said to my sons: "when you marry, choose a woman with a spine and sound teeth; remember the teeth show the condition of the bones in the rest of the body." so, when theodore introduced his wife to me, he said, "you see i have followed your advice; her spine is as straight as it should be, and every tooth in her head as sound as ivory." this reminds me of a young man who used to put my stoves up for the winter. he told me one day that he thought of getting married. "well," i said, "above all things get a wife with a spine and sound teeth." stove pipe in hand he turned to me with a look of surprise, and said: "do they ever come without spines?" in july, , sitting under the trees, miss anthony and i read and discussed wendell phillips' magnificent speech before the phi beta kappa society at harvard college. this society had often talked of inviting him, but was afraid of his radical utterances. at last, hoping that years might have modified his opinions and somewhat softened his speech, an invitation was given. the élite of boston, the presidents and college professors from far and near, were there. a great audience of the wise, the learned, the distinguished in state and church assembled. such a conservative audience, it was supposed, would surely hold this radical in check. alas! they were all doomed, for once, to hear the naked truth, on every vital question of the day. thinking this might be his only opportunity to rouse some liberal thought in conservative minds, he struck the keynote of every reform; defended labor strikes, the nihilists of russia, prohibition, woman suffrage, and demanded reformation in our prisons, courts of justice, and halls of legislation. on the woman question, he said: "social science affirms that woman's place in society marks the level of civilization. from its twilight in greece, through the italian worship of the virgin, the dreams of chivalry, the justice of the civil law, and the equality of french society, we trace her gradual recognition, while our common law, as lord brougham confessed, was, with relation to women, the opprobrium of the age of christianity. for forty years earnest men and women, working noiselessly, have washed away the opprobrium, the statute books of thirty states have been remodeled, and woman stands, to-day, almost face to face with her last claim--the ballot. it has been a weary and thankless, though successful struggle. but if there be any refuge from that ghastly curse, the vice of great cities, before which social science stands palsied and dumb, it is in this more equal recognition of women. "if, in this critical battle for universal suffrage, our fathers' noblest legacy to us and the greatest trust god leaves in our hands, there be any weapon, which, once taken from the armory, will make victory certain, it will be as it has been in art, literature, and society, summoning woman into the political arena. the literary class, until within half a dozen years, has taken no note of this great uprising; only to fling every obstacle in its way. "the first glimpse we get of saxon blood in history is that line of tacitus in his 'germany,' which reads, 'in all grave matters they consult their women.' years hence, when robust saxon sense has flung away jewish superstition and eastern prejudice, and put under its foot fastidious scholarship and squeamish fashion, some second tacitus from the valley of the mississippi will answer to him of the seven hills: 'in all grave questions, we consult our women.' "if the alps, piled in cold and silence, be the emblem of despotism, we joyfully take the ever restless ocean for ours, only pure because never still. to be as good as our fathers, we must be better. they silenced their fears and subdued their prejudices, inaugurating free speech and equality with no precedent on the file. let us rise to their level, crush appetite, and prohibit temptation if it rots great cities; intrench labor in sufficient bulwarks against that wealth which, without the tenfold strength of modern incorporations, wrecked the grecian and roman states; and, with a sterner effort still, summon woman into civil life, as re-enforcement to our laboring ranks, in the effort to make our civilization a success. sit not like the figure on our silver coin, looking ever backward. "'new occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth, they must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth. lo! before us gleam her watch fires-- we ourselves must pilgrims be, launch our _mayflower_, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, nor attempt the future's portal with the past's blood-rusted key.'" that harvard speech in the face of fashion, bigotry, and conservatism--so liberal, so eloquent, so brave--is a model for every young man, who, like the orator, would devote his talents to the best interests of the race, rather than to his personal ambition for mere worldly success. toward the end of october, miss anthony returned, after a rest of two months, and we commenced work again on the second volume of the history. november being election day, the republican carriage, decorated with flags and evergreens, came to the door for voters. as i owned the house and paid the taxes, and as none of the white males was home, i suggested that i might go down and do the voting, whereupon the gentlemen who represented the republican committee urged me, most cordially, to do so. accompanied by my faithful friend, miss anthony, we stepped into the carriage and went to the poll, held in the hotel where i usually went to pay taxes. when we entered the room it was crowded with men. i was introduced to the inspectors by charles everett, one of our leading citizens, who said: "mrs. stanton is here, gentlemen, for the purpose of voting. as she is a taxpayer, of sound mind, and of legal age, i see no reason why she should not exercise this right of citizenship." the inspectors were thunderstruck. i think they were afraid that i was about to capture the ballot box. one placed his arms round it, with one hand close over the aperture where the ballots were slipped in, and said, with mingled surprise and pity, "oh, no, madam! men only are allowed to vote." i then explained to him that, in accordance with the constitution of new jersey, women had voted in new jersey down to , when they were forbidden the further exercise of the right by an arbitrary act of the legislature, and, by a recent amendment to the national constitution, congress had declared that "all persons born or naturalized in the united states, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the united states and of the state wherein they reside" and are entitled to vote. i told them that i wished to cast my vote, as a citizen of the united states, for the candidates for united states offices. two of the inspectors sat down and pulled their hats over their eyes, whether from shame or ignorance i do not know. the other held on to the box, and said "i know nothing about the constitutions, state or national. i never read either; but i do know that in new jersey, women have not voted in my day, and i cannot accept your ballot." so i laid my ballot in his hand, saying that i had the same right to vote that any man present had, and on him must rest the responsibility of denying me my rights of citizenship. all through the winter miss anthony and i worked diligently on the history. my daughter harriot came from europe in february, determined that i should return with her, as she had not finished her studies. to expedite my task on the history she seized the laboring oar, prepared the last chapter and corrected the proof as opportunity offered. as the children were scattered to the four points of the compass and my husband spent the winter in the city, we decided to lease our house and all take a holiday. we spent a month in new york city, busy on the history to the last hour, with occasional intervals of receiving and visiting friends. as i dreaded the voyage, the days flew by too fast for my pleasure. chapter xxi. in the south of france. having worked diligently through nearly two years on the second volume of "the history of woman suffrage," i looked forward with pleasure to a rest, in the old world, beyond the reach and sound of my beloved susan and the woman suffrage movement. on may , , i sailed with my daughter harriot on the _château léoville_ for bordeaux. the many friends who came to see us off brought fruits and flowers, boxes of candied ginger to ward off seasickness, letters of introduction, and light literature for the voyage. we had all the daily and weekly papers, secular and religious, the new monthly magazines, and several novels. we thought we would do an immense amount of reading, but we did very little. eating, sleeping, walking on deck, and watching the ever-changing ocean are about all that most people care to do. the sail down the harbor that bright, warm evening was beautiful, and, we lingered on deck in the moonlight until a late hour. i slept but little, that night, as two cats kept running in and out of my stateroom, and my berth was so narrow that i could only lie in one position--as straight as if already in my coffin. under such circumstances i spent the night, thinking over everything that was painful in my whole life, and imagining all the different calamities that might befall my family in my absence. it was a night of severe introspection and intense dissatisfaction. i was glad when the morning dawned and i could go on deck. during the day my couch was widened one foot, and, at night, the cats relegated to other quarters. we had a smooth, pleasant, uneventful voyage, until the last night, when, on nearing the french coast, the weather became dark and stormy. the next morning our good steamer pushed slowly and carefully up the broad, muddy gironde and landed us on the bustling quays of bordeaux, where my son theodore stood waiting to receive us. as we turned to say farewell to our sturdy ship--gazing up at its black iron sides besprinkled with salty foam--a feeling of deep thankfulness took possession of us, for she had been faithful to her trust, and had borne us safely from the new world to the old, over thousands of miles of treacherous sea. we spent a day in driving about bordeaux, enjoying the mere fact of restoration to _terra firma_ after twelve days' imprisonment on the ocean. maritime cities are much the same all the world over. the forests of masts, the heavily laden drays, the lounging sailors, the rough 'longshoremen, and the dirty quays, are no more characteristic of bordeaux than new york, london, and liverpool. but bordeaux was interesting as the birthplace of montesquieu and as the capital of ancient guienne and gascony. but i must not forget to mention an accident that happened on landing at bordeaux. we had innumerable pieces of baggage, a baby carriage, rocking chair, a box of "the history of woman suffrage" for foreign libraries, besides the usual number of trunks and satchels, and one hamper, in which were many things we were undecided whether to take or leave. into this, a loaded pistol had been carelessly thrown. the hamper being handled with an emphatic jerk by some jovial french sailor, the pistol exploded, shooting the bearer through the shoulder. he fell bleeding on the quay. the dynamite scare being just at its height, the general consternation was indescribable. every frenchman, with vehement gestures, was chattering to his utmost capacity, but keeping at a respectful distance from the hamper. no one knew what had caused the trouble; but theodore was bound to make an investigation. he proceeded to untie the ropes and examine the contents, and there he found the pistol, from which, pointing upward, he fired two other bullets. "alas!" said hattie, "i put that pistol there, never dreaming it was loaded." the wounded man was taken to the hospital. his injuries were very slight, but the incident cost us two thousand francs and no end of annoyance. i was thankful that by some chance the pistol had not gone off in the hold of the vessel and set the ship on fire, and possibly sacrificed three hundred lives through one girl's carelessness. verily we cannot be too careful in the use of firearms. bordeaux is a queer old town, with its innumerable soldiers and priests perambulating in all directions. the priests, in long black gowns and large black hats, have a solemn aspect; but the soldiers, walking lazily along, or guarding buildings that seem in no danger from any living thing, are useless and ridiculous. the heavy carts and harness move the unaccustomed observer to constant pity for the horses. besides everything that is necessary for locomotion, they have an endless number of ornaments, rising two or three feet above the horses' heads--horns, bells, feathers, and tassels. one of their carts would weigh as much as three of ours, and all their carriages are equally heavy. it was a bright, cool day on which we took the train for toulouse, and we enjoyed the delightful run through the very heart of old gascony and languedoc. it was evident that we were in the south, where the sun is strong, for, although summer had scarcely begun, the country already wore a brown hue. but the narrow strips of growing grain, the acres of grape vines, looking like young currant bushes, and the fig trees scattered here and there, looked odd to the eye of a native of new york. we passed many historical spots during that afternoon journey up the valley of the garonne. at portets are the ruins of the château of langoiran, built before america was discovered, and, a few miles farther on, we came to the region of the famous wines of sauterne and château-yquem. saint macaire is a very ancient gallo-roman town, where they show one churches, walls, and houses built fifteen centuries ago. one of the largest towns has a history typical of this part of france, where wars of religion and conquest were once the order of the day. it was taken and retaken by the goths, huns, burgundians, and saracens, nobody knows how many times, and belonged, successively, to the kings of france, to the dukes of aquitaine, to the kings of england, and to the counts of toulouse. i sometimes wonder whether the inhabitants of our american towns, whose growth and development have been free and untrammeled as that of a favorite child, appreciate the blessings that have been theirs. how true the lines of goethe: "america, thou art much happier than our old continent; thou hast no castles in ruins, no fortresses; no useless remembrances, no vain enemies will interrupt the inward workings of thy life!" we passed through moissac, with its celebrated organ, a gift of mazarin; through castle sarrazin, founded by the saracens in the eighth century; through montauban, that stronghold of the early protestants, which suffered martyrdom for its religious faith; through grisolles, built on a roman highway, and, at last, in the dusk of the evening, we reached "the capital of the south," that city of learning--curious, interesting old toulouse. laura curtis bullard, in her sketch of me in "our famous women," says: "in , mrs. stanton went to france, on a visit to her son theodore, and spent three months at the convent of la sagesse, in the city of toulouse." this is quite true; but i have sometimes tried to guess what her readers thought i was doing for three months in a convent. weary of the trials and tribulations of this world, had i gone there to prepare in solitude for the next? had i taken the veil in my old age? or, like high-church anglicans and roman catholics, had i made this my retreat? not at all. my daughter wished to study french advantageously, my son lived in the mountains hard by, and the garden of la sagesse, with its big trees, clean gravel paths, and cool shade, was the most delightful spot. in this religious retreat i met, from time to time, some of the most radical and liberal-minded residents of the south. toulouse is one of the most important university centers of france, and bears with credit the proud title of "the learned city." with two distinguished members of the faculty, the late dr. nicholas joly and professor moliner of the law school, i often had most interesting discussions on all the great questions of the hour. that three heretics--i should say, six, for my daughter, son, and his wife often joined the circle--could thus sit in perfect security, and debate, in the most unorthodox fashion, in these holy precincts, all the reforms, social, political, and religious, which the united states and france need in order to be in harmony with the spirit of the age, was a striking proof of the progress the world has made in freedom of speech. the time was when such acts would have cost us our lives, even if we had been caught expressing our heresies in the seclusion of our own homes. but here, under the oaks of a catholic convent, with the gray-robed sisters all around us, we could point out the fallacies of romanism itself, without fear or trembling. glorious nineteenth century, what conquests are thine! i shall say nothing of the picturesque streets of antique toulouse; nothing of the priests, who swarm like children in an english town; nothing of the beautifully carved stone façades of the ancient mansions, once inhabited by the nobility of languedoc, but now given up to trade and commerce; nothing of the lofty brick cathedrals, whose exteriors remind one of london and whose interiors transfer you to "the gorgeous east"; nothing of the capitol, with its gallery rich in busts of the celebrated sons of the south; nothing of the museum, the public garden, and the broad river winding through all. i must leave all these interesting features of toulouse and hasten up into the black mountains, a few miles away, where i saw the country life of modern languedoc. at jacournassy, the country seat of mme. berry, whose daughter my son theodore married, i spent a month full of surprises. how everything differed from america, and even from the plain below! the peasants, many of them at least, can neither speak french nor understand it. their language is a patois, resembling both spanish and italian, and they cling to it with astonishing pertinacity. their agricultural implements are not less quaint than their speech. the plow is a long beam with a most primitive share in the middle, a cow at one end, and a boy at the other. the grain is cut with a sickle and threshed with a flail on the barn floor, as in scripture times. manure is scattered over the fields with the hands. there was a certain pleasure in studying these old-time ways. i caught glimpses of the anti-revolutionary epoch, when the king ruled the state and the nobles held the lands. here again i saw, as never before, what vast strides the world has made within one century. but, indoors, one returns to modern times. the table, beds, rooms of the château were much the same as those of toulouse and new york city. the cooking is not like ours, however, unless delmonico's skill be supposed to have extended to all the homes in manhattan island, which is, unfortunately, not the case. what an admirable product of french genius is the art of cooking! of incalculable value have been the culinary teachings of vatel and his followers. one of the sources of amusement, during my sojourn at jacournassy, was of a literary nature. my son theodore was then busy collecting the materials for his book entitled "the woman question in europe," and every post brought in manuscripts and letters from all parts of the continent, written in almost every tongue known to babel. so just what i came abroad to avoid, i found on the very threshold where i came to rest. we had good linguists at the château, and every document finally came forth in english dress, which, however, often needed much altering and polishing. this was my part of the work. so, away off in the heart of france, high up in the black mountains, surrounded with french-speaking relatives and patois-speaking peasants, i found myself once more putting bad english into the best i could command, just as i had so often done in america, when editor of _the revolution_, or when arranging manuscript for "the history of woman suffrage." but it was labor in the cause of my sex; it was aiding in the creation of "the woman question in europe," and so my pen did not grow slack nor my hand weary. the scenery in the black mountains is very grand, and reminds one of the lofty ranges of mountains around the yosemite valley in california. in the distance are the snow-capped pyrenees, producing a solemn beauty, a profound solitude. we used to go every evening where we could see the sun set and watch the changing shadows in the broad valley below. another great pleasure here was watching the gradual development of my first grandchild, elizabeth cady stanton, born at paris, on the d of may, . she was a fine child; though only three months old her head was covered with dark hair, and her large blue eyes looked out with intense earnestness from beneath her well-shaped brow. one night i had a terrible fright. i was the only person sleeping on the ground floor of the château, and my room was at the extreme end of the building, with the staircase on the other side. i had frequently been cautioned not to leave my windows open, as someone might get in. but, as i always slept with an open window, winter and summer, i thought i would take the risk rather than endure a feeling of suffocation night after night. the blinds were solid, and to close them was to exclude all the air, so i left them open about a foot, braced by an iron hook. a favorite resort for a pet donkey was under my window, where he had uniformly slept in profound silence. but one glorious moonlight night, probably to arouse me to enjoy with him the exquisite beauty of our surroundings, he put his nose through this aperture and gave one of the most prolonged, resounding brays i ever heard. startled from a deep sleep, i was so frightened that at first i could not move. my next impulse was to rush out and arouse the family, but, seeing a dark head in the window, i thought i would slam down the heavy sash and check the intruder before starting. but just as i approached the window, another agonizing bray announced the innocent character of my midnight visitor. stretching out of the window to frighten him away, a gentleman in the room above me, for the same purpose, dashed down a pail of water, which the donkey and i shared equally. he ran off at a double-quick pace, while i made a hasty retreat. on august , i returned to toulouse and our quiet convent. the sisters gave me a most affectionate welcome and i had many pleasant chats, sitting in the gardens, with the priests and professors. several times my daughter and i attended high mass in the cathedral, built in the eleventh century. being entirely new to us it was a most entertaining spectacular performance. with our american ideas of religious devotion, it seemed to us that the people, as well as the building, belonged to the dark ages. about fifty priests, in mantles, gowns, and capes, some black, some yellow,--with tinseled fringes and ornamentation,--with all manner of gestures, genuflections, salutations, kneelings, and burning of incense; with prayers, admonitions, and sacraments, filled the altar with constant motion. a tall man, dressed in red, wheeled in a large basket filled with bread, which the priests, with cups of wine, passed up and down among those kneeling at the altar. at least half a dozen times the places at the altar were filled--chiefly with women. we counted the men,--only seven,--and those were old and tremulous, with one foot in the grave. the whole performance was hollow and mechanical. people walked in, crossed themselves at the door with holy water, and, while kneeling and saying their prayers, looked about examining the dress of each newcomer, their lips moving throughout, satisfied in reeling off the allotted number of prayers in a given time. the one redeeming feature in the whole performance was the grand music. the deep-toned organ, whose sounds reverberated through the lofty arches, was very impressive. the convent consisted of three large buildings, each three stories high, and a residence for the priests; also a chapel, where women, at their devotions, might be seen at various hours from four o'clock in the morning until evening. inclosed within a high stone wall were beautiful gardens with fountains and shrines, where images of departed saints, in alcoves lighted with tapers were worshiped on certain days of the year. such were our environments, and our minds naturally often dwelt on the nature and power of the religion that had built up and maintained for centuries these peaceful resorts, where cultivated, scholarly men, and women of fine sensibilities, could find rest from the struggles of the outside world. the sisters, who managed this large establishment, seemed happy in the midst of their severe and multifarious duties. of the undercurrent of their lives i could not judge, but on the surface all seemed smooth and satisfactory. they evidently took great pleasure in the society of each other. every evening, from six to eight, they all sat in the gardens in a circle together, sewing, knitting, and chatting, with occasional merry bursts of laughter. their existence is not, by many degrees, as monotonous as that of most women in isolated households--especially of the farmer's wife in her solitary home, miles away from a village and a post office. they taught a school of fifty orphan girls, who lived in the convent, and for whom they frequently had entertainments. they also had a few boarders of the old aristocracy of france, who hate the republic and still cling to their belief in popes and kings. for the purpose of perfecting herself in the language, my daughter embraced every opportunity to talk with all she met, and thus learned the secrets of their inner life. as sister rose spoke english, i gleaned from her what knowledge i could as to their views of time and eternity. i found their faith had not made much progress through the terrible upheavals of the french revolution. although the jesuits have been driven out of france, and the pictures of saints, the virgin mary, and christ, have been banished from the walls of their schools and colleges, the sincere catholics are more devoted to their religion because of these very persecutions. theodore, his wife, and baby, and mr. blatch, a young englishman, came to visit us. the sisters and school children manifested great delight in the baby, and the former equal pleasure in mr. blatch's marked attention to my daughter, as babies and courtships were unusual tableaux in a convent. as my daughter was studying for a university degree in mathematics, i went with her to the lycée, a dreary apartment in a gloomy old building with bare walls, bare floors, dilapidated desks and benches, and an old rusty stove. yet mid such surroundings, the professor always appeared in full dress, making a stately bow to his class. i had heard so much of the universities of france that i had pictured to myself grand buildings, like those of our universities; but, instead, i found that the lectures were given in isolated rooms, here, there, and anywhere--uniformly dreary inside and outside. the first day we called on professor depesyrons. after making all our arrangements for books and lectures, he suddenly turned to my daughter, and, pointing to the flounces on her dress, her jaunty hat, and some flowers in a buttonhole, he smiled, and said: "all this, and yet you love mathematics?" as we entered the court, on our way to the lycée and inquired for the professor's lecture room, the students in little groups watched us closely. the one who escorted us asked several questions, and discovered, by our accent, that we were foreigners, a sufficient excuse for the novelty of our proceeding. the professor received us most graciously, and ordered the janitor to bring us chairs, table, paper, and pencils. then we chatted pleasantly until the hour arrived for his lecture. as i had but little interest in the subject, and as the problems were pronounced in a foreign tongue, i took my afternoon nap. there was no danger of affronting the professor by such indifference to his eloquence, as he faced the blackboard, filling it with signs and figures as rapidly as possible; then expunging them to refill again and again, without a break in his explanations; talking as fast as his hand moved. harriot struggled several days to follow him, but found it impossible, so we gave up the chase after cubes and squares, and she devoted herself wholly to the study of the language. these were days, for me, of perfect rest and peace. everything moved as if by magic, no hurry and bustle, never a cross or impatient word spoken. as only one or two of the sisters spoke english, i could read under the trees uninterruptedly for hours. emerson, ruskin, and carlyle were my chosen companions. we made several pleasant acquaintances among some irish families who were trying to live on their reduced incomes in toulouse. one of these gave us a farewell ball. as several companies of the french army were stationed there, we met a large number of officers at the ball. i had always supposed the french were graceful dancers. i was a quiet "looker on in vienna," so i had an opportunity of comparing the skill of the different nationalities. all admitted that none glided about so easily and gracefully as the americans. they seemed to move without the least effort, while the english, the french, and the germans labored in their dancing, bobbing up and down, jumping and jerking, out of breath and red in the face in five minutes. one great pleasure we had in toulouse was the music of the military band in the public gardens, where, for half a cent, we could have a chair and enjoy pure air and sweet music for two hours. we gave a farewell dinner at the tivollier hotel to some of our friends. with speeches and toasts we had a merry time. professor joly was the life of the occasion. he had been a teacher in france for forty years and had just retired on a pension. i presented to him "the history of woman suffrage," and he wrote a most complimentary review of it in one of the leading french journals. every holiday must have its end. other duties called me to england. so, after a hasty good-by to jacournassy and la sagesse, to the black mountains and toulouse, to languedoc and the south, we took train one day in october, just as the first leaves began to fall, and, in fourteen hours, were at paris. i had not seen the beautiful french capital since . my sojourn within its enchanting walls was short,--too short,--and i woke one morning to find myself, after an absence of forty-two years, again on the shores of england, and before my eyes were fairly open, grim old london welcomed me back. but the many happy hours spent in "merry england" during the winter of - have not effaced from my memory the four months in languedoc. chapter xxii. reforms and reformers in great britain. reaching london in the fogs and mists of november, , the first person i met, after a separation of many years, was our revered and beloved friend william henry channing. the tall, graceful form was somewhat bent; the sweet, thoughtful face somewhat sadder; the crimes and miseries of the world seemed heavy on his heart. with his refined, nervous organization, the gloomy moral and physical atmosphere of london was the last place on earth where that beautiful life should have ended. i found him in earnest conversation with my daughter and the young englishman she was soon to marry, advising them not only as to the importance of the step they were about to take, but as to the minor points to be observed in the ceremony. at the appointed time a few friends gathered in portland street chapel, and as we approached the altar our friend appeared in surplice and gown, his pale, spiritual face more tender and beautiful than ever. this was the last marriage service he ever performed, and it was as pathetic as original. his whole appearance was so in harmony with the exquisite sentiments he uttered, that we who listened felt as if, for the time being, we had entered with him into the holy of holies. some time after, miss anthony and i called on him to return our thanks for the very complimentary review he had written of "the history of woman suffrage." he thanked us in turn for the many pleasant memories we had revived in those pages, "but," said he, "they have filled me with indignation, too, at the repeated insults offered to women so earnestly engaged in honest endeavors for the uplifting of mankind. i blushed for my sex more than once in reading these volumes." we lingered long, talking over the events connected with our great struggle for freedom. he dwelt with tenderness on our disappointments, and entered more fully into the humiliations suffered by women, than any man we ever met. his views were as appreciative of the humiliation of woman, through the degradation of sex, as those expressed by john stuart mill in his wonderful work on "the subjection of women." he was intensely interested in frances power cobbe's efforts to suppress vivisection, and the last time i saw him he was presiding at a parlor meeting where dr. elizabeth blackwell gave an admirable address on the cause and cure of the social evil. mr. channing spoke beautifully in closing, paying a warm and merited compliment to dr. blackwell's clear and concise review of all the difficulties involved in the question. reading so much of english reformers in our journals, of the brights, mclarens, the taylors; of lydia becker, josephine butler, and octavia hill, and of their great demonstrations with lords and members of parliament in the chair,--we had longed to compare the actors in those scenes with our speakers on this side of the water. at last we met them one and all in great public meetings and parlor reunions, at dinners and receptions. we listened to their public men in parliament, the courts, and the pulpit; to the women in their various assemblies; and came to the conclusion that americans surpass them in oratory and the conduct of their meetings. a hesitating, apologetic manner seems to be the national custom for an exordium on all questions. even their ablest men who have visited this country, such as kingsley, stanley, arnold, tyndall, and coleridge, have all been criticised by the american public for their elocutionary defects. they have no speakers to compare with wendell phillips, george william curtis, or anna dickinson, although john bright is without peer among his countrymen, as is mrs. besant among the women. the women, as a general rule, are more fluent than the men. i reached england in time to attend the great demonstration in glasgow, to celebrate the extension of the municipal franchise to the women of scotland. it was a remarkable occasion. st. andrew's immense hall was packed with women; a few men were admitted to the gallery at half a crown apiece. over five thousand people were present. when a scotch audience is thoroughly roused, nothing can equal the enthusiasm. the arrival of the speakers on the platform was announced with the wildest applause; the entire audience rising, waving their handkerchiefs, and clapping their hands, and every compliment paid the people of scotland was received with similar outbursts. mrs. mclaren, a sister of john bright, presided, and made the opening speech. i had the honor, on this occasion, of addressing an audience for the first time in the old world. many others spoke briefly. there were too many speakers; no one had time to warm up to the point of eloquence. our system of conventions, of two or three days' duration, with long speeches discussing pointed and radical resolutions, is quite unknown in england. their meetings consist of one session of a few hours, into which they crowd all the speakers they can summon. they have a few tame, printed resolutions, on which there can be no possible difference of opinion, with the names of those who are to speak appended. each of these is read and a few short speeches are made, that may or may not have the slightest reference to the resolutions, which are then passed. the last is usually one of thanks to some lord or member of the house of commons, who may have condescended to preside at the meeting or do something for the measure in parliament. the queen is referred to tenderly in most of the speeches, although she has never done anything to merit the approbation of the advocates of suffrage for women. from glasgow quite a large party of the brights and mclarens went to edinburgh, where the hon. duncan mclaren gave us a warm welcome to newington house, under the very shadow of the salisbury crags. these and the pentland hills are remarkable features in the landscape as you approach this beautiful city with its mountains and castles. we passed a few charming days driving about, visiting old friends, and discussing the status of woman on both sides of the atlantic. here we met elizabeth pease nichol and jane and eliza wigham, whom i had not seen since we sat together in the world's anti-slavery convention, in london, in . yet i knew mrs. nichol at once; her strongly marked face was not readily forgotten. i went with the family on sunday to the friends' meeting, where a most unusual manifestation for that decorous sect occurred. i had been told that, if i felt inclined, it would be considered quite proper for me to make some remarks, and just as i was revolving an opening sentence to a few thoughts i desired to present, a man arose in a remote part of the house and began, in a low voice, to give his testimony as to the truth that was in him. all eyes were turned toward him, when suddenly a friend leaned over the back of the seat, seized his coat tails and jerked him down in a most emphatic manner. the poor man buried his face in his hands, and maintained a profound silence. i learned afterward that he was a bore, and the friend in the rear thought it wise to nip him in the bud. this scene put to flight all intentions of speaking on my part lest i, too, might get outside the prescribed limits and be suppressed by force. i dined, that day, with mrs. nichol, at huntly lodge, where she has entertained in turn many of our american reformers. her walls have echoed to the voices of garrison, rogers, samuel j. may, parker pillsbury, henry c. wright, douglass, remond, and hosts of english philanthropists. though over eighty years of age, she was still awake to all questions of the hour, and generous in her hospitalities as of yore. mrs. margaret lucas, whose whole soul was in the temperance movement, escorted me from edinburgh to manchester, to be present at another great demonstration in the town hall, the finest building in that district. it had just been completed, and, with its ante-room, dining hall, and various apartments for social entertainments, was by far the most perfect hall i had seen in england. there i was entertained by mrs. matilda roby, who, with her husband, gave me a most hospitable reception. she invited several friends to luncheon one day, among others miss lydia becker, editor of the _suffrage journal_ in that city, and the rev. mr. steinthal, who had visited this country and spoken on our platform. the chief topic at the table was john stuart mill, his life, character, writings, and his position with reference to the political rights of women. in the evening we went to see ristori in '"queen elizabeth." having seen her, many years before, in america, i was surprised to find her still so vigorous. and thus, week after week, suffrage meetings, receptions, dinners, luncheons, and theaters pleasantly alternated. the following sunday we heard in london a grand sermon from moncure d. conway, and had a pleasant interview with him and mrs. conway at the close of the session. later we spent a few days at their artistic home, filled with books, pictures, and mementos from loving friends. a billiard room, with well-worn cues, balls, and table--quite a novel adjunct to a parsonage--may, in a measure, account for his vigorous sermons. a garden reception to mr. and mrs. howells gave us an opportunity to see the american novelist surrounded by his english friends. soon after this mr. conway asked me to fill his pulpit. i retired saturday night, very nervous over my sermon for the next day, and the feeling steadily increased until i reached the platform; but once there my fears were all dissipated, and i never enjoyed speaking more than on that occasion, for i had been so long oppressed with the degradation of woman under canon law and church discipline, that i had a sense of relief in pouring out my indignation. my theme was, "what has christianity done for woman?" and by the facts of history i showed clearly that to no form of religion was woman indebted for one impulse of freedom, as all alike have taught her inferiority and subjection. no lofty virtues can emanate from such a condition. whatever heights of dignity and purity women have individually attained can in no way be attributed to the dogmas of their religion. with my son theodore, always deeply interested in my friends and public work, i called, during my stay in london, on mrs. grey, miss jessie boucherett, and dr. hoggan, who had written essays for "the woman question in europe"; on our american minister (mr. lowell), mr. and mrs. george w. smalley, and many other notable men and women. by appointment we had an hour with the hon. john bright, at his residence on piccadilly. as his photograph, with his fame, had reached america, his fine face and head, as well as his political opinions, were quite familiar to us. he received us with great cordiality, and manifested a clear knowledge and deep interest in regard to all american affairs. free trade and woman suffrage formed the basis of our conversation; the literature of our respective countries and our great men and women were the lighter topics of the occasion. he was not sound in regard to the political rights of women, but it is not given to any one man to be equally clear on all questions. he voted for john stuart mill's amendment to the household suffrage bill in , but he said, "that was a personal favor to a friend, without any strong convictions as to the merits of what i considered a purely sentimental measure." we attended the meeting called to rejoice over the passage of the married women's property bill, which gave to the women of england, in , what we had enjoyed in many states in this country since . mrs. jacob bright, mrs. scatcherd, mrs. elmy, and several members of parliament made short speeches of congratulation to those who had been instrumental in carrying the measure. it was generally conceded that to the tact and persistence of mrs. jacob bright, more than to any other person, belonged the credit of that achievement. jacob bright was at the time a member of parliament, and fully in sympathy with the bill; and, while mrs. bright exerted all her social influence to make it popular with the members, her husband, thoroughly versed in parliamentary tactics, availed himself of every technicality to push the bill through the house of commons. mrs. bright's chief object in securing this bill, aside from establishing the right that every human being has to his own property, was to place married women on an even plane with widows and spinsters, thereby making them qualified voters. the next day we went out to barn elms to visit mr. and mrs. charles mclaren. he was a member of parliament, a quaker by birth and education, and had sustained, to his uttermost ability, the suffrage movement. his charming wife, the daughter of mrs. pochin, is worthy of the noble mother who was among the earliest leaders on that question--speaking and writing with ability, on all phases of the subject. barn elms is a grand old estate, a few miles out of london. it was the dairy farm of queen elizabeth, and was presented by her to sir francis walsingham. since then it has been inhabited by many persons of note. it has existed as an estate since the time of the early saxon kings, and the record of the sale of barn elms in the time of king athelstane is still extant. what with its well-kept lawns, fine old trees, glimpses here and there of the thames winding round its borders, and its wealth of old associations, it is, indeed, a charming spot. our memory of those days will not go back to saxon kings, but remain with the liberal host and hostess, the beautiful children, and the many charming acquaintances we met at that fireside. i doubt whether any of the ancient lords and ladies who dispensed their hospitalities under that roof did in any way surpass the present occupants. mrs. mclaren, interested in all the reforms of the day, is radical in her ideas, a brilliant talker, and, for one so young, remarkably well informed on all political questions. it was at barn elms i met, for the first time, mrs. fannie hertz, to whom i was indebted for many pleasant acquaintances afterward. she is said to know more distinguished literary people than any other woman in london. i saw her, too, several times in her home; meeting, at her sunday-afternoon receptions, many persons i was desirous to know. on one occasion i found george jacob holyoake there, surrounded by several young ladies, all stoutly defending the nihilists in russia, and their right to plot their way to freedom. they counted a dynasty of czars as nothing in the balance with the liberties of a whole people. as i joined the circle, mr. holyoake called my attention to the fact that he was the only one in favor of peaceful measures. "now," said he, "i have often heard it said on your platform that the feminine element in politics would bring about perpetual peace in government, and here all these ladies are advocating: the worst forms of violence in the name of liberty." "ah!" said i, "lay on their shoulders the responsibility of governing, and they would soon become as mild and conservative as you seem to be." he then gave us his views on co-operation, the only remedy for many existing evils, which he thought would be the next step toward a higher civilization. there, too, i met some positivists, who, though liberal on religious questions, were very narrow as to the sphere of woman. the difference in sex, which is the very reason why men and women should be associated in all forms of activity, is to them the strongest reason why they should be separated. mrs. hertz belongs to the harrison school of positivists. i went with her to one of mrs. orr's receptions, where we met robert browning, a fine-looking man of seventy years, with white hair and mustache. he was frank, easy, playful, and brilliant in conversation. mrs. orr seemed to be taking a very pessimistic view of our present sphere of action, which mr. browning, with poetic coloring, was trying to paint more hopefully. the next day i dined with margaret bright lucas, in company with john p. thomasson, member of parliament, and his wife, and, afterward, we went to the house of commons and had the good fortune to hear gladstone, parnell, and sir charles dilke. seeing bradlaugh seated outside of the charmed circle, i sent my card to him, and, in the corridor, we had a few moments' conversation. i asked him if he thought he would eventually get his seat. he replied, "most assuredly i will. i shall open the next campaign with such an agitation as will rouse our politicians to some consideration of the changes gradually coming over the face of things in this country." the place assigned ladies in the house of commons is really a disgrace to a country ruled by a queen. this dark perch is the highest gallery, immediately over the speaker's desk and government seats, behind a fine wire netting, so that it is quite impossible to see or hear anything. the sixteen persons who can crowd into the front row, by standing with their noses partly through the open network, can have the satisfaction of seeing the cranial arch of their rulers and hearing an occasional paean to liberty, or an irish growl at the lack of it. i was told that this network was to prevent the members on the floor from being disturbed by the beauty of the women. on hearing this i remarked that i was devoutly thankful that our american men were not so easily disturbed, and that the beauty of our women was not of so dangerous a type. i could but contrast our spacious galleries in that magnificent capitol at washington, as well as in our grand state capitols, where hundreds of women can sit at their ease and see and hear their rulers, with these dark, dingy buildings. my son, who had a seat on the floor just opposite the ladies' gallery, said he could compare our appearance to nothing but birds in a cage. he could not distinguish an outline of anybody. all he could see was the moving of feathers and furs or some bright ribbon or flower. in the libraries, the courts, and the house of lords, i found many suggestive subjects of thought. it was interesting to find, on the frescoed walls, many historical scenes in which women had taken a prominent part. among others there was jane lane assisting charles ii. to escape, and alice lisle concealing the fugitives after the battle of sedgemoor. six wives of henry viii. stood forth, a solemn pageant when one recalled their sad fate. alas! whether for good or ill, women must ever fill a large space in the tragedies of the world. i passed a few pleasant hours in the house where macaulay spent his last years. the once spacious library and the large bow-window, looking out on a beautiful lawn, where he sat, from day to day, writing his glowing periods, possessed a peculiar charm for me, as the surroundings of genius always do. i thought, as i stood there, how often he had unconsciously gazed on each object in searching for words rich enough to gild his ideas. the house was owned and occupied by mr. and mrs. stephen winckworth. it was at one of their sociable sunday teas that many pleasant memories of the great historian were revived. one of the most remarkable and genial women i met was miss frances power cobbe. she called one afternoon, and sipped with me the five o'clock tea, a uniform practice in england. she was of medium height, stout, rosy, and vigorous-looking, with a large, well-shaped head, a strong, happy face, and gifted with rare powers of conversation. i felt very strongly attracted to her. she was frank and cordial, and pronounced in all her views. she gave us an account of her efforts to rescue unhappy cats and dogs from the hands of the vivisectionists. we saw her, too, in her home, and in her office in victoria street. the perfect order in which her books and papers were arranged, and the exquisite neatness of the apartments, were refreshing to behold. my daughter, having decided opinions of her own, was soon at loggerheads with miss cobbe on the question of vivisection. after we had examined several german and french books, with illustrations showing the horrible cruelty inflicted on cats and dogs, she enlarged on the hypocrisy and wickedness of these scientists, and, turning to my daughter, said: "would you shake hands with one of these vivisectionists? yes," said harriot, "i should be proud to shake hands with virchow, the great german scientist, for his kindness to a young american girl. she applied to several professors to be admitted to their classes, but all refused except virchow; he readily assented, and requested his students to treat her with becoming courtesy. 'if any of you behave otherwise,' said he, 'i shall feel myself personally insulted.' she entered his classes and pursued her studies, unmolested and with great success. now, would you, miss cobbe, refuse to shake hands with any of your statesmen, scientists, clergymen, lawyers, or physicians who treat women with constant indignities and insult?" "oh, no!" said miss cobbe. "then," said harriot, "you estimate the physical suffering of cats and dogs as of more consequence than the humiliation of human beings. the man who tortures a cat for a scientific purpose is not as low in the scale of beings, in my judgment, as one who sacrifices his own daughter to some cruel custom." as we were, just then, reading froude's "life of carlyle," we drove by the house where carlyle had lived, and paused a moment at the door where poor jennie went in and out so often with a heavy heart. the book gives a painful record of a great soul struggling with poverty and disappointment; the hope of success, as an author, so long deferred and never realized. his foolish pride of independence and headship, and his utter indifference to his domestic duties and the comfort of his wife made the picture still darker. poor jennie! fitted to shine in any circle, yet doomed, all her married life, to domestic drudgery, instead of associations with the great man for whose literary companionship she had sacrificed everything. at one of miss biggs' receptions miss anthony and i met mr. stansfeld, m.p., who had labored faithfully for the repeal of the contagious diseases act, and had in a measure been successful. we had the honor of an interview with lord shaftesbury, at one of his crowded "at homes," and found him a little uncertain as to the wisdom of allowing married women to vote, for fear of disturbing the peace of the family. i have often wondered if men see, in this objection, what a fatal admission they make as to their love of domination. miss anthony was present at the great liberal conference, at leeds, on october , , to which mrs. helen bright clark, miss jane cobden, mrs. tanner, mrs. scatcherd, and several other ladies were duly elected delegates from their respective liberal leagues. mrs. clark and miss cobden, daughters of the great corn-law reformers, spoke eloquently in favor of the resolution to extend parliamentary suffrage to women, which was presented by walter mclaren of bradford. as mrs. clark made her impassioned appeal for the recognition of woman's political equality in the next bill for extension of suffrage, that immense gathering of sixteen hundred delegates was hushed into profound silence. for a daughter to speak thus in that great representative convention, in opposition to her loved and honored father, the acknowledged leader of that party, was an act of heroism and fidelity to her own highest convictions almost without a parallel in english history, and the effect on the audience was as thrilling as it was surprising. the resolution was passed by a large majority. at the reception given to john bright that evening, as mrs. clark approached the dais on which her noble father stood shaking the hands of passing friends, she remarked to her husband, "i wonder if father has heard of my speech this morning, and if he will forgive me for thus publicly differing with him?" the query was soon answered. as he caught the first glimpse of his daughter he stepped down, and, pressing her hand affectionately, kissed her on either cheek. the next evening the great quaker statesman was heard by the admiring thousands who could crowd into victoria hall, while thousands, equally desirous to hear, failed to get tickets of admission. it was a magnificent sight, and altogether a most impressive gathering of the people. miss anthony, with her friends, sat in the gallery opposite the great platform, where they had a fine view of the whole audience. when john bright, escorted by sir wilfrid lawson, took his seat, the immense crowd rose, waving hats and handkerchiefs, and, with the wildest enthusiasm, gave cheer after cheer in honor of the great leader. sir wilfrid lawson, in his introductory remarks, facetiously alluded to the resolution adopted by the conference as somewhat in advance of the ideas of the speaker of the evening. the house broke into roars of laughter, while the father of liberalism, perfectly convulsed, joined in the general merriment. but when at length his time to speak had come, and mr. bright went over the many steps of progress that had been taken by the liberal party, he cunningly dodged the question of the emancipation of the women of england. he skipped round the agitation of , and john stuart mill's amendment presented at that time in the house of commons; the extension of the municipal suffrage in ; the participation of women in the establishment of national schools under the law of , both as voters and members of school boards; the married women's property bill of ; the large and increasing vote for the extension of parliamentary suffrage in the house of commons, and the adoption of the resolution by that great conference the day before. all these successive steps toward woman's emancipation he carefully remembered to forget. while in london miss anthony and i attended several enthusiastic reform meetings. we heard bradlaugh address his constituency on that memorable day at trafalgar square, at the opening of parliament, when violence was anticipated and the parliament houses were surrounded by immense crowds, with the military and police in large numbers, to maintain order. we heard michael davitt and miss helen taylor at a great meeting in exeter hall; the former on home rule for ireland, and the latter on the nationalization of land. the facts and figures given in these two lectures, as to the abject poverty of the people and the cruel system by which every inch of land had been grabbed by their oppressors, were indeed appalling. a few days before sailing we made our last visit to ernestine l. rose, and found our noble coadjutor, though in delicate health, pleasantly situated in the heart of london, as deeply interested as ever in the struggles of the hour. a great discomfort, in all english homes, is the inadequate system of heating. a moderate fire in the grate is the only mode of heating, and they seem quite oblivious to the danger of throwing a door open into a cold hall at one's back, while the servants pass in and out with the various courses at dinner. as we americans were sorely tried, under such circumstances, it was decided, in the home of my son-in-law, mr. blatch, to have a hall-stove, which, after a prolonged search, was found in london and duly installed as a presiding deity to defy the dampness that pervades all those ivy-covered habitations, as well as the neuralgia that wrings their possessors. what a blessing it proved, more than any one thing making the old english house seem like an american home! the delightful summer heat we, in america, enjoy in the coldest seasons, is quite unknown to our saxon cousins. although many came to see our stove in full working order, yet we could not persuade them to adopt the american system of heating the whole house at an even temperature. they cling to the customs of their fathers with an obstinacy that is incomprehensible to us, who are always ready to try experiments. americans complain bitterly of the same freezing experiences in france and germany, and, in turn, foreigners all criticise our overheated houses and places of amusement. while attending a meeting in birmingham i stayed with a relative of joseph sturge, whose home i had visited forty years before. the meeting was called to discuss the degradation of women under the contagious diseases act. led by josephine butler, the women of england were deeply stirred on the question of its repeal and have since secured it. i heard mrs. butler speak in many of her society meetings as well as on other occasions. her style was not unlike that one hears in methodist camp meetings from the best cultivated of that sect; her power lies in her deeply religious enthusiasm. in london we met emily faithful, who had just returned from a lecturing tour in the united states, and were much amused with her experiences. having taken prolonged trips over the whole country, from maine to texas, for many successive years, miss anthony and i could easily add the superlative to all her narrations. it was a pleasant surprise to meet the large number of americans usually at the receptions of mrs. peter taylor. graceful and beautiful, in full dress, standing beside her husband, who evidently idolized her, mrs. taylor appeared quite as refined in her drawing room as if she had never been exposed to the public gaze while presiding over a suffrage convention. mrs. taylor is called the mother of the suffrage movement. the reform has not been carried on in all respects to her taste, nor on what she considers the basis of high principle. neither she nor mrs. jacob bright has ever been satisfied with the bill asking the rights of suffrage for "widows and spinsters" only. to have asked this right "for all women duly qualified," as but few married women are qualified through possessing property in their own right, would have been substantially the same, without making any invidious distinctions. mrs. taylor and mrs. bright felt that, as married women were the greatest sufferers under the law, they should be the first rather than the last to be enfranchised. the others, led by miss becker, claimed that it was good policy to make the demand for "spinsters and widows," and thus exclude the "family unit" and "man's headship" from the discussion; and yet these were the very points on which the objections were invariably based. they claimed that, if "spinsters and widows" were enfranchised, they would be an added power to secure to married women their rights. but the history of the past gives us no such assurance. it is not certain that women would be more just than men, and a small privileged class of aristocrats have long governed their fellow-countrymen. the fact that the spinsters in the movement advocated such a bill, shows that they were not to be trusted in extending it. john stuart mill, too, was always opposed to the exclusion of married women in the demand for suffrage. my sense of justice was severely tried by all i heard of the persecutions of mrs. besant and mr. bradlaugh for their publications on the right and duty of parents to limit population. who can contemplate the sad condition of multitudes of young children in the old world whose fate is to be brought up in ignorance and vice--a swarming, seething mass which nobody owns--without seeing the need of free discussion of the philosophical principles that underlie these tangled social problems? the trials of foote and ramsey, too, for blasphemy, seemed unworthy a great nation in the nineteenth century. think of well-educated men of good moral standing thrown into prison in solitary confinement, for speaking lightly of the hebrew idea of jehovah and the new testament account of the birth of jesus! our protestant clergy never hesitate to make the dogmas and superstitions of the catholic church seem as absurd as possible, and why should not those who imagine they have outgrown protestant superstitions make them equally ridiculous? whatever is true can stand investigation and ridicule. in the last of april, when the wildflowers were in their glory, mrs. mellen and her lovely daughter, daisy, came down to our home at basingstoke to enjoy its beauty. as mrs. mellen had known charles kingsley and entertained him at her residence in colorado, she felt a desire to see his former home. accordingly, one bright morning, mr. blatch drove us to eversley, through strathfieldsaye, the park of the duke of wellington. this magnificent place was given to him by the english government after the battle of waterloo. a lofty statue of the duke, that can be seen for miles around, stands at one entrance. a drive of a few miles further brought us to the parish church of canon kingsley, where he preached many years, and where all that is mortal of him now lies buried. we wandered through the old church, among the moss-covered tombstones, and into the once happy home, now silent and deserted--his loved ones being scattered in different quarters of the globe. standing near the last resting place of the author of "hypatia," his warning words for women, in a letter to john stuart mill, seemed like a voice from heaven saying, with new inspiration and power, "this will never be a good world for women until the last remnant of the canon law is civilized off the face of the earth." we heard mr. fawcett speak to his hackney constituents at one of his campaign meetings. in the course of his remarks he mentioned with evident favor, as one of the coming measures, the disestablishment of the church, and was greeted with loud applause. soon after he spoke of woman suffrage as another question demanding consideration, but this was received with laughter and jeers, although the platform was crowded with advocates of the measure, among whom were the wife of the speaker and her sister, dr. garrett anderson. the audience were evidently in favor of releasing themselves from being taxed to support the church, forgetting that women were taxed not only to support a church but also a state in the management of neither of which they had a voice. mr. fawcett was not an orator, but a simple, straightforward speaker. he made one gesture, striking his right clenched fist into the palm of his left hand at the close of all his strongest assertions, and, although more liberal than his party, he was a great favorite with his constituents. one pleasant trip i made in england was to bristol, to visit the misses priestman and mrs. tanner, sisters-in-law of john bright. i had stayed at their father's house forty years before, so we felt like old friends. i found them all liberal women, and we enjoyed a few days together, talking over our mutual struggles, and admiring the beautiful scenery for which that part of the country is celebrated. the women of england were just then organizing political clubs, and i was invited to speak before many of them. there is an earnestness of purpose among english women that is very encouraging under the prolonged disappointments reformers inevitably suffer. and the order of english homes, too, among the wealthy classes, is very enjoyable. all go on from year to year with the same servants, the same surroundings, no changes, no moving, no building even; in delightful contrast with our periodical upheavals, always uncertain where we shall go next, or how long our main dependents will stand by us. from bristol i went to greenbank to visit mrs. helen bright clark. one evening her parlors were crowded and i was asked to give an account of the suffrage movement in america. some clergymen questioned me in regard to the bible position of woman, whereupon i gave quite an exposition of its general principles in favor of liberty and equality. as two distinct lines of argument can be woven out of those pages on any subject, on this occasion i selected all the most favorable texts for justice to woman, and closed by stating the limits of its authority. mrs. clark, though thoroughly in sympathy with the views i had expressed, feared lest my very liberal utterances might have shocked some of the strictest of the laymen and clergy. "well," said i, "if we who do see the absurdities of the old superstitions never unveil them to others, how is the world to make any progress in the theologies? i am in the sunset of life, and i feel it to be my special mission to tell people what they are not prepared to hear, instead of echoing worn-out opinions." the result showed the wisdom of my speaking out of my own soul. to the surprise of mrs. clark, the primitive methodist clergyman called on sunday morning to invite me to occupy his pulpit in the afternoon and present the same line of thought i had the previous evening. i accepted his invitation. he led the services, and i took my text from genesis i. , , showing that man and woman were a simultaneous creation, endowed, in the beginning, with equal power. returning to london, i accepted an invitation to take tea one afternoon with mrs. jacob bright, who, in earnest conversation, had helped us each to a cup of tea, and was turning to help us to something more, when over went table and all--tea, bread and butter, cake, strawberries and cream, silver, china, in one conglomerate mass. silence reigned. no one started; no one said "oh!" mrs. bright went on with what she was saying as if nothing unusual had occurred, rang the bell, and, when the servant appeared, pointing to the débris, she said, "charles, remove this." i was filled with admiration at her coolness, and devoutly thankful that we americans maintained an equally dignified silence. at a grand reception, given in our honor by the national central committee, in princess' hall, jacob bright, m.p., presided and made an admirable opening speech, followed by his sister, mrs. mclaren, with a highly complimentary address of welcome. by particular request miss anthony explained the industrial, legal, and political status of american women, while i set forth their educational, social, and religious condition. john p. thomasson, m.p., made the closing address, expressing his satisfaction with our addresses and the progress made in both countries. mrs. thomasson, daughter of mrs. lucas, gave several parties, receptions, and dinners,--some for ladies only,--where an abundant opportunity was offered for a critical analysis of the idiosyncrasies of the superior sex, especially in their dealings with women. the patience of even such heroic souls as lydia becker and caroline biggs was almost exhausted with the tergiversations of members of the house of commons. alas for the many fair promises broken, the hopes deferred, the votes fully relied on and counted, all missing in the hour of action! one crack of mr. gladstone's whip put a hundred liberal members to flight--members whom these noble women had spent years in educating. i never visited the house of commons that i did not see miss becker and miss biggs trying to elucidate the fundamental principles of just government to some of the legislators. verily their divine faith and patience merited more worthy action on the part of their alleged representatives! miss henrietta müller gave a farewell reception to miss anthony and me on the eve of our departure for america, when we had the opportunity of meeting once more most of the pleasant acquaintances we had made in london. although it was announced for the afternoon, we did, in fact, receive all day, as many could not come at the hour appointed. dr. elizabeth blackwell took breakfast with us; mrs. fawcett, mrs. saville, and miss lord were with us at luncheon; harriet hosmer and olive logan soon after; mrs. peter taylor later, and from three to six o'clock the parlors were crowded. returning from london i passed my birthday, november , , in basingstoke. it was a sad day for us all, knowing that it was the last day with my loved ones before my departure for america. when i imprinted the farewell kiss on the soft cheek of my little granddaughter nora in the cradle, she in the dawn and i in the sunset of life, i realized how widely the broad ocean would separate us. miss anthony, met me at alderly edge, where we spent a few days with mr. and mrs. jacob bright. there we found their noble sisters, mrs. mclaren and mrs. lucas, young walter mclaren and his lovely bride, eva müller, whom we had heard several times on the suffrage platform. we rallied her on the step she had lately taken, notwithstanding her sister's able paper on the blessedness of a single life. while there, we visited dean stanley's birthplace, but on his death the light and joy went out. the old church whose walls had once echoed to his voice, and the house where he had spent so many useful years, seemed sad and deserted. but the day was bright and warm, the scenery beautiful, cows and sheep were still grazing in the meadows, and the grass was as green as in june. this is england's chief charm,--it is forever green,--perhaps in compensation for the many cloudy days. as our good friends mrs. mclaren and mrs. lucas had determined to see us safely on board the servia, they escorted us to liverpool, where we met mrs. margaret parker and mrs. scatcherd. another reception was given us at the residence of dr. ewing whittle. several short speeches were made, and all present cheered the parting guests with words of hope and encouragement for the good cause. here the wisdom of forming an international association was first considered. the proposition met with such favor from those present that a committee was appointed to correspond with the friends in different nations. miss anthony and i were placed on the committee, and while this project has not yet been fully carried out, the idea of the intellectual co-operation of women to secure equal rights and opportunities for their sex was the basis of the international council of women, which was held under the auspices of the national woman suffrage association in washington, d. c, in march, . on the atlantic for ten days we had many opportunities to review all we had seen and heard. sitting on deck, hour after hour, how often i queried with myself as to the significance of the boon for which we were so earnestly struggling. in asking for a voice in the government under which we live, have we been pursuing a shadow for fifty years? in seeking political power, are we abdicating that social throne where they tell us our influence is unbounded? no, no! the right of suffrage is no shadow, but a substantial entity that the citizen can seize and hold for his own protection and his country's welfare. a direct power over one's own person and property, an individual opinion to be counted, on all questions of public interest, are better than indirect influence, be that ever so far reaching. though influence, like the pure white light, is all-pervading, yet it is ofttimes obscured with passing clouds and nights of darkness. like the sun's rays, it may be healthy, genial, inspiring, though sometimes too direct for comfort, too oblique for warmth, too scattered for any purpose. but as the prism divides the rays, revealing the brilliant colors of the light, so does individual sovereignty reveal the beauty of representative government, and as the burning-glass shows the power of concentrating the rays, so does the combined power of the multitude reveal the beauty of united effort to carry a grand measure. chapter xxiii. woman and theology. returning from europe in the autumn of , after visiting a large circle of relatives and friends, i spent six weeks with my cousin, elizabeth smith miller, at her home at geneva, on seneca lake. through miss frances lord, a woman of rare culture and research, my daughter and i had become interested in the school of theosophy, and read "isis unveiled," by madame blavatsky, sinnett's works on the "occult world," and "the perfect way," by anna kingsford. full of these ideas, i soon interested my cousins in the subject, and we resolved to explore, as far as possible, some of these eastern mysteries, of which we had heard so much. we looked in all directions to find some pilot to start us on the right course. we heard that gerald massey was in new york city, lecturing on "the devil," "ghosts," and "evil spirits" generally, so we invited him to visit us and give a course of lectures in geneva. but, unfortunately, he was ill, and could not open new fields of thought to us at that time, though we were very desirous to get a glimpse into the unknown world, and hold converse with the immortals. as i soon left geneva with my daughter, mrs. stanton lawrence, our occult studies were, for a time, abandoned. my daughter and i often talked of writing a story, she describing the characters and their environments and i attending to the philosophy and soliloquies. as i had no special duties in prospect, we decided that this was the time to make our experiment. accordingly we hastened to the family homestead at johnstown, new york, where we could be entirely alone. friends on all sides wondered what had brought us there in the depth of the winter. but we kept our secret, and set ourselves to work with diligence, and after three months our story was finished to our entire satisfaction. we felt sure that everyone who read it would be deeply interested and that we should readily find a publisher. we thought of "our romance" the first thing in the morning and talked of it the last thing at night. but alas! friendly critics who read our story pointed out its defects, and in due time we reached their conclusions, and the unpublished manuscript now rests in a pigeonhole of my desk. we had not many days to mourn our disappointment, as madge was summoned to her western home, and miss anthony arrived armed and equipped with bushels of documents for vol. iii. of "the history of woman suffrage." the summer and autumn of miss anthony and i passed at johnstown, working diligently on the history, indulging only in an occasional drive, a stroll round the town in the evening, or a ride in the open street cars. mrs. devereux blake was holding a series of conventions, at this time, through the state of new york, and we urged her to expend some of her missionary efforts in my native town, which she did with good results. as the school election was near at hand miss anthony and i had several preliminary meetings to arouse the women to their duty as voters, and to the necessity of nominating some woman for trustee. when the day for the election arrived the large upper room of the academy was filled with ladies and gentlemen. some timid souls who should have been there stayed at home, fearing there would be a row, but everything was conducted with decency and in order. the chairman, mr. rosa, welcomed the ladies to their new duties in a very complimentary manner. donald mcmartin stated the law as to what persons were eligible to vote in school elections. mrs. horace smith filled the office of teller on the occasion with promptness and dignity, and mrs. elizabeth wallace yost was elected trustee by a majority of seven. it is strange that intelligent women, who are supposed to feel some interest in the question of education, should be so indifferent to the power they possess to make our schools all that they should be. this was the year of the presidential campaign. the republicans and democrats had each held their nominating conventions, and all classes participated in the general excitement. there being great dissatisfaction in the republican ranks, we issued a manifesto: "stand by the republican party," not that we loved blaine more, but cleveland less. the latter was elected, therefore it was evident that our efforts did not have much influence in turning the tide of national politics, though the republican papers gave a broad circulation to our appeal. dowden's description of the poet shelley's efforts in scattering one of his suppressed pamphlets, reminded me of ours. he purchased bushels of empty bottles, in which he placed his pamphlets; having corked them up tight, he threw the bottles into the sea at various fashionable watering places, hoping they would wash ashore. walking the streets of london in the evening he would slip his pamphlets into the hoods of old ladies' cloaks, throw them in shop doors, and leave them in cabs and omnibuses. we scattered ours in the cars, inclosed them in every letter we wrote or newspaper we sent through the country. the night before election mr. stanton and professor horace smith spoke in the johnstown courthouse, and took rather pessimistic views of the future of the republic should james g. blaine be defeated. cleveland was elected, and we still live as a nation, and are able to digest the thousands of foreign immigrants daily landing at our shores. the night of the election a large party of us sat up until two o'clock to hear the news. mr. stanton had long been one of the editorial writers on the new york sun, and they sent him telegrams from that office until a late hour. however, the election was so close that we were kept in suspense several days, before it was definitely decided. miss anthony left in december, , for washington, and i went to work on an article for the north american review, entitled, "what has christianity done for women?" i took the ground that woman was not indebted to any form of religion for the liberty she now enjoys, but that, on the contrary, the religious element in her nature had always been perverted for her complete subjection. bishop spaulding, in the same issue of the review, took the opposite ground, but i did not feel that he answered my points. in january, , my niece mrs. baldwin and i went to washington to attend the annual convention of the national woman suffrage association. it was held in the unitarian church on the th, st, and d days of that month, and went off with great success, as did the usual reception given by mrs. spofford at the riggs house. this dear friend, one of our most ardent coadjutors, always made the annual convention a time for many social enjoyments. the main feature in this convention was the attempt to pass the following resolutions: "whereas, the dogmas incorporated in religious creeds derived from judaism, teaching that woman was an after-thought in the creation, her sex a misfortune, marriage a condition of subordination, and maternity a curse, are contrary to the law of god (as revealed in nature), and to the precepts of christ, and, "whereas, these dogmas are an insidious poison, sapping the vitality of our civilization, blighting woman, and, through her, paralyzing humanity; therefore be it "_resolved_, that we call on the christian ministry, as leaders of thought, to teach and enforce the fundamental idea of creation, that man was made in the image of god, male and female, and given equal rights over the earth, but none over each other. and, furthermore, we ask their recognition of the scriptural declaration that, in the christian religion, there is neither male nor female, bond nor free, but all are one in christ jesus." as chairman of the committee i presented a series of resolutions, impeaching the christian theology--as well as all other forms of religion, for their degrading teachings in regard to woman--which the majority of the committee thought too strong and pointed, and, after much deliberation, they substituted the above, handing over to the jews what i had laid at the door of the christians. they thought they had so sugar-coated my ideas that the resolutions would pass without discussion. but some jews in the convention promptly repudiated this impression of their faith and precipitated the very discussion i desired, but which our more politic friends would fain have avoided. from the time of the decade meeting in rochester, in , matilda joslyn gage, edward m. davis, and i had sedulously labored to rouse women to a realization of their degraded position in the church, and presented resolutions at every annual convention for that purpose. but they were either suppressed or so amended as to be meaningless. the resolutions of the annual convention of , tame as they are, got into print and roused the ire of the clergy, and upon the following sunday, dr. patton of howard university preached a sermon on "woman and skepticism," in which he unequivocally took the ground that freedom for woman led to skepticism and immorality. he illustrated his position by pointing to hypatia, mary wollstonecraft, frances wright, george eliot, harriet martineau, mme. roland, frances power cobbe, and victoria woodhull. he made a grave mistake in the last names mentioned, as mrs. woodhull was a devout believer in the christian religion, and surely anyone conversant with miss cobbe's writings would never accuse her of skepticism. his sermon was received with intense indignation, even by the women of his own congregation. when he found what a whirlwind he had started, he tried to shift his position and explain away much that he had said. we asked him to let us have the sermon for publication, that we might not do him injustice. but as he contradicted himself flatly in trying to restate his discourse, and refused to let us see his sermon, those who heard him were disgusted with his sophistry and tergiversation. however, our labors in this direction are having an effect. women are now making their attacks on the church all along the line. they are demanding their right to be ordained as ministers, elders, deacons, and to be received as delegates in all the ecclesiastical convocations. at last they ask of the church just what they have asked of the state for the last half century--perfect equality--and the clergy, as a body, are quite as hostile to their demands as the statesmen. on my way back to johnstown i spent ten days at troy, where i preached in the unitarian church on sunday evening. during this visit we had two hearings in the capitol at albany--one in the senate chamber and one in the assembly, before the committee on grievances. on both occasions mrs. mary seymour howell, mrs. devereux blake, mrs. caroline gilkey rogers, and i addressed the committee. being open to the public, the chamber was crowded. it was nearly forty years since i had made my first appeal in the old capitol at albany. my reflections were sad and discouraging, as i sat there and listened to the speakers and remembered how long we had made our appeals at that bar, from year to year, in vain. the members of the committee presented the same calm aspect as their predecessors, as if to say, "be patient, dear sisters, eternity is before us; this is simply a question of time. what may not come in your day, future generations will surely possess." it is always pleasant to know that our descendants are to enjoy life, liberty, and happiness; but, when one is gasping for one breath of freedom, this reflection is not satisfying. returning to my native hills, i found the lenten season had fairly set in, which i always dreaded on account of the solemn, tolling bell, the episcopal church being just opposite our residence. on sunday we had the bells of six churches all going at the same time. it is strange how long customs continue after the original object has ceased to exist. at an early day, when the country was sparsely settled and the people lived at great distances, bells were useful to call them together when there was to be a church service. but now, when the churches are always open on sunday, and every congregation knows the hour of services and all have clocks, bells are not only useless, but they are a terrible nuisance to invalids and nervous people. if i am ever so fortunate as to be elected a member of a town council, my first efforts will be toward the suppression of bells. to encourage one of my sex in the trying profession of book agent, i purchased, about this time, dr. lord's "beacon lights of history," and read the last volume devoted to women, pagan and christian, saints and sinners. it is very amusing to see the author's intellectual wriggling and twisting to show that no one can be good or happy without believing in the christian religion. in describing great women who are not christians, he attributes all their follies and miseries to that fact. in describing pagan women, possessed of great virtues, he attributes all their virtues to nature's gifts, which enable them to rise superior to superstitions. after dwelling on the dreary existence of those not of christian faith, he forthwith pictures his st. teresa going through twenty years of doubts and fears about the salvation of her soul. the happiest people i have known have been those who gave themselves no concern about their own souls, but did their uttermost to mitigate the miseries of others. in may, , we left johnstown and took possession of our house at tenafly, new jersey. it seemed very pleasant, after wandering in the old world and the new, to be in my own home once more, surrounded by the grand trees i so dearly loved; to see the gorgeous sunsets, the twinkling fireflies; to hear the whippoorwills call their familiar note, while the june bugs and the mosquitoes buzz outside the nets through which they cannot enter. many people complain of the mosquito in new jersey, when he can so easily be shut out of the family circle by nets over all the doors and windows. i had a long piazza, encased in netting, where paterfamilias, with his pipe, could muse and gaze at the stars unmolested. june brought miss anthony and a box of fresh documents for another season of work on vol. iii. of our history. we had a flying visit from miss eddy of providence, daughter of mrs. eddy who gave fifty thousand dollars to the woman suffrage movement, and a granddaughter of francis jackson of boston, who also left a generous bequest to our reform. we found miss eddy a charming young woman with artistic tastes. she showed us several pen sketches she had made of some of our reformers, that were admirable likenesses. mr. stanton's "random recollections" were published at this time and were well received. a dinner was given him, on his eightieth birthday (june , ), by the press club of new york city, with speeches and toasts by his lifelong friends. as no ladies were invited i can only judge from the reports in the daily papers, and what i could glean from the honored guest himself, that it was a very interesting occasion. sitting in the summerhouse, one day, i witnessed a most amusing scene. two of the boys, in search of employment, broke up a hornets' nest. bruno, our large saint bernard dog, seeing them jumping about, thought he would join in the fun. the boys tried to drive him away, knowing that the hornets would get in his long hair, but bruno's curiosity outran his caution and he plunged into the midst of the swarm and was soon completely covered. the buzzing and stinging soon sent the poor dog howling on the run. he rushed as usual, in his distress, to amelia in the kitchen, where she and the girls were making preserves and ironing. when they saw the hornets, they dropped irons, spoons, jars, everything, and rushed out of doors screaming. i appreciated the danger in time to get safely into the house before bruno came to me for aid and comfort. at last they played the hose on him until he found some relief; the maidens, armed with towels, thrashed right and left, and the boys, with evergreen branches, fought bravely. i had often heard of "stirring up a hornets' nest," but i had never before seen a practical demonstration of its danger. for days after, if bruno heard anything buzz, he would rush for the house at the top of his speed. but in spite of these occasional lively episodes, vol. iii. went steadily on. my suffrage sons and daughters through all the northern and western states decided to celebrate, on the th of november, , my seventieth birthday, by holding meetings or sending me gifts and congratulations. this honor was suggested by mrs. elizabeth boynton harbert in _the new era_, a paper she was editing at that time. the suggestion met with a ready response. i was invited to deliver an essay on "the pleasures of age," before the suffrage association in new york city. it took me a week to think them up, but with the inspiration of longfellow's "morituri salutamus," i was almost converted to the idea that "we old folks" had the best of it. the day was ushered in with telegrams, letters, and express packages, which continued to arrive during the week. from england, france, and germany came cablegrams, presents, and letters of congratulation, and from all quarters came books, pictures, silver, bronzes, california blankets, and baskets of fruits and flowers. the eulogies in prose and verse were so hearty and numerous that the ridicule and criticism of forty years were buried so deep that i shall remember them no more. there is no class who enjoy the praise of their fellow-men like those who have had only blame most of their lives. the evening of the th we had a delightful reunion at the home of dr. clemence lozier, where i gave my essay, after which mrs. lozier, mrs. blake, miss anthony, "jenny june," and some of the younger converts to our platform, all made short speeches of praise and congratulation, which were followed by music, recitations, and refreshments. all during the autumn miss anthony and i looked forward to the spring, when we hoped to have completed the third and last volume of our history, and thus end the labors of ten years. we had neither time nor eyesight to read aught but the imperative documents for the history. i was hungering for some other mental pabulum. in january, , i was invited to dine with laura curtis bullard, to meet mme. durand (henri gréville), the novelist. she seemed a politic rather than an earnest woman of principle. as it was often very inconvenient for me to entertain distinguished visitors, who desired to meet me in my country home during the winter, mrs. bullard generously offered always to invite them to her home. she and her good mother have done their part in the reform movements in new york by their generous hospitalities. reading the debates in congress, at that time, on a proposed appropriation for a monument to general grant, i was glad to see that senator plumb of kansas was brave enough to express his opinion against it. i fully agree with him. so long as multitudes of our people who are doing the work of the world live in garrets and cellars, in ignorance, poverty, and vice, it is the duty of congress to apply the surplus in the national treasury to objects which will feed, clothe, shelter, and educate these wards of the state. if we must keep on continually building monuments to great men, they should be handsome blocks of comfortable homes for the poor, such as peabody built in london. senator hoar of massachusetts favored the grant monument, partly to cultivate the artistic tastes of our people. we might as well cultivate our tastes on useful dwellings as on useless monuments. surely sanitary homes and schoolhouses for the living would be more appropriate monuments to wise statesmen than the purest parian shafts among the sepulchers of the dead. the strikes and mobs and settled discontent of the masses warn us that, although we forget and neglect their interests and our duties, we do it at the peril of all. english statesmen are at their wits' end to-day with their tangled social and industrial problems, threatening the throne of a long line of kings. the impending danger cannot be averted by any surface measures; there must be a radical change in the relations of capital and labor. in april rumors of a domestic invasion, wafted on every atlantic breeze, warned us that our children were coming from england and france--a party of six. fortunately, the last line of the history was written, so miss anthony, with vol. iii. and bushels of manuscripts, fled to the peaceful home of her sister mary at rochester. the expected party sailed from liverpool the th of may, on the _america_ after being out three days the piston rod broke and they were obliged to return. my son-in-law, w.h. blatch, was so seasick and disgusted that he remained in england, and took a fresh start two months later, and had a swift passage without any accidents. the rest were transferred to the _germanic_, and reached new york the th of june. different divisions of the party were arriving until midnight. five people and twenty pieces of baggage! the confusion of such an invasion quite upset the even tenor of our days, and it took some time for people and trunks to find their respective niches. however crowded elsewhere, there was plenty of room in our hearts, and we were unspeakably happy to have our flock all around us once more. i had long heard so many conflicting opinions about the bible--some saying it taught woman's emancipation and some her subjection--that, during this visit of my children, the thought came to me that it would be well to collect every biblical reference to women in one small compact volume, and see on which side the balance of influence really was. to this end i proposed to organize a committee of competent women, with some latin, greek, and hebrew scholars in england and the united states, for a thorough revision of the old and new testaments, and to ascertain what the status of woman really was under the jewish and christian religion. as the church has thus far interpreted the bible as teaching woman's subjection, and none of the revisions by learned ecclesiastics have thrown any new light on the question, it seemed to me pre-eminently proper and timely for women themselves to review the book. as they are now studying theology in many institutions of learning, asking to be ordained as preachers, elders, deacons, and to be admitted, as delegates, to synods and general assemblies, and are refused on bible grounds, it seemed to me high time for women to consider those scriptural arguments and authorities. a happy coincidence enabled me at last to begin this work. while my daughter, mrs. stanton blatch, was with me, our friend miss frances lord, on our earnest invitation, came to america to visit us. she landed in new york the th of august, . as it was sunday she could not telegraph, hence there was no one to meet her, and, as we all sat chatting on the front piazza, suddenly, to our surprise and delight, she drove up. after a few days' rest and general talk of passing events, i laid the subject so near my heart before her and my daughter. they responded promptly and heartily, and we immediately set to work. i wrote to every woman who i thought might join such a committee, and miss lord ran through the bible in a few days, marking each chapter that in any way referred to women. we found that the work would not be so great as we imagined, as all the facts and teachings in regard to women occupied less than one-tenth of the whole scriptures. we purchased some cheap bibles, cut out the texts, pasted them at the head of the page, and, underneath, wrote our commentaries as clearly and concisely as possible. we did not intend to have sermons or essays, but brief comments, to keep "the woman's bible" as small as possible. miss lord and i worked several weeks together, and mrs. blatch and i, during the winter of , wrote all our commentaries on the pentateuch. but we could not succeed in forming the committee, nor, after writing innumerable letters, make the women understand what we wanted to do. i still have the commentaries of the few who responded, and the letters of those who declined--a most varied and amusing bundle of manuscripts in themselves. some said the bible had no special authority with them; that, like the american constitution, it could be interpreted to mean anything--slavery, when we protected that "institution," and freedom, when it existed no longer. others said that woman's sphere was clearly marked out in the scriptures, and all attempt at emancipation was flying in the face of providence. others said they considered all the revisions made by men thus far, had been so many acts of sacrilege, and they did hope women would not add their influence, to weaken the faith of the people in the divine origin of the holy book, for, if men and women could change it in one particular, they could in all. on the whole the correspondence was discouraging. later miss lord became deeply interested in psychical researches, and i could get no more work out of her. and as soon as we had finished the pentateuch, mrs. blatch declared she would go no farther; that it was the driest history she had ever read, and most derogatory to women. my beloved coadjutor, susan b. anthony, said that she thought it a work of supererogation; that when our political equality was recognized and we became full-fledged american citizens, the church would make haste to bring her bibles and prayer books, creeds and discipline up to the same high-water mark of liberty. helen gardener said: "i consider this a most important proposal, and if you and i can ever stay on the same side of the atlantic long enough, we will join hands and do the work. in fact, i have begun already with paul's epistles, and am fascinated with the work. the untenable and unscientific positions he takes in regard to women are very amusing. although the first chapter of genesis teaches the simultaneous creation of man and woman, paul bases woman's subjection on the priority of man, and because woman was of the man. as the historical fact is that, as far back as history dates, the man has been of the woman, should he therefore be forever in bondage to her? logically, according to paul, he should." i consulted several friends, such as dr. william f. channing, mr. and mrs. moncure d. conway, gertrude garrison, frederick cabot, and edward m. davis, as to the advisability of the work, and they all agreed that such a volume, showing woman's position under the jewish and christian religions, would be valuable, but none of them had time to assist in the project. though, owing to all these discouragements, i discontinued my work, i never gave up the hope of renewing it some time, when other of my coadjutors should awake to its importance and offer their services. on october , , with my daughter, nurse, and grandchild, i again sailed for england. going out of the harbor in the clear early morning, we had a fine view of bartholdi's statue of liberty enlightening the world. we had a warm, gentle rain and a smooth sea most of the way, and, as we had a stateroom on deck, we could have the portholes open, and thus get all the air we desired. with novels and letters, chess and whist the time passed pleasantly, and, on the ninth day, we landed in liverpool. chapter xxiv. england and france revisited. on arriving at basingstoke we found awaiting us cordial letters of welcome from miss biggs, miss priestman, mrs. peter taylor, mrs. priscilla mclaren, miss müller, mrs. jacob bright, and mme. de barrau. during the winter mrs. margaret bright lucas, drs. kate and julia mitchell, mrs. charles mclaren, mrs. saville, and miss balgarnie each spent a day or two with us. the full-dress costume of the ladies was a great surprise to my little granddaughter nora. she had never seen bare shoulders in a drawing room, and at the first glance she could not believe her eyes. she slowly made the circuit of the room, coming nearer and nearer until she touched the lady's neck to see whether or not it was covered with some peculiar shade of dress, but finding the bare skin she said: "why, you are not dressed, are you? i see your skin!" the scene suggested to me the amusing description in holmes' "elsie venner," of the efforts of a young lady, seated between two old gentlemen, to show off her white shoulders. the vicar would not look, but steadily prayed that he might not be led into temptation; but the physician, with greater moral hardihood, deliberately surveyed the offered charms, with spectacles on his nose. in december hattie and i finished dowden's "life of shelley," which we had been reading together. here we find a sensitive, refined nature, full of noble purposes, thrown out when too young to meet all life's emergencies, with no loving mentor to guard him from blunders or to help to retrieve the consequences of his false positions. had he been surrounded with a few true friends, who could appreciate what was great in him and pity what was weak, his life would have been different. his father was hard, exacting, and unreasonable; hence he had no influence. his mother had neither the wisdom to influence him, nor the courage to rebuke her husband; and alas! poor woman, she was in such thraldom herself to conventionalisms, that she could not understand a youth who set them all at defiance. [illustration: three generations.] [illustration: my eightieth birthday.] we also read cotton morrison's "service of man," which i hope will be a new inspiration to fresh labors by all for the elevation of humanity, and carnegie's "triumphant democracy," showing the power our country is destined to wield and the vastness of our domain. this book must give every american citizen a feeling of deeper responsibility than ever before to act well his part. we read, too, harriet martineau's translation of the works of auguste comte, and found the part on woman most unsatisfactory. he criticises aristotle's belief that slavery is a necessary element of social life, yet seems to think the subjection of woman in modern civilization a matter of no importance. all through that winter hattie and i occupied our time studying the bible and reading the commentaries of clark, scott, and wordsworth (bishop of lincoln). we found nothing grand in the history of the jews nor in the morals inculcated in the pentateuch. surely the writers had a very low idea of the nature of their god. they make him not only anthropomorphic, but of the very lowest type, jealous and revengeful, loving violence rather than mercy. i know no other books that so fully teach the subjection and degradation of woman. miriam, the eldest sister of moses and aaron, a genius, a prophetess, with the family aptitude for diplomacy and government, is continually set aside because of her sex--permitted to lead the women in singing and dancing, nothing more. no woman could offer sacrifices nor eat the holy meats because, according to the jews, she was too unclean and unholy. but what is the use, say some, of attaching any importance to the customs and teachings of a barbarous people? none whatever. but when our bishops, archbishops, and ordained clergymen stand up in their pulpits and read selections from the pentateuch with reverential voice, they make the women of their congregation believe that there really is some divine authority for their subjection. in the thirty-first chapter of numbers, in speaking of the spoils taken from the midianites, the live stock is thus summarized: "five thousand sheep, threescore and twelve thousand beeves, threescore and one thousand asses, and thirty-two thousand women and women-children," which moses said the warriors might keep for themselves. what a pity a stead had not been there, to protect the child-women of the midianites and rebuke the lord's chosen people as they deserved! in placing the women after the sheep, the beeves, and the asses, we have a fair idea of their comparative importance in the scale of being, among the jewish warriors. no wonder the right reverend bishops and clergy of the methodist church, who believe in the divine origin and authority of the pentateuch, exclude women from their great convocations in the american republic in the nineteenth century. in view of the fact that our children are taught to reverence the book as of divine origin, i think we have a right to ask that, in the next revision, all such passages be expurgated, and to that end learned, competent women must have an equal place on the revising committee. mrs. margaret bright lucas came, in february, to spend a few days with us. she was greatly shocked with many texts in the old testament, to which we called her attention, and said: "here is an insidious influence against the elevation of women, which but few of us have ever taken into consideration." she had just returned from a flying visit to america; having made two voyages across the atlantic and traveled three thousand miles across the continent in two months, and this at the age of sixty-eight years. she was enthusiastic in her praises of the women she met in the united states. as her name was already on the committee to prepare "the woman's bible," we had her hearty approval of the undertaking. in october hattie went to london, to attend a meeting to form a woman's liberal federation. mrs. gladstone presided. the speeches made were simply absurd, asking women to organize themselves to help the liberal party, which had steadily denied to them the political rights they had demanded for twenty years. professor stuart capped the climax of insult when he urged as "one great advantage in getting women to canvass for the liberal party was that they would give their services free." the liberals saw what enthusiasm the primrose dames had roused for the tory party, really carrying the election, and they determined to utilize a similar force in their ranks. but the whole movement was an insult to women. the one absorbing interest, then, was the queen's jubilee. ladies formed societies to collect funds to place at the disposal of the queen. every little village was divided into districts, and different ladies took the rounds, begging pennies at every door of servants and the laboring masses, and pounds of the wealthy people. one of them paid us a visit. she asked the maid who opened the door to see the rest of the servants, and she begged a penny of each of them. she then asked to see the mistress. my daughter descended; but, instead of a pound, she gave her a lecture on the queen's avarice. when the fund was started the people supposed the queen was to return it all to the people in liberal endowments of charitable institutions, but her majesty proposed to build a monument to prince albert, although he already had one in london. "the queen," said my daughter, "should celebrate her jubilee by giving good gifts to her subjects, and not by filching from the poor their pennies. to give half her worldly possessions to her impoverished people, to give home rule to ireland, or to make her public schools free, would be deeds worthy her jubilee; but to take another cent from those who are hopelessly poor is a sin against suffering humanity." the young woman realized the situation and said: "i shall go no farther. i wish i could return every penny i have taken from the needy." the most fitting monuments this nation can build are schoolhouses and homes for those who do the work of the world. it is no answer to say that they are accustomed to rags and hunger. in this world of plenty every human being has a right to food, clothes, decent shelter, and the rudiments of education. "something is rotten in the state of denmark" when one-tenth of the human family, booted and spurred, ride the masses to destruction. i detest the words "royalty" and "nobility," and all the ideas and institutions based on their recognition. in april the great meeting in hyde park occurred--a meeting of protest against the irish coercion bill. it was encouraging to see that there is a democratic as well as an aristocratic england. the london journals gave very different accounts of the meeting. the tories said it was a mob of inconsequential cranks. reason teaches us, however, that you cannot get up a large, enthusiastic meeting unless there is some question pending that touches the heart of the people. those who say that ireland has no grievances are ignorant alike of human nature and the facts of history. on april i went to paris, my daughter escorting me to dover, and my son meeting me at calais. it was a bright, pleasant day, and i sat on deck and enjoyed the trip, though many of my fellow passengers were pale and limp. whirling to paris in an easy car, through the beautiful wheatfields and vineyards, i thought of the old lumbering diligence, in which we went up to paris at a snail's pace forty years before. i remained in paris until october, and never enjoyed six months more thoroughly. one of my chief pleasures was making the acquaintance of my fourth son, theodore. i had seen but little of him since he was sixteen years old, as he then spent five years at cornell university, and as many more in germany and france. he had already published two works, "the life of thiers," and "the woman question in europe." to have a son interested in the question to which i have devoted my life, is a source of intense satisfaction. to say that i have realized in him all i could desire, is the highest praise a fond mother can give. my first experience in an apartment, living on an even plane, no running up and down stairs, was as pleasant as it was surprising. i had no idea of the comfort and convenience of this method of keeping house. our apartment in paris consisted of drawing room, dining room, library, a good-sized hall, in which stood a large american stove, five bedrooms, bathroom, and kitchen, and a balcony fifty-two feet long and four feet wide. the first few days it made me dizzy to look down from this balcony to the street below. i was afraid the whole structure would give way, it appeared so light and airy, hanging midway between earth and heaven. but my confidence in its steadfastness and integrity grew day by day, and it became my favorite resort, commanding, as it did, a magnificent view of the whole city and distant surroundings. there were so many americans in town, and french reformers to be seen, that i gave wednesday afternoon receptions during my whole visit. to one of our "at homes" came mlle. maria deraismes, the only female free mason in france, and the best woman orator in the country; her sister, mme. féresse-deraismes, who takes part in all woman movements; m. léon richer, then actively advocating the civil and political rights of women through the columns of his vigorous journal; mme. griess traut, who makes a specialty of peace work; mme. isabelle bogelot, who afterward attended the washington council of , and who is a leader in charity work; the late mme. emilie de morsier, who afterward was the soul of the international congress of , at paris; mme. pauline kergomard, the first woman to be made a member of the superior council of public instruction in france, and mme. henri gréville, the novelist. among the american guests at our various wednesday receptions were mr. and mrs. john bigelow, mr. and mrs. james g. blaine, mr. daniel c. french, the concord sculptor; mrs. j.c. ayer, mr. l. white busbey, one of the editors of the chicago _inter-ocean_; rev. dr. henry m. field, charles gifford dyer, the painter and father of the gifted young violinist, miss hella dyer; the late rev. mr. moffett, then united states consul at athens, mrs. governor bagley and daughter of michigan; grace greenwood and her talented daughter, who charmed everyone with her melodious voice, and miss bryant, daughter of the poet. one visitor who interested us most was the norwegian novelist and republican, bjornstjorne bjornson. we had several pleasant interviews with frederick douglass and his wife, some exciting games of chess with theodore tilton, in the pleasant apartments of the late w.j.a. fuller, esq., and his daughter, miss kate fuller. at this time i also met our brilliant countrywoman, louise chandler moulton. seeing so many familiar faces, i could easily imagine myself in new york rather than in paris. i attended several receptions and dined with mrs. charlotte beebe wilbour, greatly enjoying her clever descriptions of a winter on the nile in her own dahabeeyeh. i heard père hyacinthe preach, and met his american wife on several occasions. i took long drives every day through the parks and pleasant parts of the city. with garden concerts, operas, theaters, and the hippodrome i found abundant amusement. i never grew weary of the latter performance--the wonderful intelligence displayed there by animals, being a fresh surprise to me every time i went. i attended a reception at the elysée palace, escorted by m. joseph fabre, then a deputy and now a senator. m. fabre is the author of a play and several volumes devoted to joan of arc. he presented me to the president and to mme. jules grévy. i was also introduced to m. jules ferry, then prime minister, who said, among other things: "i am sorry to confess it, but it is only too true, our french women are far behind their sisters in america." the beautiful, large garden was thrown open that evening,--it was in july,--and the fine band of the republican guard gave a delightful concert under the big trees. i also met m. grévy's son-in-law, m. daniel wilson. he was then a deputy and one of the most powerful politicians in france. a few months later he caused his father's political downfall. i have a vivid recollection of him because he could speak english, his father having been a british subject. i visited the picture galleries once more, after a lapse of nearly fifty years, and was struck by the fact that, in that interval, several women had been admitted to places of honor. this was especially noticeable in the luxembourg sculpture gallery, where two women, mme. bertaux and the late claude vignon, wife of m. rouvier, were both represented by good work--the first and only women sculptors admitted to that gallery. at a breakfast party which we gave, i made the acquaintance of general cluseret, who figured in our civil war, afterward became war minister of the paris commune, and is now member of the chamber of deputies. he learned english when in america, and had not entirely forgotten it. he told anecdotes of lincoln, stanton, sumner, fremont, garibaldi, the count of paris, and many other famous men whom he once knew, and proved to be a very interesting conversationalist. old bookstands were always attractive centers of interest to theodore, and, among other treasure-troves, he brought home one day a boy of fourteen years, whose office it had been to watch the books. he was a bright, cheery little fellow of mixed french and german descent, who could speak english, french, and german. he was just what we had desired, to run errands and tend the door. as he was delighted with the idea of coming to us, we went to see his parents. we were pleased with their appearance and surroundings. we learned that they were members of the lutheran church, that the boy was one of the shining lights in sunday school, and the only point in our agreement on which they were strenuous was that he should go regularly to sunday school and have time to learn his lessons. so "immanuel" commenced a new life with us, and as we had unbounded confidence in the boy's integrity, we excused his shortcomings, and, for a time, believed all he said. but before long we found out that the moment we left the house he was in the drawing room, investigating every drawer, playing on the piano, or sleeping on the sofa. though he was told never to touch the hall stove, he would go and open all the draughts and make it red-hot. then we adopted the plan of locking up every part of the apartment but the kitchen. he amused himself burning holes through the pantry shelves, when the cook was out, and boring holes, with a gimlet, through a handsomely carved bread board. one day, in making up a spare bed for a friend, under the mattress were found innumerable letters he was supposed to have mailed at different times. when we reprimanded him for his pranks he would look at us steadily, but sorrowfully, and, immediately afterward, we would hear him dancing down the corridor singing, "safe in the arms of jesus." if he had given heed to one-half we said to him, he would have been safer in our hands than in those of his imaginary protector. he turned out a thief, an unmitigated liar, a dancing dervish, and, through all our experiences of six weeks with him, his chief reading was his bible and sunday-school books. the experience, however, was not lost on theodore--he has never suggested a boy since, and a faithful daughter of eve reigns in his stead. during the summer i was in the hands of two artists, miss anna klumpke, who painted my portrait, and paul bartlett, who molded my head in clay. to shorten the operation, sometimes i sat for both at the same time. although neither was fully satisfied with the results of their labors, we had many pleasant hours together, discussing their art, their early trials, and artists in general. each had good places in the _salon_, and honorable mention that year. it is sad to see so many american girls and boys, who have no genius for painting or sculpture, spending their days in garrets, in solitude and poverty, with the vain hope of earning distinction. women of all classes are awaking to the necessity of self-support, but few are willing to do the ordinary useful work for which they are fitted. in the _salon_ that year six thousand pictures were offered, and only two thousand accepted, and many of these were "skyed." it was lovely on our balcony at night to watch the little boats, with their lights, sailing up and down the seine, especially the day of the great annual fête,--the th of july,--when the whole city was magnificently illuminated. we drove about the city on several occasions at midnight, to see the life--men, women, and children enjoying the cool breezes, and the restaurants all crowded with people. sunday in paris is charming--it is the day for the masses of the people. all the galleries of art, the libraries, concert halls, and gardens are open to them. all are dressed in their best, out driving, walking, and having picnics in the various parks and gardens; husbands, wives, and children laughing and talking happily together. the seats in the streets and parks are all filled with the laboring masses. the benches all over paris--along the curbstones in every street and highway--show the care given to the comfort of the people. you will see mothers and nurses with their babies and children resting on these benches, laboring men eating their lunches and sleeping there at noon, the organ grinders and monkeys, too, taking their comfort. in france you see men and women everywhere together; in england the men generally stagger about alone, caring more for their pipes and beer than their mothers, wives, and sisters. social life, among the poor especially, is far more natural and harmonious in france than in england, because women mix more freely in business and amusements. coming directly from paris to london, one is forcibly struck with the gloom of the latter city, especially at night. paris with its electric lights is brilliant everywhere, while london, with its meager gas jets here and there struggling with the darkness, is as gloomy and desolate as dore's pictures of dante's inferno. on sunday, when the shops are closed, the silence and solitude of the streets, the general smoky blackness of the buildings and the atmosphere give one a melancholy impression of the great center of civilization. now that it has been discovered that smoke can be utilized and the atmosphere cleared, it is astonishing that the authorities do not avail themselves of the discovery, and thus bring light and joy and sunshine into that city, and then clean the soot of centuries from their blackened buildings. on my return to england i spent a day with miss emily lord, at her kindergarten establishment. she had just returned from sweden, where she spent six weeks in the carpenter's shop, studying the swedish slöjd system, in which children of twelve years old learn to use tools, making spoons, forks, and other implements. miss lord showed us some of her work, quite creditable for her first attempts. she said the children in the higher grades of her school enjoyed the carpenter work immensely and became very deft in the use of tools. on november , , we reached basingstoke once more, and found all things in order. my diary tells of several books i read during the winter and what the authors say of women; one the "religio medici," by sir thomas browne, m.d., in which the author discourses on many high themes, god, creation, heaven, hell, and vouchsafes one sentence on woman. of her he says: "i was never married but once and commend their resolution who never marry twice, not that i disallow of second, nor in all cases of polygamy, which, considering the unequal number of the sexes, may also be necessary. the whole world was made for man, but the twelfth part of man for woman. man is the whole world--the breath of god; woman the rib and crooked piece of man. i speak not in prejudice nor am averse from that sweet sex, but naturally amorous of all that is beautiful. i can look all day at a handsome picture, though it be but a horse." turning to john paul friedrich richter, i found in his chapter on woman many equally ridiculous statements mixed up with much fulsome admiration. after reading some volumes of richter, i took up heinrich heine, the german poet and writer. he said: "oh, the women! we must forgive them much, for they love much and many. their hate is, properly, only love turned inside out. sometimes they attribute some delinquency to us, because they think they can, in this way, gratify another man. when they write they have always one eye on the paper and the other eye on some man. this is true of all authoresses except the countess hahn hahn, who has only one eye." john ruskin's biography he gives us a glimpse of his timidity in regard to the sex, when a young man. he was very fond of the society of girls, but never knew how to approach them. he said he "was perfectly happy in serving them, would gladly make a bridge of himself for them to walk over, a beam to fasten a swing to for them--anything but to talk to them." such are some of the choice specimens of masculine wit i collected during my winter's reading! at a reception given to me by drs. julia and kate mitchell, sisters practicing medicine in london, i met stepniak, the russian nihilist, a man of grand presence and fine conversational powers. he was about to go to america, apprehensive lest our government should make an extradition treaty with russia to return political offenders, as he knew that proposal had been made. a few weeks later he did visit the united states, and had a hearing before a committee of the senate. he pointed out the character of the nihilist movement, declaring nihilists to be the real reformers, the true lovers of liberty, sacrificing themselves for the best interests of the people, and yet, as political prisoners, they are treated worse than the lowest class of criminals in the prisons and mines of siberia. i had a very unpleasant interview, during this visit to london, with miss lydia becker, miss caroline biggs, and miss blackburn, at the metropole, about choosing delegates to the international council of women soon to be held in washington. as there had been some irreconcilable dissensions in the suffrage association, and they could not agree as to whom their delegate should be, they decided to send none at all. i wrote at once to mrs. priscilla bright mclaren, pointing out what a shame it would be if england, above all countries, should not be represented in the first international council ever called by a suffrage association. she replied promptly that must not be, and immediately moved in the matter, and through her efforts three delegates were soon authorized to go, representing different constituencies--mrs. alice cliff scatcherd, mrs. ormiston chant, and mrs. ashton dilke. toward the last of february, , we went again to london to make a few farewell visits to dear friends. we spent a few days with mrs. mona caird, who was then reading karl pearson's lectures on "woman," and expounding her views on marriage, which she afterward gave to the westminster review, and stirred the press to white heat both in england and america. "is marriage a failure?" furnished the heading for our quack advertisements for a long time after. mrs. caird was a very graceful, pleasing woman, and so gentle in manner and appearance that no one would deem her capable of hurling such thunderbolts at the long-suffering saxon people. we devoted one day to prince krapotkine, who lives at harrow, in the suburbs of london. a friend of his, mr. lieneff, escorted us there. we found the prince, his wife, and child in very humble quarters; uncarpeted floors, books and papers on pine shelves, wooden chairs, and the bare necessaries of life--nothing more. they indulge in no luxuries, but devote all they can spare to the publication of liberal opinions to be scattered in russia, and to help nihilists in escaping from the dominions of the czar. the prince and princess took turns in holding and amusing the baby--then only one year old; fortunately it slept most of the time, so that the conversation flowed on for some hours. krapotkine told us of his sad prison experiences, both in france and russia. he said the series of articles by george kennan in the _century_ were not too highly colored, that the sufferings of men and women in siberia and the russian prisons could not be overdrawn. one of the refinements of cruelty they practice on prisoners is never to allow them to hear the human voice. a soldier always accompanies the warder who distributes the food, to see that no word is spoken. in vain the poor prisoner asks questions, no answer is ever made, no tidings from the outside world ever given. one may well ask what devil in human form has prescribed such prison life and discipline! i wonder if we could find a man in all russia who would defend the system, yet someone is responsible for its terrible cruelties! we returned to basingstoke, passed the few remaining days in looking over papers and packing for the voyage, and, on march , , mrs. blatch went with me to southampton. on the train i met my companions for the voyage, mrs. gustafsen, mrs. ashton dilke, and baroness gripenberg, from finland, a very charming woman, to whom i felt a strong attraction. the other delegates sailed from liverpool. we had a rough voyage and most of the passengers were very sick. mrs. dilke and i were well, however, and on deck every day, always ready to play whist and chess with a few gentlemen who were equally fortunate. i was much impressed with mrs. dilke's kindness and generosity in serving others. there was a lady on board with two children, whose nurse at the last minute refused to go with her. the mother was sick most of the way, and mrs. dilke did all in her power to relieve her, by amusing the little boy, telling him stories, walking with him on deck, and watching him throughout the day, no easy task to perform for an entire stranger. the poor little mother with a baby in her arms must have appreciated such kindly attention. when the pilot met us off sandy hook, he brought news of the terrible blizzard new york had just experienced, by which all communication with the world at large was practically suspended. the captain brought him down into the saloon to tell us all about it. the news was so startling that at first we thought the pilot was joking, but when he produced the metropolitan journals to verify his statements, we listened to the reading and what he had to say with profound astonishment. the second week in march, , will be memorable in the history of storms in the vicinity of new york. the snow was ten feet deep in some places, and the side streets impassable either for carriages or sleighs. i hoped the city would be looking its best, for the first impression on my foreign friends, but it never looked worse, with huge piles of snow everywhere covered with black dust. i started for washington at three o'clock, the day after our arrival, reached there at ten o'clock, and found my beloved friends, miss anthony and mrs. spofford, with open arms and warm hearts to receive me. as the vessel was delayed two days, our friends naturally thought we, too, had encountered a blizzard, but we had felt nothing of it; on the contrary the last days were the most pleasant of the voyage. chapter xxv. the international council of women. pursuant to the idea of the feasibility and need of an international council of women, mentioned in a preceding chapter, it was decided to celebrate the fourth decade of the woman suffrage movement in the united states by calling together such a council. at its nineteenth annual convention, held in january, , the national woman suffrage association resolved to assume the entire responsibility of holding a council, and to extend an invitation, for that purpose, to all associations of women in the trades, professions, and reforms, as well as those advocating political rights. early in june, , a call was issued for such a council to convene under the auspices of the national woman suffrage association at washington, d. c, on march , . the grand assemblage of women, coming from all the countries of the civilized globe, proved that the call for such a council was opportune, while the order and dignity of the proceedings proved the women worthy the occasion. no one doubts now the wisdom of that initiative step nor the added power women have gained over popular thought through the international council. as the proceedings of the contention were fully and graphically reported in the _woman's tribune_ at that time, and as its reports were afterward published in book form, revised and corrected by miss anthony, miss foster, and myself, i will merely say that our most sanguine expectations as to its success were more than realized. the large theater was crowded for an entire week, and hosts of able women spoke, as if specially inspired, on all the vital questions of the hour. although the council was called and conducted by the suffrage association, yet various other societies were represented. miss anthony was the financier of the occasion and raised twelve thousand dollars for the purpose, which enabled her to pay all the expenses of the delegates in washington, and for printing the report in book form. as soon as i reached washington, miss anthony ordered me to remain conscientiously in my own apartment and to prepare a speech for delivery before the committees of the senate and house, and another, as president, for the opening of the council. however, as mrs. spofford placed her carriage at our service, i was permitted to drive an hour or two every day about that magnificent city. one of the best speeches at the council was made by helen h. gardener. it was a criticism of dr. hammond's position in regard to the inferior size and quality of woman's brain. as the doctor had never had the opportunity of examining the brains of the most distinguished women, and, probably, those only of paupers and criminals, she felt he had no data on which to base his conclusions. moreover, she had the written opinion of several leading physicians, that it was quite impossible to distinguish the male from the female brain. the hearing at the capitol, after the meeting of the council, was very interesting, as all the foreign delegates were invited to speak each in the language of her own country; to address their alleged representatives in the halls of legislation was a privilege they had never enjoyed at home. it is very remarkable that english women have never made the demand for a hearing in the house of commons, nor even for a decent place to sit, where they can hear the debates and see the fine proportions of the representatives. the delegates had several brilliant receptions at the riggs house, and at the houses of senator stanford of california and senator palmer of michigan. miss anthony and i spent two months in washington, that winter. one of the great pleasures of our annual conventions was the reunion of our friends at the riggs house, where we enjoyed the boundless hospitality of mr. and mrs. spofford. the month of june i spent in new york city, where i attended several of colonel robert g. ingersoll's receptions and saw the great orator and iconoclast at his own fireside, surrounded by his admirers, and heard his beautiful daughters sing, which gave all who listened great pleasure, as they have remarkably fine voices. one has since married, and is now pouring out her richest melodies in the opera of lullaby in her own nursery. in the fall of , as ohio was about to hold a constitutional convention, at the request of the suffrage association i wrote an appeal to the women of the state to demand their right to vote for delegates to such convention. mrs. southworth had five thousand copies of my appeal published and distributed at the exposition in columbus. if ten righteous men could save sodom, all the brilliant women i met in cleveland should have saved ohio from masculine domination. the winter of - i was to spend with my daughter in omaha. i reached there in time to witness the celebration of the completion of the first bridge between that city and council bluffs. there was a grand procession in which all the industries of both towns were represented, and which occupied six hours in passing. we had a desirable position for reviewing the pageant, and very pleasant company to interpret the mottoes, symbols, and banners. the bridge practically brings the towns together, as electric street cars now run from one to the other in ten minutes. here, for the first time, i saw the cable cars running up hill and down without any visible means of locomotion. as the company ran an open car all winter, i took my daily ride of nine miles in it for fifteen cents. my son daniel, who escorted me, always sat inside the car, while i remained on an outside seat. he was greatly amused with the remarks he heard about that "queer old lady that always rode outside in all kinds of wintry weather." one day someone remarked loud enough for all to hear: "it is evident that woman does not know enough to come in when it rains." "bless me!" said the conductor, who knew me, "that woman knows as much as the queen of england; too much to come in here by a hot stove." how little we understand the comparative position of those whom we often criticise. there i sat enjoying the bracing air, the pure fresh breezes, indifferent to the fate of an old cloak and hood that had crossed the atlantic and been saturated with salt water many times, pitying the women inside breathing air laden with microbes that dozens of people had been throwing off from time to time, sacrificing themselves to their stylish bonnets, cloaks, and dresses, suffering with the heat of the red-hot stove; and yet they, in turn, pitying me. my seventy-third birthday i spent with my son gerrit smith stanton, on his farm near portsmouth, iowa. as we had not met in several years, it took us a long time, in the network of life, to pick up all the stitches that had dropped since we parted. i amused myself darning stockings and drawing plans for an addition to his house. but in the spring my son and his wife came to the conclusion that they had had enough of the solitude of farm life and turned their faces eastward. soon after my return to omaha, the editor of the _woman's tribune_, mrs. clara b. colby, called and lunched with us one day. she announced the coming state convention, at which i was expected "to make the best speech of my life." she had all the arrangements to make, and invited me to drive round with her, in order that she might talk by the way. she engaged the opera house, made arrangements at the paxton house for a reception, called on all her faithful coadjutors to arouse enthusiasm in the work, and climbed up to the sanctums of the editors,--democratic and republican alike,--asking them to advertise the convention and to say a kind word for our oppressed class in our struggle for emancipation. they all promised favorable notices and comments, and they kept their promises. mrs. colby, being president of the nebraska suffrage association, opened the meeting with an able speech, and presided throughout with tact and dignity. i came very near meeting with an unfortunate experience at this convention. the lady who escorted me in her carriage to the opera house carried the manuscript of my speech, which i did not miss until it was nearly time to speak, when i told a lady who sat by my side that our friend had forgotten to give me my manuscript. she went at once to her and asked for it. she remembered taking it, but what she had done with it she did not know. it was suggested that she might have dropped it in alighting from the carriage. and lo! they found it lying in the gutter. as the ground was frozen hard it was not even soiled. when i learned of my narrow escape, i trembled, for i had not prepared any train of thought for extemporaneous use. i should have been obliged to talk when my turn came, and if inspired by the audience or the good angels, might have done well, or might have failed utterly. the moral of this episode is, hold on to your manuscript. owing to the illness of my son-in-law, frank e. lawrence, he and my daughter went to california to see if the balmy air of san diego would restore his health, and so we gave up housekeeping in omaha, and, on april , , in company with my eldest son i returned east and spent the summer at hempstead, long island, with my son gerrit and his wife. we found hempstead a quiet, old dutch town, undisturbed by progressive ideas. here i made the acquaintance of chauncey c. parsons and wife, formerly of boston, who were liberal in their ideas on most questions. mrs. parsons and i attended one of the seidl club meetings at coney island, where seidl was then giving some popular concerts. the club was composed of two hundred women, to whom i spoke for an hour in the dining room of the hotel. with the magnificent ocean views, the grand concerts, and the beautiful women, i passed two very charming days by the seaside. my son henry had given me a phaeton, low and easy as a cradle, and i enjoyed many drives about long island. we went to bryant's home on the north side, several times, and in imagination i saw the old poet in the various shady nooks, inditing his lines of love and praise of nature in all her varying moods. walking among the many colored, rustling leaves in the dark days of november, i could easily enter into his thought as he penned these lines: "the melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; they rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread." in september, , my daughter, mrs. stanton lawrence, came east to attend a school of physical culture, and my other daughter, mrs. stanton blatch, came from england to enjoy one of our bracing winters. unfortunately we had rain instead of snow, and fogs instead of frost. however, we had a pleasant reunion at hempstead. after a few days in and about new york visiting friends, we went to geneva and spent several weeks in the home of my cousin, the daughter of gerrit smith. she and i have been most faithful, devoted friends all our lives, and regular correspondents for more than fifty years. in the family circle we are ofttimes referred to as "julius" and "johnson." these euphonious names originated in this way: when the christy minstrels first appeared, we went one evening to hear them. on returning home we amused our seniors with, as they said, a capital rehearsal. the wit and philosopher of the occasion were called, respectively, julius and johnson; so we took their parts and reproduced all the bright, humorous remarks they made. the next morning as we appeared at the breakfast table, cousin gerrit smith, in his deep, rich voice said: "good-morning, julius and johnson," and he kept it up the few days we were in albany together. one after another our relatives adopted the pseudonyms, and mrs. miller has been "julius" and i "johnson" ever since. from geneva we went to buffalo, but, as i had a bad cold and a general feeling of depression, i decided to go to the dansville sanatorium and see what doctors james and kate jackson could do for me. i was there six weeks and tried all the rubbings, pinchings, steamings; the swedish movements of the arms, hands, legs, feet; dieting, massage, electricity, and, though i succeeded in throwing off only five pounds of flesh, yet i felt like a new being. it is a charming place to be in--the home is pleasantly situated and the scenery very fine. the physicians are all genial, and a cheerful atmosphere pervades the whole establishment. as christmas was at hand, the women were all half crazy about presents, and while good doctors james and kate were doing all in their power to cure the nervous affections of their patients, they would thwart the treatment by sitting in the parlor with the thermometer at seventy-two degrees, embroidering all kinds of fancy patterns,--some on muslin, some on satin, and some with colored worsteds on canvas,--inhaling the poisonous dyes, straining the optic nerves, counting threads and stitches, hour after hour, until utterly exhausted. i spoke to one poor victim of the fallacy of christmas presents, and of her injuring her health in such useless employment. "what can i do?" she replied, "i must make presents and cannot afford to buy them." "do you think," said i, "any of your friends would enjoy a present you made at the risk of your health? i do not think there is any 'must' in the matter. i never feel that i must give presents, and never want any, especially from those who make some sacrifice to give them." this whole custom of presents at christmas, new year's, and at weddings has come to be a bore, a piece of hypocrisy leading to no end of unhappiness. i do not know a more pitiful sight than to see a woman tatting, knitting, embroidering--working cats on the toe of some slipper, or tulips on an apron. the amount of nervous force that is expended in this way is enough to make angels weep. the necessary stitches to be taken in every household are quite enough without adding fancy work. from dansville my daughters and i went on to washington to celebrate the seventieth birthday of miss anthony, who has always been to them as a second mother. mrs. blatch made a speech at the celebration, and mrs. lawrence gave a recitation. first came a grand supper at the riggs house. the dining room was beautifully decorated; in fact, mr. and mrs. spofford spared no pains to make the occasion one long to be remembered. may wright sewall was the mistress of ceremonies. she read the toasts and called on the different speakers. phoebe couzins, rev. anna shaw, isabella beecher hooker, matilda joslyn gage, clara b. colby, senator blair of new hampshire, and many others responded. i am ashamed to say that we kept up the festivities till after two o'clock. miss anthony, dressed in dark velvet and point lace, spoke at the close with great pathos. those of us who were there will not soon forget february , . after speaking before committees of the senate and house, i gave the opening address at the annual convention. mrs. stanton blatch spoke a few minutes on the suffrage movement in england, after which we hurried off to new york, and went on board the _aller_, one of the north german lloyd steamers, bound for southampton. at the ship we found captain milinowski and his wife and two of my sons waiting our arrival. as we had eighteen pieces of baggage it took mrs. blatch some time to review them. my phaeton, which we decided to take, filled six boxes. an easy carriage for two persons is not common in england. the dogcarts prevail, the most uncomfortable vehicles one can possibly use. why some of our americans drive in those uncomfortable carts is a question. i think it is because they are "so english." the only reason the english use them is because they are cheap. the tax on two wheels is one-half what it is on four, and in england all carriages are taxed. before we americans adopt fashions because they are english, we had better find out the _raison d'être_ for their existence. we had a very pleasant, smooth voyage, unusually so for blustering february and march. as i dislike close staterooms, i remained in the ladies' saloon night and day, sleeping on a sofa. after a passage of eleven days we landed at southampton, march , . it was a beautiful moonlight night and we had a pleasant ride on the little tug to the wharf. we reached basingstoke at eleven o'clock, found the family well and all things in order. chapter xxvi. my last visit to england. as soon as we got our carriage put together hattie and i drove out every day, as the roads in england are in fine condition all the year round. we had lovely weather during the spring, but the summer was wet and cold. with reading, writing, going up to london, and receiving visitors, the months flew by without our accomplishing half the work we proposed. as my daughter was a member of the albemarle club, we invited several friends to dine with us there at different times. there we had a long talk with mr. stead, the editor of the _pall mall gazette_, on his position in regard to russian affairs, "the deceased wife's sister bill," and the divorce laws of england. mr. stead is a fluent talker as well as a good writer. he is the leader of the social purity movement in england. the wisdom of his course toward sir charles dilke and mr. parnell was questioned by many; but there is a touch of the religious fanatic in mr. stead, as in many of his followers. there were several problems in social ethics that deeply stirred the english people in the year of our lord . one was charles stewart parnell's platonic friendship with mrs. o'shea, and the other was the lord chancellor's decision in the case of mrs. jackson. the pulpit, the press, and the people vied with each other in trying to dethrone mr. parnell as the great irish leader, but the united forces did not succeed in destroying his self-respect, nor in hounding him out of the british parliament, though, after a brave and protracted resistance on his part, they did succeed in hounding him into the grave. it was pitiful to see the irish themselves, misled by a hypocritical popular sentiment in england, turn against their great leader, the only one they had had for half a century who was able to keep the irish question uppermost in the house of commons year after year. the course of events since his death has proved the truth of what he told them, to wit: that there was no sincerity in the interest english politicians manifested in the question of home rule, and that the debates on that point would cease as soon as it was no longer forced on their consideration. and now when they have succeeded in killing their leader, they begin to realize their loss. the question evolved through the ferment of social opinions was concisely stated, thus: "can a man be a great leader, a statesman, a general, an admiral, a learned chief justice, a trusted lawyer, or skillful physician, if he has ever broken the seventh commandment?" i expressed my opinion in the _westminster review_, at the time, in the affirmative. mrs. jacob bright, mrs. ellen battelle dietrick of boston, kate field, in her _washington_, agreed with me. many other women spoke out promptly in the negative, and with a bitterness against those who took the opposite view that was lamentable. the jackson case was a profitable study, as it brought out other questions of social ethics, as well as points of law which were ably settled by the lord chancellor. it seems that immediately after mr. and mrs. jackson were married, the groom was compelled to go to australia. after two years he returned and claimed his bride, but in the interval she felt a growing aversion and determined not to live with him. as she would not even see him, with the assistance of friends he kidnaped her one day as she was coming out of church, and carried her to his home, where he kept her under surveillance until her friends, with a writ of _habeas corpus_, compelled him to bring her into court. the popular idea "based on the common law of england," was, that the husband had this absolute right. the lower court, in harmony with this idea, maintained the husband's right, and remanded her to his keeping, but the friends appealed to the higher court and the lord chancellor reversed the decision. with regard to the right so frequently claimed, giving husbands the power to seize, imprison, and chastise their wives, he said: "i am of the opinion that no such right exists in law. i am of the opinion that no such right ever did exist in law. i say that no english subject has the right to imprison another english subject, whether his wife or not." through this decision the wife walked out of the court a free woman. the passage of the married women's property bill in england in was the first blow at the old idea of coverture, giving to wives their rights of property, the full benefit of which they are yet to realize when clearer-minded men administer the laws. the decision of the lord chancellor, rendered march , , declaratory of the personal rights of married women, is a still more important blow by just so much as the rights of person are more sacred than the rights of property. one hundred years ago, lord chief justice mansfield gave his famous decision in the somerset case, "that no slave could breathe on british soil," and the slave walked out of court a free man. the decision of the lord chancellor, in the jackson case, is far more important, more momentous in its consequences, as it affects not only one race but one-half of the entire human family. from every point of view this is the greatest legal decision of the century. like the great chief justice of the last century, the lord chancellor, with a clearer vision than those about him, rises into a purer atmosphere of thought, and vindicates the eternal principles of justice and the dignity of british law, by declaring all statutes that make wives the bond slaves of their husbands, obsolete. how long will it be in our republic before some man will arise, great enough to so interpret our national constitution as to declare that women, as citizens of the united states, cannot be governed by laws in the making of which they have no part? it is not constitutional amendments nor statute laws we need, but judges on the bench of our supreme court, who, in deciding great questions of human rights, shall be governed by the broad principles of justice rather than precedent. one interesting feature in the trial of the jackson case, was that both lady coleridge and the wife of the lord chancellor were seated on the bench, and evidently much pleased with the decision. it is difficult to account for the fact that, while women of the highest classes in england take the deepest interest in politics and court decisions, american women of wealth and position are wholly indifferent to all public matters. while english women take an active part in elections, holding meetings and canvassing their districts, here, even the wives of judges, governors, and senators speak with bated breath of political movements, and seem to feel that a knowledge of laws and constitutions would hopelessly unsex them. toward the last of april, with my little granddaughter and her nurse, i went down to bournemouth, one of the most charming watering places in england. we had rooms in the cliff house with windows opening on the balcony, where we had a grand view of the bay and could hear the waves dashing on the shore. while nora, with her spade and pail, played all day in the sands, digging trenches and filling them with water, i sat on the balcony reading "diana of the crossways," and bjornson's last novel, "in god's way," both deeply interesting. as all the characters in the latter come to a sad end, i could not see the significance of the title. if they walked in god's way their career should have been successful. i took my first airing along the beach in an invalid chair. these bath chairs are a great feature in all the watering places of england. they are drawn by a man or a donkey. the first day i took a man, an old sailor, who talked incessantly of his adventures, stopping to rest every five minutes, dissipating all my pleasant reveries, and making an unendurable bore of himself. the next day i told the proprietor to get me a man who would not talk all the time. the man he supplied jogged along in absolute silence; he would not even answer my questions. supposing he had his orders to keep profound silence, after one or two attempts i said nothing. when i returned home, the proprietor asked me how i liked this man. "ah!" i said, "he was indeed silent and would not even answer a question nor go anywhere i told him; still i liked him better than the talkative man." he laughed heartily and said: "this man is deaf and dumb. i thought i would make sure that you should not be bored." i joined in the laugh and said: "well, to-morrow get me a man who can hear but cannot speak, if you can find one constructed on that plan." bournemouth is noteworthy now as the burial place of mary wolstonecraft and the shelleys. i went to see the monument that had been recently reared to their memory. on one side is the following inscription: "william godwin, author of 'political justice,' born march rd, , died april th, . mary wolstonecraft godwin, author of the 'vindication of the rights of women,' born april th, , died september th, ." these remains were brought here, in , from the churchyard of st. pancras, london. on the other side are the following inscriptions: "mary wolstonecraft godwin, daughter of william godwin and widow of the late percy bysshe shelley, born august th, , died february st, . percy florence shelley, son of percy shelley and mary wolstonecraft, third baronet, born november th, , died december th, . "in christ's church, six miles from bournemouth, is a bas-relief in memory of the great poet. he is represented, dripping with seaweed, in the arms of the angel of death. as i sat on my balcony hour after hour, reading and thinking of the shelleys, watching the changing hues of the clouds and the beautiful bay, and listening to the sad monotone of the waves, these sweet lines of whittier's came to my mind: "its waves are kneeling on the strand, as kneels the human knee,-- their white locks bowing to the sand, the priesthood of the sea! "the blue sky is the temple's arch, its transept earth and air, the music of its starry march the chorus of a prayer." american letters, during this sojourn abroad, told of many losses, one after another, from our family circle; nine passed away within two years. the last was my sister mrs. bayard, who died in may, . she was the oldest of our family, and had always been a second mother to her younger sisters, and her house our second home. the last of june my son theodore's wife and daughter came over from france to spend a month with us. lisette and nora, about the same size, played and quarreled most amusingly together. they spent their mornings in the kindergarten school, and the afternoons with their pony, but rainy days i was impressed into their service to dress dolls and tell stories. i had the satisfaction to hear them say that their dolls were never so prettily dressed before, and that my stories were better than any in the books. as i composed the wonderful yarns as i went along, i used to get very tired, and sometimes, when i heard the little feet coming, i would hide, but they would hunt until they found me. when my youngest son was ten years old and could read for himself, i graduated in story telling, having practiced in that line twenty-one years. i vowed that i would expend no more breath in that direction, but the eager face of a child asking for stories is too much for me, and my vow has been often broken. all the time i was in england nora claimed the twilight hour, and, in france, lisette was equally pertinacious. when victor hugo grew tired telling his grandchildren stories, he would wind up with the story of an old gentleman who, after a few interesting experiences, took up his evening paper and began to read aloud. the children would listen a few moments and then, one by one, slip out of the room. longfellow's old gentleman, after many exciting scenes in his career, usually stretched himself on the lounge and feigned sleep. but grandmothers are not allowed to shelter themselves with such devices; they are required to spin on until the bedtime really arrives. on july , one of the hottest days of the season, mrs. jacob bright and daughter, herbert burroughs, and mrs. parkhurst came down from london, and we sat out of doors, taking our luncheon under the trees and discussing theosophy. later in the month hattie and i went to yorkshire to visit mr. and mrs. scatcherd at morley hall, and there spent several days. we had a prolonged discussion on personal rights. one side was against all governmental interference, such as compulsory education and the protection of children against cruel parents; the other side in favor of state interference that protected the individual in the enjoyment of life, liberty, and happiness. i took the latter position. many parents are not fit to have the control of children, hence the state should see that they are sheltered, fed, clothed, and educated. it is far better for the state to make good citizens of its children in the beginning, than, in the end, to be compelled to care for them as criminals. while in the north of england we spent a few days at howard castle, the summer residence of lord and lady carlisle and their ten children. so large a family in high life is unusual. as i had known lord and lady amberley in america, when they visited this country in , i enjoyed meeting other members of their family. lady carlisle is in favor of woman suffrage and frequently speaks in public. she is a woman of great force of character, and of very generous impulses. she is trying to do her duty in sharing the good things of life with the needy. the poor for miles round often have picnics in her park, and large numbers of children from manufacturing towns spend weeks with her cottage tenants at her expense. lord carlisle is an artist and a student. as he has a poetical temperament and is aesthetic in all his tastes, lady carlisle is the business manager of the estate. she is a practical woman with immense executive ability. the castle with its spacious dining hall and drawing rooms, with its chapel, library, galleries of paintings and statuary, its fine outlook, extensive gardens and lawns was well worth seeing. we enjoyed our visit very much and discussed every imaginable subject. when we returned to basingstoke we had a visit from mrs. cobb, the wife of a member of parliament, and sister-in-law of karl pearson, whose lectures on woman i had enjoyed so much. it was through reading his work, "the ethic of free thought," that the matriarchate made such a deep impression on my mind and moved me to write a tract on the subject. people who have neither read nor thought on this point, question the facts as stated by bachofen, morgan, and wilkeson; but their truth, i think, cannot be questioned. they seem so natural in the chain of reasoning and the progress of human development. mrs. cobb did a very good thing a few days before visiting us. at a great meeting called to promote mr. cobb's election, john morley spoke. he did not even say "ladies and gentlemen" in starting, nor make the slightest reference to the existence of such beings as women. when he had finished, mrs. cobb arose mid great cheering and criticised his speech, making some quotations from his former speeches of a very liberal nature. the audience laughed and cheered, fully enjoying the rebuke. the next day in his speech he remembered his countrywomen, and on rising said, "ladies and gentlemen." during august, , i was busy getting ready for my voyage, as i was to sail on the _ems_ on august . although i had crossed the ocean six times in the prior ten years i dreaded the voyage more than words can describe. the last days were filled with sadness, in parting with those so dear to me in foreign countries--especially those curly-headed little girls, so bright, so pretty, so winning in all their ways. hattie and theodore went with me from southampton in the little tug to the great ship _ems_. it was very hard for us to say the last farewell, but we all tried to be as brave as possible. we had a rough voyage, but i was not seasick one moment. i was up and dressed early in the morning, and on deck whenever the weather permitted. i made many pleasant acquaintances with whom i played chess and whist; wrote letters to all my foreign friends, ready to mail on landing; read the "egotist," by george meredith, and ibsen's plays as translated by my friend frances lord. i had my own private stewardess, a nice german woman who could speak english. she gave me most of my meals on deck or in the ladies' saloon, and at night she would open the porthole two or three times and air our stateroom; that made the nights endurable. the last evening before landing we got up an entertainment with songs, recitations, readings, and speeches. i was invited to preside and introduce the various performers. we reached sandy hook the evening of the th day of august and lay there all night, and the next morning we sailed up our beautiful harbor, brilliant with the rays of the rising sun. being fortunate in having children in both hemispheres, here, too, i found a son and daughter waiting to welcome me to my native land. our chief business for many weeks was searching for an inviting apartment where my daughter, mrs. stanton lawrence, my youngest son, bob, and i could set up our family altar and sing our new psalm of life together. after much weary searching we found an apartment. having always lived in a large house in the country, the quarters seemed rather contracted at first, but i soon realized the immense saving in labor and expense in having no more room than is absolutely necessary, and all on one floor. to be transported from the street to your apartment in an elevator in half a minute, to have all your food and fuel sent to your kitchen by an elevator in the rear, to have your rooms all warmed with no effort of your own, seemed like a realization of some fairy dream. with an extensive outlook of the heavens above, of the park and the boulevard beneath, i had a feeling of freedom, and with a short flight of stairs to the roof (an easy escape in case of fire), of safety, too. no sooner was i fully established in my eyrie, than i was summoned to rochester, by my friend miss anthony, to fill an appointment she had made for me with miss adelaide johnson, the artist from washington, who was to idealize miss anthony and myself in marble for the world's fair. i found my friend demurely seated in her mother's rocking-chair hemming table linen and towels for her new home, anon bargaining with butchers, bakers, and grocers, making cakes and puddings, talking with enthusiasm of palatable dishes and the beauties of various articles of furniture that different friends had presented her. all there was to remind one of the "napoleon of the suffrage movement" was a large escritoire covered with documents in the usual state of confusion--miss anthony never could keep her papers in order. in search of any particular document she roots out every drawer and pigeon hole, although her mother's little spinning wheel stands right beside her desk, a constant reminder of all the domestic virtues of the good housewife, with whom "order" is of the utmost importance and "heaven's first law." the house was exquisitely clean and orderly, the food appetizing, the conversation pleasant and profitable, and the atmosphere genial. a room in an adjoining house was assigned to miss johnson and myself, where a strong pedestal and huge mass of clay greeted us. and there, for nearly a month, i watched the transformation of that clay into human proportions and expressions, until it gradually emerged with the familiar facial outlines ever so dear to one's self. sitting there four or five hours every day i used to get very sleepy, so my artist arranged for a series of little naps. when she saw the crisis coming she would say: "i will work now for a time on the ear, the nose, or the hair, as you must be wide awake when i am trying to catch the expression." i rewarded her for her patience and indulgence by summoning up, when awake, the most intelligent and radiant expression that i could command. as miss johnson is a charming, cultured woman, with liberal ideas and brilliant in conversation, she readily drew out all that was best in me. before i left rochester, miss anthony and her sister mary gave a reception to me at their house. as some of the professors and trustees of the rochester university were there, the question of co-education was freely discussed, and the authorities urged to open the doors of the university to the daughters of the people. it was rather aggravating to contemplate those fine buildings and grounds, while every girl in that city must go abroad for higher education. the wife of president hill of the university had just presented him with twins, a girl and a boy, and he facetiously remarked, "that if the creator could risk placing sexes in such near relations, he thought they might with safety walk on the same campus and pursue the same curriculum together." miss anthony and i went to geneva the next day to visit mrs. miller and to meet, by appointment, mrs. eliza osborne, the niece of lucretia mott, and eldest daughter of martha c. wright. we anticipated a merry meeting, but miss anthony and i were so tired that we no doubt appeared stupid. in a letter to mrs. miller afterward, mrs. osborne inquired why i was "so solemn." as i pride myself on being impervious to fatigue or disease, i could not own up to any disability, so i turned the tables on her in the following letter: "new york, west st street, november , . "dear eliza: "in a recent letter to mrs. miller, speaking of the time when we last met, you say, 'why was mrs. stanton so solemn?' to which i reply: ever since an old german emperor issued an edict, ordering all the women under that flag to knit when walking on the highway, when selling apples in the market place, when sitting in the parks, because 'to keep women out of mischief their hands must be busy,' ever since i read that, i have felt 'solemn' whenever i have seen any daughters of our grand republic knitting, tatting, embroidering, or occupied with any of the ten thousand digital absurdities that fill so large a place in the lives of eve's daughters. "looking forward to the scintillations of wit, the philosophical researches, the historical traditions, the scientific discoveries, the astronomical explorations, the mysteries of theosophy, palmistry, mental science, the revelations of the unknown world where angels and devils do congregate, looking forward to discussions of all these grand themes, in meeting the eldest daughter of david and martha wright, the niece of lucretia mott, the sister-in-law of william lloyd garrison, a queenly-looking woman five feet eight in height, and well proportioned, with glorious black eyes, rivaling even de staël's in power and pathos, one can readily imagine the disappointment i experienced when such a woman pulled a cotton wash rag from her pocket and forthwith began to knit with bowed head. fixing her eyes and concentrating her thoughts on a rag one foot square; it was impossible for conversation to rise above the wash-rag level! it was enough to make the most aged optimist 'solemn' to see such a wreck of glorious womanhood. "and, still worse, she not only knit steadily, hour after hour, but she bestowed the sweetest words of encouragement on a young girl from the pacific coast, who was embroidering rosebuds on another rag, the very girl i had endeavored to rescue from the maelstrom of embroidery, by showing her the unspeakable folly of giving her optic nerves to such base uses, when they were designed by the creator to explore the planetary world, with chart and compass to guide mighty ships across the sea, to lead the sons of adam with divinest love from earth to heaven. think of the great beseeching optic nerves and muscles by which we express our admiration of all that is good and glorious in earth and heaven, being concentrated on a cotton wash rag! who can wonder that i was 'solemn' that day! i made my agonized protest on the spot, but it fell unheeded, and with satisfied sneer eliza knit on, and the young californian continued making the rosebuds. i gazed into space, and, when alone, wept for my degenerate countrywoman. i not only was 'solemn' that day, but i am profoundly 'solemn' whenever i think of that queenly woman and that cotton wash rag. (one can buy a whole dozen of these useful appliances, with red borders and fringed, for twenty-five cents.) oh, eliza, i beseech you, knit no more! "affectionately yours, "elizabeth cady stanton." to this mrs. osborne sent the following reply: "dear mrs. stanton: "in your skit against your sisterhood who knit, or useful make their fingers, i wonder if--deny it not-- the habit of lucretia mott within your memory lingers! "in retrospective vision bright, can you recall dear martha wright without her work or knitting? the needles flying in her hands, on washing rags or baby's bands, or other work as fitting? "i cannot think they thought the less, or ceased the company to bless with conversation's riches, because they thus improved their time, and never deemed it was a crime to fill the hours with stitches. "they even used to preach and plan to spread the fashion, so that man might have this satisfaction; instead of idling as men do, with nervous meddling fingers too, why not mate talk with action? "but as a daughter and a niece, i pride myself on every piece of handiwork created; while reveling in social chat, or listening to gossip flat, my gain is unabated. "that german emperor you scorn, seems to my mind a monarch born, worthy to lead a column; i'll warrant he could talk and work, and, neither being used to shirk, was rarely very solemn. "i could say more upon this head, but must, before i go to bed. your idle precepts mocking, get out my needle and my yarn and, caring not a single darn. just finish up this stocking." chapter xxvii. sixtieth anniversary of the class of --the woman's bible. i returned from geneva to new york city in time to celebrate my seventy-sixth birthday with my children. i had traveled about constantly for the last twenty years in france, england, and my own country, and had so many friends and correspondents, and pressing invitations to speak in clubs and conventions, that now i decided to turn over a new leaf and rest in an easy-chair. but so complete a change in one's life could not be easily accomplished. in spite of my resolution to abide in seclusion, my daughter and i were induced to join the botta club, which was to meet once a month, alternately, at the residences of mrs. moncure d. conway and mrs. abby sage richardson. though composed of ladies and gentlemen it proved dull and unprofitable. as the subject for discussion was not announced until each meeting, no one was prepared with any well-digested train of thought. it was also decided to avoid all questions about which there might be grave differences of opinion. this negative position reminded me of a book on etiquette which i read in my young days, in which gentlemen were warned, "in the presence of ladies discuss neither politics, religion, nor social duties, but confine yourself to art, poetry, and abstract questions which women cannot understand. the less they know of a subject the more respectfully they will listen." this club was named in honor of mrs. botta, formerly miss anne lynch, whose drawing room for many years was the social center of the literati of new york. on january , , we held the annual suffrage convention in washington, and, as usual, had a hearing before the congressional committee. my speech on the "solitude of self" was well received and was published in the congressional record. the _woman's tribune_ struck off many hundreds of copies and it was extensively circulated. notwithstanding my determination to rest, i spoke to many clubs, wrote articles for papers and magazines, and two important leaflets, one on "street cleaning," another on "opening the chicago exposition on sunday." as sunday was the only day the masses could visit that magnificent scene, with its great lake, extensive park, artificial canals, and beautiful buildings, i strongly advocated its being open on that day. one hundred thousand religious bigots petitioned congress to make no appropriation for this magnificent exposition, unless the managers pledged themselves to close the gates on sunday, and hide this vision of beauty from the common people. fortunately, this time a sense of justice outweighed religious bigotry. i sent my leaflets to every member of congress and of the state legislatures, and to the managers of the exposition, and made it a topic of conversation at every opportunity. the park and parts of the exposition were kept open on sunday, but some of the machinery was stopped as a concession to narrow christian sects. in june, , at the earnest solicitation of mrs. russell sage, i attended the dedication of the gurley memorial building, presented to the emma willard seminary, at troy, new york, and made the following address: "mrs. president, members of the alumnae: "it is just sixty years since the class of ' , to which i belonged, celebrated a commencement in this same room. this was the great event of the season to many families throughout this state. parents came from all quarters; the _élite_ of troy and albany assembled here. principals from other schools, distinguished legislators, and clergymen all came to hear girls scan latin verse, solve problems in euclid, and read their own compositions in a promiscuous assemblage. a long line of teachers anxiously waited the calling of their classes, and over all, our queenly madame willard presided with royal grace and dignity. two hundred girls in gala attire, white dresses, bright sashes, and coral ornaments, with their curly hair, rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes, flitted to and fro, some rejoicing that they had passed through their ordeal, some still on the tiptoe of expectation, some laughing, some in tears--altogether a most beautiful and interesting picture. "conservatives then, as now, thought the result of the higher education of girls would be to destroy their delicacy and refinement. but as the graduates of the troy seminary were never distinguished in after life for the lack of these feminine virtues, the most timid, even, gradually accepted the situation and trusted their daughters with mrs. willard. but that noble woman endured for a long period the same ridicule and persecution that women now do who take an onward step in the march of progress. "i see around me none of the familiar faces that greeted my coming or said farewell in parting. i do not know that one of my classmates still lives. friendship with those i knew and loved best lasted but a few years, then our ways in life parted. i should not know where to find one now, and if i did, probably our ideas would differ on every subject, as i have wandered in latitudes beyond the prescribed sphere of women. i suppose it is much the same with many of you--the familiar faces are all gone, gone to the land of shadows, and i hope of sunshine too, where we in turn will soon follow. "and yet, though we who are left are strangers to one another, we have the same memories of the past, of the same type of mischievous girls and staid teachers, though with different names. the same long, bare halls and stairs, the recitation rooms with the same old blackboards and lumps of chalk taken for generation after generation, i suppose, from the same pit; the dining room, with its pillars inconveniently near some of the tables, with its thick, white crockery and black-handled knives, and viands that never suited us, because, forsooth, we had boxes of delicacies from home, or we had been out to the baker's or confectioner's and bought pies and cocoanut cakes, candy and chewing gum, all forbidden, but that added to the relish. there, too, were the music rooms, with their old, second-hand pianos, some with rattling keys and tinny sound, on which we were supposed to play our scales and exercises for an hour, though we often slyly indulged in the 'russian march,' 'napoleon crossing the rhine,' or our national airs, when, as slyly, mr. powell, our music teacher, a bumptious englishman, would softly open the door and say in a stern voice, 'please practice the lesson i just gave you!' "our chief delight was to break the rules, but we did not like to be caught at it. as we were forbidden to talk with our neighbors in study hours, i frequently climbed on top of my bureau to talk through a pipe hole with a daughter of judge howell of canandaigua. we often met afterward, laughed and talked over the old days, and kept our friendship bright until the day of her death. once while rooming with harriet hudson, a sister of mrs. john willard, i was moved to a very erratic performance. miss theresa lee had rung the bell for retiring, and had taken her rounds, as usual, to see that the lights were out and all was still, when i peeped out of my door, and seeing the bell at the head of the stairs nearby, i gave it one kick and away it went rolling and ringing to the bottom. the halls were instantly filled with teachers and scholars, all in white robes, asking what was the matter. harriet and i ran around questioning the rest, and what a frolic we had, helter-skelter, up and down stairs, in each other's rooms, pulling the beds to pieces, changing girls' clothes from one room to another, etc., etc. the hall lamps, dimly burning, gave us just light enough for all manner of depredations without our being recognized, hence the unbounded latitude we all felt for mischief. in our whole seminary course--and i was there nearly three years--we never had such a frolic as that night. it took all the teachers to restore order and quiet us down again for the night. no suspicion of any irregularities were ever attached to harriet and myself. our standing for scholarship was good, hence we were supposed to reflect all the moralities. "though strangers, we have a bond of union in all these memories, of our bright companions, our good teachers, who took us through the pitfalls of logic, rhetoric, philosophy, and the sciences, and of the noble woman who founded the institution, and whose unselfish devotion in the cause of education we are here to celebrate. the name of emma willard is dear to all of us; to know her was to love and venerate her. she was not only good and gifted, but she was a beautiful woman. she had a finely developed figure, well-shaped head, classic features, most genial manners, and a profound self-respect (a rare quality in woman), that gave her a dignity truly royal in every position. traveling in the old world she was noticed everywhere as a distinguished personage. and all these gifts she dedicated to the earnest purpose of her life, the higher education of women. "in opening this seminary she could not find young women capable of teaching the higher branches, hence her first necessity was to train herself. amos b. eaton, who was the principal of the rensselaer polytechnic school for boys here in troy, told me mrs. willard studied with him every branch he was capable of teaching, and trained a corps of teachers and regular scholars at the same time. she took lessons of the professor every evening when he had leisure, and studied half the night the branches she was to teach the next day, thus keeping ahead of her classes. her intense earnestness and mental grasp, the readiness with which she turned from one subject to another, and her retentive memory of every rule and fact he gave her, was a constant surprise to the professor. "all her vacation she devoted to training teachers. she was the first to suggest the normal-school system. remembering her deep interest in the education of women, we can honor her in no more worthy manner than to carry on her special lifework. as we look around at all the educated women assembled here to-day and try to estimate what each has done in her own sphere of action, the schools founded, the teachers sent forth, the inspiration given to girls in general, through the long chain of influences started by our alma mater, we can form some light estimate of the momentous and far-reaching consequences of emma willard's life. we have not her difficulties to overcome, her trials to endure, but the imperative duty is laid on each of us to finish the work she so successfully began. schools and colleges of a high order are now everywhere open to women, public sentiment welcomes them to whatever career they may desire, and our work is to help worthy girls struggling for a higher education, by founding scholarships in desirable institutions in every state in the union. the most fitting tribute we can pay to emma willard is to aid in the production of a generation of thoroughly educated women. "there are two kinds of scholarships, equally desirable; a permanent one, where the interest of a fund from year to year will support a succession of students, and a temporary one, to help some worthy individual as she may require. someone has suggested that this association should help young girls in their primary education. but as our public schools possess all the advantages for a thorough education in the rudiments of learning and are free to all, our scholarships should be bestowed on those whose ability and earnestness in the primary department have been proved, and whose capacity for a higher education is fully shown. "this is the best work women of wealth can do, and i hope in the future they will endow scholarships for their own sex instead of giving millions of dollars to institutions for boys, as they have done in the past. after all the bequests women have made to harvard see how niggardly that institution, in its 'annex,' treats their daughters. i once asked a wealthy lady to give a few thousands of dollars to start a medical college and hospital for women in new york. she said before making bequests she always consulted her minister and her bible. he told her there was nothing said in the bible about colleges for women. i said, 'tell him he is mistaken. if he will turn to 'chron. xxxiv. , he will find that when josiah, the king, sent the wise men to consult huldah, the prophetess, about the book of laws discovered in the temple, they found huldah in the college in jerusalem, thoroughly well informed on questions of state, while shallum, her husband, was keeper of the robes. i suppose his business was to sew on the royal buttons.' but in spite of this scriptural authority, the rich lady gave thirty thousand dollars to princeton and never one cent for the education of her own sex. "of all the voices to which these walls have echoed for over half a century, how few remain to tell the story of the early days, and when we part, how few of us will ever meet again; but i know we shall carry with us some new inspiration for the work that still remains for us to do. though many of us are old in years, we may still be young in heart. women trained to concentrate all their thoughts on family life are apt to think--when their children are grown up, their loved ones gone, their servants trained to keep the domestic machinery in motion--that their work in life is done, that no one needs now their thought and care, quite forgetting that the hey-day of woman's life is on the shady side of fifty, when the vital forces heretofore expended in other ways are garnered in the brain, when their thoughts and sentiments flow out in broader channels, when philanthropy takes the place of family selfishness, and when from the depths of poverty and suffering the wail of humanity grows as pathetic to their ears as once was the cry of their own children. "or, perhaps, the pressing cares of family life ended, the woman may awake to some slumbering genius in herself for art, science, or literature, with which to gild the sunset of her life. longfellow's beautiful poem, 'morituri salutamus,' written for a similar occasion to this, is full of hope and promise for all of us. he says: "'something remains for us to do or dare; even the oldest tree some fruit may bear. cato learned greek at eighty; sophocles wrote his grand oedipus, and simonides bore off the prize of verse from his compeers, when each had numbered more than four-score years. and theophrastus, at three-score and ten, had but begun his characters of men; chaucer, at woodstock with the nightingales, at sixty wrote the canterbury tales; goethe at weimar, toiling to the last, completed faust when eighty years were past. these are indeed exceptions; but they show how far the gulf-stream of our youth may flow into the arctic regions of our lives, where little else than life itself survives. for age is opportunity no less than youth itself, though in another dress, and as the evening twilight fades away the sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.'" on december , , we celebrated, for the first time, "foremothers' day." men had celebrated "forefathers' day" for many years, but as women were never invited to join in their festivities, mrs. devereux blake introduced the custom of women having a dinner in celebration of that day. mrs. isabella beecher hooker spent two days with me, and together we attended the feast and made speeches. this custom is now annually observed, and gentlemen sit in the gallery just as ladies had done on similar occasions. my son theodore arrived from france in april, , to attend the chicago exposition, and spent most of the summer with me at glen cove, long island, where my son gerrit and his wife were domiciled. here we read captain charles king's stories of life at military posts, sanborn's "biography of bronson alcott," and lecky's "history of rationalism." here i visited charles a. dana, the nestor of journalism, and his charming family. he lived on a beautiful island near glen cove. his refined, artistic taste, shown in his city residence in paintings, statuary, and rare bric-a-brac, collected in his frequent travels in the old world, displayed itself in his island home in the arrangement of an endless variety of trees, shrubs, and flowers, through which you caught glimpses of the sound and distant shores. one seldom meets so gifted a man as the late editor of the _sun_. he was a scholar, speaking several languages; an able writer and orator, and a most genial companion in the social circle. his wife and daughter are cultivated women. the name of this daughter, zoe dana underhill, often appears in our popular magazines as the author of short stories, remarkable for their vivid descriptions. i met mr. dana for the first time at the brook farm community in , in that brilliant circle of boston transcendentalists, who hoped in a few years to transform our selfish, competitive civilization into a paradise where all the altruistic virtues might make co-operation possible. but alas! the material at hand was not sufficiently plastic for that higher ideal. in due time the community dissolved and the members returned to their ancestral spheres. margaret fuller, who was a frequent visitor there, betook herself to matrimony in sunny italy, william henry channing to the church, bronson alcott to the education of the young, frank cabot to the world of work, mr. and mrs. ripley to literature, and charles a. dana to the press. mr. dana was very fortunate in his family relations. his wife, miss eunice macdaniel, and her relatives sympathized with him in all his most liberal opinions. during the summer at glen cove i had the pleasure of several long conversations with miss frances l. macdaniel and her brother osborne, whose wife is the sister of mr. dana, and who is now assisting miss prestona mann in trying an experiment, similar to the one at brook farm, in the adirondacks. miss anthony spent a week with us in glen cove. she came to stir me up to write papers for every congress at the exposition, which i did, and she read them in the different congresses, adding her own strong words at the close. mrs. russell sage also came and spent a day with us to urge me to write a paper to be read at chicago at the emma willard reunion, which i did. a few days afterward theodore and i returned her visit. we enjoyed a few hours' conversation with mr sage, who had made a very generous gift of a building to the emma willard seminary at troy. this school was one of the first established ( ) for girls in our state, and received an appropriation from the new york legislature on the recommendation of the governor, de witt clinton. mr. sage gave us a description that night of the time his office was blown up with dynamite thrown by a crank, and of his narrow escape. we found the great financier and his wife in an unpretending cottage with a fine outlook on the sea. though possessed of great wealth they set a good example of simplicity and economy, which many extravagant people would do well to follow. having visited the world's exposition at chicago and attended a course of lectures at chautauqua, my daughter, mrs. stanton lawrence, returned to the city, and as soon as our apartment was in order i joined her. she had recently been appointed director of physical training at the teachers' college in new york city. i attended several of her exhibitions and lectures, which were very interesting. she is doing her best to develop, with proper exercises and sanitary dress, a new type of womanhood. my time passed pleasantly these days with a drive in the park and an hour in the land of nod, also in reading henry george's "progress and poverty," william morris on industrial questions, stevenson's novels, the "heavenly twins," and "marcella," and at twilight, when i could not see to read and write, in playing and singing the old tunes and songs i loved in my youth. in the evening we played draughts and chess. i am fond of all games, also of music and novels, hence the days fly swiftly by; i am never lonely, life is ever very sweet to me and full of interest. the winter of - was full of excitement, as the citizens of new york were to hold a constitutional convention. dr. mary putnam jacobi endeavored to rouse a new class of men and women to action in favor of an amendment granting to women the right to vote. appeals were sent throughout the state, gatherings were held in parlors, and enthusiastic meetings in cooper institute and at the savoy hotel. my daughter, mrs. stanton blatch, who was visiting this country, took an active part in the canvass, and made an eloquent speech in cooper institute. strange to say, some of the leading ladies formed a strong party against the proposed amendment and their own enfranchisement. they were called the "antis." this opposing organization adopted the same plan for the campaign as those in favor of the amendment. they issued appeals, circulated petitions, and had hearings before the convention. mrs. russell sage, mrs. henry m. sanders, mrs. edward lauterbach, mrs. runkle, and some liberal clergymen did their uttermost to secure the insertion of the amendment in the proposed new constitution, but the committee on suffrage of the constitutional convention refused even to submit the proposed amendment to a vote of the people, though half a million of our most intelligent and respectable citizens had signed the petition requesting them to do so. joseph h. choate and elihu root did their uttermost to defeat the amendment, and succeeded. i spent the summer of with my son gerrit, in his home at thomaston, long island. balzac's novels, and the "life of thomas paine" by moncure d. conway, with the monthly magazines and daily papers, were my mental pabulum. my daughter, mrs. stanton lawrence, returned from england in september, , having had a pleasant visit with her sister in basingstoke. in december miss anthony came, and we wrote the woman suffrage article for the new edition of johnson's cyclopedia. on march , , lady somerset and miss frances willard, on the eve of their departure for england, called to see me. we discussed my project of a "woman's bible." they consented to join a revising committee, but before the committee was organized they withdrew their names, fearing the work would be too radical. i especially desired to have the opinions of women from all sects, but those belonging to the orthodox churches declined to join the committee or express their views. perhaps they feared their faith might be disturbed by the strong light of investigation. some half dozen members of the revising committee began with me to write "comments on the pentateuch." the chief thought revolving in my mind during the years of and had been "the woman's bible." in talking with friends i began to feel that i might realize my long-cherished plan. accordingly, i began to read the commentators on the bible and was surprised to see how little they had to say about the greatest factor in civilization, the mother of the race, and that little by no means complimentary. the more i read, the more keenly i felt the importance of convincing women that the hebrew mythology had no special claim to a higher origin than that of the greeks, being far less attractive in style and less refined in sentiment. its objectionable features would long ago have been apparent had they not been glossed over with a faith in their divine inspiration. for several months i devoted all my time to biblical criticism and ecclesiastical history, and found no explanation for the degraded status of women under all religions, and in all the so-called "holy books." when part i. of "the woman's bible" was finally published in november, , it created a great sensation. some of the new york city papers gave a page to its review, with pictures of the commentators, of its critics, and even of the book itself. the clergy denounced it as the work of satan, though it really was the work of ellen battelle dietrick, lillie devereux blake, rev. phebe a. hanaford, clara bewick colby, ursula n. gestefeld, louisa southworth, frances ellen burr, and myself. extracts from it, and criticisms of the commentators, were printed in the newspapers throughout america, great britain, and europe. a third edition was found necessary, and finally an edition was published in england. the revising committee was enlarged, and it now consists of over thirty of the leading women of america and europe.[a] the month of august, , we spent in peterboro, on the grand hills of madison county, nine hundred feet above the valley. gerrit smith's fine old mansion still stands, surrounded with magnificent trees, where i had played in childhood, chasing squirrels over lawn and gardens and wading in a modest stream that still creeps slowly round the grounds. i recalled as i sat on the piazza how one time, when frederick douglass came to spend a few days at peterboro, some southern visitors wrote a note to mr. smith asking if mr. douglass was to sit in the parlor and at the dining table; if so, during his visit they would remain in their own apartments. mr. smith replied that his visitors were always treated by his family as equals, and such would be the case with mr. douglass, who was considered one of the ablest men reared under "the southern institution." so these ladies had their meals in their own apartments, where they stayed most of the time, and, as mr. douglass prolonged his visit, they no doubt wished in their hearts that they had never taken that silly position. the rest of us walked about with him, arm in arm, played games, and sang songs together, he playing the accompaniment on the guitar. i suppose if our prejudiced countrywomen had been introduced to dumas in a french salon, they would at once have donned their bonnets and ran away. sitting alone under the trees i recalled the different generations that had passed away, all known to me. here i had met the grandfather, peter sken smith, partner of john jacob astor. in their bargains with the indians they acquired immense tracts of land in the northern part of the state of new york, which were the nucleus of their large fortunes. i have often heard cousin gerrit complain of the time he lost managing the estate. his son greene was an enthusiast in the natural sciences and took but little interest in property matters. later, his grandson, gerrit smith miller, assumed the burden of managing the estate and, in addition, devoted himself to agriculture. he imported a fine breed of holstein cattle, which have taken the first prize at several fairs. his son, bearing the same name, is devoted to the natural sciences, like his uncle greene; whose fine collection of birds was presented by his widow to harvard college. the only daughter of gerrit smith, elizabeth smith miller, is a remarkable woman, possessing many of the traits of her noble father. she has rare executive ability, as shown in the dispatch of her extensive correspondence and in the perfect order of her house and grounds. she has done much in the way of education, especially for the colored race, in helping to establish schools and in distributing literature. she subscribes for many of the best books, periodicals, and papers for friends not able to purchase for themselves. we cannot estimate the good she has done in this way. every mail brings her letters from all classes, from charitable institutions, prisons, southern plantations, army posts, and the far-off prairies. to all these pleas for help she gives a listening ear. her charities are varied and boundless, and her hospitalities to the poor as well as the rich, courteous and generous. the refinement and artistic taste of the southern mother and the heroic virtues of the father are happily blended in their daughter. in her beautiful home on seneca lake, one is always sure to meet some of the most charming representatives of the progressive thought of our times. representatives of all these generations now rest in the cemetery at peterboro, and as in review they passed before me they seemed to say, "why linger you here alone so long?" my son theodore arrived from paris in september, , and rendered most important service during the preparations for my birthday celebration, in answering letters, talking with reporters, and making valuable suggestions to the managers as to many details in the arrangements, and encouraging me to go through the ordeal with my usual heroism. i never felt so nervous in my life, and so unfitted for the part i was in duty bound to perform. from much speaking through many years my voice was hoarse, from a severe fall i was quite lame, and as standing, and distinct speaking are important to graceful oratory, i felt like the king's daughter in shakespeare's play of "titus andronicus," when rude men who had cut her hands off and her tongue out, told her to call for water and wash her hands. however, i lived through the ordeal, as the reader will see in the next chapter. after my birthday celebration, the next occasion of deep interest to me was the chicago convention of , the platform there adopted, and the nomination and brilliant campaign of william j. bryan. i had long been revolving in my mind questions relating to the tariff and finance, and in the demands of liberal democrats, populists, socialists, and the laboring men and women, i heard the clarion notes of the coming revolution. during the winter of - i was busy writing alternately on this autobiography and "the woman's bible," and articles for magazines and journals on every possible subject from venezuela and cuba to the bicycle. on the latter subject many timid souls were greatly distressed. should women ride? what should they wear? what are "god's intentions" concerning them? should they ride on sunday? these questions were asked with all seriousness. we had a symposium on these points in one of the daily papers. to me the answer to all these questions was simple--if woman could ride, it was evidently "god's intention" that she be permitted to do so. as to what she should wear, she must decide what is best adapted to her comfort and convenience. those who prefer a spin of a few hours on a good road in the open air to a close church and a dull sermon, surely have the right to choose, whether with trees and flowers and singing birds to worship in "that temple not made with hands, eternal in the heavens," or within four walls to sleep during the intonation of that melancholy service that relegates us all, without distinction of sex or color, to the ranks of "miserable sinners." let each one do what seemeth right in her own eyes, provided she does not encroach on the rights of others. in may, , i again went to geneva and found the bicycle craze had reached there, with all its most pronounced symptoms; old and young, professors, clergymen, and ladies of fashion were all spinning merrily around on business errands, social calls, and excursions to distant towns. driving down the avenue one day, we counted eighty bicycles before reaching the post-office. the ancient bandbox, so detested by our sires and sons, has given place to this new machine which our daughters take with them wheresoever they go, boxing and unboxing and readjusting for each journey. it has been a great blessing to our girls in compelling them to cultivate their self-reliance and their mechanical ingenuity, as they are often compelled to mend the wheel in case of accident. among the visitors at geneva were mr. douglass and his daughter from the island of cuba. they gave us very sad accounts of the desolate state of the island and the impoverished condition of the people. i had long felt that the united states should interfere in some way to end that cruel warfare, for spain has proved that she is incompetent to restore order and peace. footnotes: [footnote a: part ii. of "the woman's bible," which completes the work, will be issued in january, .] chapter xxviii. my eightieth birthday. without my knowledge or consent, my lifelong friend, susan b. anthony, who always seems to appreciate homage tendered to me more highly than even to herself, made arrangements for the celebration of my eightieth birthday, on the th day of november, . she preferred that this celebration should be conducted by the national council of women, composed of a large number of organizations representing every department of woman's labor, though, as the enfranchisement of woman had been my special life work, it would have been more appropriate if the celebration had been under the auspices of the national woman's suffrage association. mrs. mary lowe dickinson, president of the national council of women, assumed the financial responsibility and the extensive correspondence involved, and with rare tact, perseverance, and executive ability made the celebration a complete success. in describing this occasion i cannot do better than to reproduce, in part, mrs. dickinson's account, published in _the arena_: "in the month of june, , the national council of women issued the following invitation: "'believing that the progress made by women in the last half century may be promoted by a more general notice of their achievements, we propose to hold, in new york city, a convention for this purpose. as an appropriate time for such a celebration, the eightieth birthday of elizabeth cady stanton has been chosen. her half century of pioneer work for the rights of women makes her name an inspiration for such an occasion and her life a fitting object for the homage of all women. "'this national council is composed of twenty organizations; these and all other societies interested are invited to co-operate in grateful recognition of the debt the present generation owes to the pioneers of the past. from their interest in the enfranchisement of women, the influence of mrs. stanton and her coadjutor, miss anthony, has permeated all departments of progress and made them a common center round which all interested in woman's higher development may gather.' "to this invitation came responses, from the old world and the new, expressing sympathy with the proposed celebration, which was intended to emphasize a great principle by showing the loftiness of character that had resulted from its embodiment in a unique personality. the world naturally thinks of the personality before it thinks of the principle. it has, at least, so much unconscious courtesy left as to honor a noble woman, even when failing to rightly apprehend a noble cause. to afford this feeling its proper expression, to render more tangible all vague sympathy, to crystallize the growing sentiment in favor of human freedom, to give youth the opportunity to reverence the glory of age, to give hearts their utterances in word and song was perhaps the most popular purpose of the reunion. in other words, it gave an opportunity for those who revered mrs. stanton as a queen among women to show their reverence, and to recognize the work her life had wrought, and to see in it an epitome of the progress of a century. "the celebration was also an illustration of the distinctive idea of the national council of women, which aims to give recognition to all human effort without demanding uniformity of opinion as a basis of co-operation. it claims to act upon a unity of service, notwithstanding differences of creed and methods. the things that separate, shrank back into the shadows where they belong, and all hearts brave enough to think, and tender enough to feel, found it easy to unite in homage to a life which had known a half century of struggle to lift humanity from bondage and womanhood from shame. "this reunion was the first general recognition of the debt the present owes to the past. it was the first effort to show the extent to which later development has been inspired and made possible by the freedom to think and work claimed in that earlier time by women like lucretia mott, lucy stone, mrs. stanton, and many others whose names stand as synonyms of noble service for the race. to those who looked at the reunion from this point of view it could not fail of inspiration. "for the followers in lines of philanthropic work to look in the faces and hear the voices of women like clara barton and mary livermore; for the multitude enlisted in the crowded ranks of literature to feel in the living presence, what literature owes to women like julia ward howe; for the white ribbon army to turn from its one great leader of to-day whose light, spreading to the horizon, does not obscure or dim the glory of the crusade leaders of the past; for art lovers and art students to call to mind sculptors like harriet hosmer and anna whitney, and remember the days when art was a sealed book to women; for the followers of the truly divine art of healing to honor the blackwell sisters and the memory of mme. clemence lozier; for the mercy of surgery to reveal itself in the face of dr. cushier, who has proved for us that heart of pity and hand of skill need never be divorced; for women lifting their eyes to meet the face of phebe a. hanaford and anna shaw and other women who to-day in the pulpit, as well as out of it, may use a woman's right to minister to needy souls; for the ofttime sufferers from unrighteous law to welcome women lawyers; for the throng of working women to read backward through the story of four hundred industries to their beginning in the 'four,' and remember that each new door had opened because some women toiled and strove; for all these the exercises were a part of a great thanksgiving paean, each phase of progress striking its own chord, and finding each its echo in the hearts that held it dear. "to the student of history, or to him who can read the signs of the times, there was such a profound significance in this occasion as makes one shrink from dwelling too much upon the external details. yet as a pageant only it was a most inspiring sight, and one truly worthy of a queen. indeed as we run the mind back over the pages of history, what queen came to a more triumphant throne in the hearts of a grateful people? what woman ever before sat silver-crowned, canopied with flowers, surrounded not by servile followers but by men and women who brought to her court the grandest service they had wrought, their best thought crystallized in speech and song. greater than any triumphal procession that ever marked a royal passage through a kingdom was it to know that in a score or more of cities, in many a village church on that same night festive fires were lighted, and the throng kept holiday, bringing for tribute not gold and gems but noblest aspirations, truest gratitude, and highest ideals for the nation and the race. "the great meeting was but one link in a chain; yet with its thousands of welcoming faces, with its eloquence of words, with its offering of sweetest song from the children of a race that once was bound but now is free, with its pictured glimpses of the old time and the new flashing out upon the night, with the home voices offering welcome and gratitude and love, with numberless greetings, from the great, true, brave souls of many lands, it was indeed a wonderful tribute, worthy of the great warm heart of a nation that offered it, and worthy of the woman so revered. "it seemed fitting that mme. antoinette sterling, who, twenty years ago, took her wonderful voice away to england, where it won for her a unique place in the hearts of the nation, should, on returning to her country, give her first service to the womanhood of her native land. 'i am coming a week earlier,' so she had written, 'that my first work in my own beloved america may be done for women. i am coming as a woman and not as an artist, and because i so glory in that which the women of my country have achieved.' so when she sang out of her heart, 'o rest in the lord; wait patiently for him!' no marvel that it seemed to lift all listening hearts to a recognition of the divine secret and source of power for all work. "one charming feature of the entertainment was a series of pictures called 'then and now,' each illustrating the change in woman's condition during the last fifty years. and after this, upon the dimness there shone out, one after another, the names of noble women like mary lyon, maria mitchell, emma willard, and many others who have passed away. upon the shadows and the silence broke mme. sterling's voice in tennyson's 'crossing the bar.' and when this was over, as with one voice, the whole audience sang softly 'auld lang syne.' "and last but not least should be mentioned the greetings that poured in a shower of telegrams and letters from every section of the country, and many from over the sea. these expressions, not only of personal congratulation for mrs. stanton, but utterances of gladness for the progress in woman's life and thought, for the conditions, already so much better than in the past, and for the hope for the future, would make of themselves a most interesting and wonderful chapter. among them may be mentioned letters from lord and lady aberdeen, from lady henry somerset and frances e. willard, from canon wilberforce, and many others, including an address from thirty members of the family of john bright, headed by his brother, the right honorable jacob bright; a beautifully engrossed address, on parchment, from the national woman suffrage society of scotland, an address from the london women's franchise league, and a cablegram from the bristol women's liberal association; a letter from the women's rights society of finland, signed by its president, baroness gripenberg of helsingfors; telegrams from the california suffrage pioneers; and others from the chicago woman's club, from the toledo and ohio woman's suffrage society, from the son of the rev. dr. william ellery channing, and a telegram and letter from citizens and societies of seneca falls, new york, accompanied with flowers and many handsome pieces of silver from the different societies. there were also letters from hon. oscar s. strauss, ex-minister to turkey, miss ellen terry, and scores of others. an address was received from the women's association of utah, accompanied by a beautiful onyx and silver ballot box; and from the shaker women of mount lebanon came an ode; a solid silver loving cup from the new york city suffrage league, presented on the platform with a few appropriate words by its president, mrs. devereux blake. "hundreds of organizations and societies, both in this country and abroad, wished to have their names placed on record as in sympathy with the movement. many organizations were present in a body, and one was reminded, by the variety and beauty of the decorations of their boxes, of the venetian carnival, as the occupants gazed down from amid the silken banners and the flowers, upon the throng below. the whole occasion was indeed a unique festival, unique in its presentation, as well as in its purpose, plan, character, and spirit. no woman present could fail to be impressed with what we owe to the women of the past, and especially to this one woman who was the honored guest of the occasion. and no young woman could desire to forget the picture of this aged form as, leaning upon her staff, mrs. stanton spoke to the great audience of over six thousand, as she had spoken hundreds of times before in legislative halls, and whenever her word could influence the popular sentiment in favor of justice for all mankind." my birthday celebration, with all the testimonials of love and friendship i received, was an occasion of such serious thought and deep feeling as i had never before experienced. having been accustomed for half a century to blame rather than praise, i was surprised with such a manifestation of approval; i could endure any amount of severe criticism with complacency, but such an outpouring of homage and affection stirred me profoundly. to calm myself during that week of excitement, i thought many times of michelet's wise motto, "let the weal and woe of humanity be everything to you, their praise and blame of no effect; be not puffed up with the one nor cast down with the other." naturally at such a time i reviewed my life, its march and battle on the highways of experience, and counted its defeats and victories. i remembered when a few women called the first convention to discuss their disabilities, that our conservative friends said: "you have made a great mistake, you will be laughed at from maine to texas and beyond the sea; god has set the bounds of woman's sphere and she should be satisfied with her position." their prophecy was more than realized; we were unsparingly ridiculed by the press and pulpit both in england and america. but now many conventions are held each year in both countries to discuss the same ideas; social customs have changed; laws have been modified; municipal suffrage has been granted to women in england and some of her colonies; school suffrage has been granted to women in half of our states, municipal suffrage in kansas, and full suffrage in four states of the union. thus the principle scouted in was accepted in england in , and since then, year by year, it has slowly progressed in america until the fourth star shone out on our flag in , and idaho enfranchised her women! that first convention, considered a "grave mistake" in , is now referred to as "a grand step in progress." my next mistake was when, as president of the new york state woman's temperance association, i demanded the passage of a statute allowing wives an absolute divorce for the brutality and intemperance of their husbands. i addressed the legislature of new york a few years later when a similar bill was pending, and also large audiences in several of our chief cities, and for this i was severely denounced. to-day fugitives from such unholy ties can secure freedom in many of the western states, and enlightened public sentiment sustains mothers in refusing to hand down an appetite fraught with so many evil consequences. this, also called a "mistake" in , was regarded as a "step in progress" a few years later. again, i urged my coadjutors by speeches, letters, and resolutions, as a means of widespread agitation, to make the same demands of the church that we had already made of the state. they objected, saying, "that is too revolutionary, an attack on the church would injure the suffrage movement." but i steadily made the demand, as opportunity offered, that women be ordained to preach the gospel and to fill the offices as elders, deacons, and trustees. a few years later some of these suggestions were accepted. some churches did ordain women as pastors over congregations of their own, others elected women deaconesses, and a few churches allowed women, as delegates, to sit in their conferences. thus this demand was in a measure honored and another "step in progress" taken. in i tried to organize a committee to consider the status of women in the bible, and the claim that the hebrew writings were the result of divine inspiration. it was thought very presumptuous for women not learned in languages and ecclesiastical history to undertake such work. but as we merely proposed to comment on what was said of women in plain english, and found these texts composed only one-tenth of the old and new testaments, it did not seem to me a difficult or dangerous undertaking. however, when part i. of "the woman's bible" was published, again there was a general disapproval by press and pulpit, and even by women themselves, expressed in resolutions in suffrage and temperance conventions. like other "mistakes," this too, in due time, will be regarded as "a step in progress." such experiences have given me confidence in my judgment, and patience with the opposition of my coadjutors, with whom on so many points i disagree. it requires no courage now to demand the right of suffrage, temperance legislation, liberal divorce laws, or for women to fill church offices--these battles have been fought and won and the principle governing these demands conceded. but it still requires courage to question the divine inspiration of the hebrew writings as to the position of woman. why should the myths, fables, and allegories of the hebrews be held more sacred than those of the assyrians and egyptians, from whose literature most of them were derived? seeing that the religious superstitions of women perpetuate their bondage more than all other adverse influences, i feel impelled to reiterate my demands for justice, liberty, and equality in the church as well as in the state. the birthday celebration was to me more than a beautiful pageant; more than a personal tribute. it was the dawn of a new day for the mothers of the race! the harmonious co-operation of so many different organizations, with divers interests and opinions, in one grand jubilee was, indeed, a heavenly vision of peace and hope; a prophecy that with the exaltation of womanhood would come new life, light, and liberty to all mankind. index of names. * * * * * aberdeen, _lord_ and _lady_, addington, laura, albert, _prince_, alcott, a. bronson, alcott, louisa m., allison, miss, amberly, _lord_ and _lady_, ames, mary clemmer, anderson, dr. garrett, andré, _major_ john, andrews, _governor_ john a., anthony, daniel, anthony, _senator_ henry b., anthony, lucy, anthony, mary, anthony, susan b., arnold, _general_ benedict, arnold, matthew, astor, john jacob, auchet, hubertine, austin, _dr_. harriet n., ayer, mrs. j.c., backus, wealthea, bagley, _governor_, bagley, mrs., baird, _general_, baldwin, elizabeth mcmartin, balgarnie, miss, banning, ella b., banning, william l., barclay, cornelia, barrau, caroline de, bartlett, paul, barton, clara, bascom, mr., bascora, mary, bayard, _dr_. edward, bayard, henry, bayard, thomas f., bayard, tryphena cady, beach, myron, beaman, _rev. dr_., becker, lydia, beecher, catharine, beecher, _rev_. henry ward, bellamy, edward, bellows, rev. henry, benedict, lewis, bently, _judge_, berry, mme., berry, marguerite, berry, mrs., bertaux, mme. léon, besant, annie, bickerdyke, _mother_, biddle, chapman, biddle, george, biggs, caroline, bigelow, john, bigelow, mrs. john, bingham, john a., bird, frank w., birney, james gr., bjornson, bjornstjorne, blackburn, miss, blackwell, antoinette brown, blackwell, _dr_. elizabeth, blackwell, h.b., blaine, _senator_ james g., blaine, mrs. james g., blair, _senator_ henry w., blake, lillie devereux, blatch, harriot stanton, blatch, nora stanton, blatch, william h., blavatsky, mme., bloomer, amelia, bogelot, isabella, bogue, _rev. dr_., bonaparte, napoleon, botta, anne lynch, boucherett, jessie, bowles, samuel, bradburn, george, bradlaugh, _hon_. charles, m, p., bradwell, myra, bright, _hon_. jacob, m.p., bright, mrs. jacob, bright, _hon_. john, m.p., broomall, john m., brougham, henry, lord, brown, antoinette l., brown, john, brown, olympia, brown, mr., browne, sir thomas, m.d., browning, robert, brownson, orestes a., bryan, william j.. bryant, miss, bryant, william cullen, bullard, laura curtis, burlingame, anson, burleigh, celia, burleigh, mrs. william, burnet, rev. j., burr, frances ellen, burroughs, herbert, busbey, l. white, bushnell, horace, butler, general benjamin f., butler, josephine, byron, lady, byron, lord, cabot, frederick, cady, judge daniel, cady, eleazer, cady, margaret livingston, caird, mona, cameron, judge hugh, carlisle, lora and lady, carlyle, thomas, carnegie, andrew, carroll, anna, cary, alice, cary, phoebe, channing, rev. dr. william ellery, channing, dr. william f., channing, rev. william henry, chant, ormiston, chapman, maria, chase, william, cheever, rev. george b., child, lydia maria, choate, joseph h., christie, margaret, clark, helen bright, clarkson, thomas, cleveland, grover, clinton, governor de witt c, cluseret, general, cobb, mr. and mrs., cobbe, frances power, cobden, jane, cochrane, james, cochrane, _general_ john, cochrane, mary, colby, clara b., cole, senator cornelius, coleridge, lady, collyer, rev. robert, combe, andrew, comte, auguste, conkling, judge alfred, conkling, roscoe, conway, rev. moncure d., conway, mrs. moncure d., cooley, judge thomas m., couzins, phoebe w., croly, jennie c, crowninshield, captain a.s., crowninshield, mary, cox, s.s., coxe, bishop, curtis, george william, cushier, dr., cushman, charlotte, dana, charles a., dana, eunice macdaniel, darling, anna b., darlington, chandler, darlington, hannah, davis, edward m., davis. paulina wright, davitt, michael. depesyrons, professor, deraismes, mme. féresse, deraismes, maria, dickinson, anna e., dickinson, mary lowe, dietrick, ellen battelle, dilke, mrs. ashton, dilke, sir charles, dix, dorothy, l., dix, general john a., douglass, frederick, douglass, mr., dowden, professor, dudley, blandina bleecker, dumas, alexandre, durand, mme. m.e., dyer, charles gifford, dyer, hella, eaton, professor amos b., eaton, daniel c, eaton, harriet cady, eddy, miss, eddy, mrs. jackson, s edmunds, senator george f., eliot, george, euet, elizabeth f., ellsler, fanny, elmy, mrs., emerson, ralph waldo, england, isaac w., england, mrs. isaac w., everett, charles, fabre, senator joseph, fairchild, governor lucius, faithful, emily, farnham, mrs.. fawcett, henry, m.p., fawcett, milicent j., ferry, jules, ferry, senator thomas w., field, rev. dr. henry m., field, kate, fine, judge, finney, rev. charles g., fitzhugh, ann carroll, fitzhugh, miss, folsom, abigail, forbes, arethusa, forney, john w., foster, abby kelly, foster, rachel, foster, stephen, frederic, harold, fremont, _general_ john c, french, daniel c, frothingham, _rev_. o.b., fronde, james anthony, fry, elizabeth, fuller, kate, fuller, margaret, fuller, w.j.a., furness, _rev_. william h., gage, frances dana, gage, matilda joslyn, gardener, helen h., garibaldi, _general_ g., garrison, gertrude, garrison, william lloyd, garrison, mrs. w.l., gay, sidney howard, geddes, mr., george, henry, gestefeld, ursula n., gibbons, abby hopper, gillespie, mrs., gladstone, _right hon_., william e., gladstone, mrs. w.e., godwin, mary wollstonecraft, godwin, william, grant, _general_, ulysses s., greeley, horace, greeley, mrs. horace, greene, beriah, greenough, mrs. w.h., greenwood, grace, gréville, henri, grévy, _president_ jules, grévy, mme. jules, grew, mary, grey, maria g., grimké, angelina, grimké, sarah, gripenberg, _baroness_ alexandra, gurney, john joseph, gurney, samuel, gustafsen, mrs., hammond, _dr_. william a., hanaford, _rev_. phebe a., harbert, elizabeth boynton, harberton, _lady_, harvey, _rev_. a., hawley, _general_ joseph r., hawthorne, nathaniel, hazeltine, mayo w., heine, heinrich, hertell, _judge_ hertz, fannie, hicks, elias, higginson, thomas wentworth, hill, octavia, hill, _president_, hinckley, _rev_. frederick a., hoar, _senator_ george f., hoggan, _dr_. frances e., hoisington, rev. william, holmes, oliver wendell, hooker, isabella beecher, holyoake, george jacob, hosack, _rev_. simon, hoskins, frances, hosmer, harriet, hovey, charles, howe, julia ward, howell, _judge_, howell, mary seymour, howells, william d., howells, mrs. william d., howitt, mary, hudson, harriet, hugo, victor, hunt, jane, hunt, _dr_. harriet k., hunt, _judge_ ward, hunt, richard, hurlbert, _judge_, huron, mr., hutchinson, _family_, hutchins, mr., hyacinthe, _père_, ingersoll, robert g., jackson, francis, jackson, _dr_. james, jackson, _dr_. kate, jackson, mr. and mrs., jackson, mrs., jacobi, _dr_. mary putnam, jameson, anna, janes, _bishop_, jarvis, helen, jenckes, thomas a., jenkins, lydia, jenney, mr. and mrs., johnson, adelaide, johnson, mariana, johnson, oliver, johnson, _sir_ william, joly, _professor_ nicholas, jones, phoebe, june, jennie, kelley, william d., kelley, abby, kennan, george, kent, _chancellor_, kergomard, pauline, kilpatrick, _general_, kimber, abby, king, _captain_ charles, kingsford, anna, kingsley, _canon_ charles, klumpke, anna, krapotkine, _prince_, laboulaye, edouard r.l., lafayette, _marquis_ de, lampson, _father_, lapham, anson, lauterbach, mrs. edward, lawrence, frank e., lawrence, margaret stanton, lawson, _sir_ wilfrid, leavitt, joshua, lecky, w.e.h., lee, richard henry, lee, theresa, lieneff, mr., lincoln, abraham, livermore, mary a., livingston, colonel james, livingston, margaret, livingston, mary, logan, olive, long, governor john d., longfellow, henry w., longfellow, rev. samuel, lord, dr., lord, emily, lord, frances, louis philippe, lowell, james russell, lozier, dr. clemence s., lucas, margaret bright, lyon, mary, mcclintock, elizabeth, mcclintock, mary ann, mckeon, judge, mclaren, charles, mclaren, mrs. charles, mclaren, hon. duncan, m.p., mclaren, priscilla bright, mclaren, walter, mcmartin, donald, mcmartin, duncan, mcmartin, margaret cady, macdaniel, eunice, macdaniel, frances l., macdaniel, osborne, macaulay, thomas babbington, maire, rev. hugh, mann, horace, mann, prestona, mansfield, lord chief justice, mansfield, mrs. a.a., marsh, luther r., martineau, harriet, massey, gerald, may, rev. samuel j., mellen, mrs. william, mendenhall, dinah, meredith, george, michel, louise, michelet, jules, milinowski, captain arthur, mill, john stuart, mill, mrs. john stuart, miller, charles dudley, miller, colonel, miller, elizabeth smith, miller, gerrit smith, miller, jenness, miller, john b., miller, judge, miller, justice samuel f., minor, virginia l., mitchell, dr. julia, mitchell, dr. kate, mitchell, professor maria, moffett, rev. dr., moliner, professor, morley, john, morpeth, lord, morris, william, morrison, cotton, morsier, emilie de, morton, edwin, mott, lucretia, mott, lydia, moulton, louise chandler, moulton, mrs., müller, eva, müller, henrietta, murray, eliza, in, napoleon, neal, elizabeth, nichol, elizabeth pease, o'connell, daniel, go, o'conor, charles, olmstead, rev. john w., olmstead, mary livingston, opie, amelia, orr, mrs., osborne, eliza w., o'shea, mrs. kitty, owen, robert dale, palmer, senator john m., parker, margaret, parker, theodore, parkhurst, mrs., parnell, charles stewart, parsons, chauncey c, parsons, mrs. chauncey c, patton, rev. dr., peabody, elizabeth, pearson, karl, pease, elizabeth, phelps, elizabeth b., phillips, ann green, phillips, wendell, pierpont, john, pillsbury, parker, plumb, senator preston b., pochin, mrs., pomeroy, "brick," powell, aaron, powell, professor, priestman, annie, priestman, mary, pugh, sarah, quincy, edmund, ramsey, mr., reid, mrs. hugo, remond, charles, richer, léon, richter, jean paul friedrich, ripley, george, ripley, mrs. george, richardson, abby sage, ristori, marchionesse adelaide, robinson, governor charles, roby, matilda, rogers, caroline gilkey, rogers, nathaniel p., roland, mme., rosa, mr., rose, ernestine l., root, elihu, rouvier, m., runkle, mrs., ruskin, john, sackett, fudge gerrit v., sage, russell, sage, mrs. russell, sanborn, frank, sanders, mrs. henry m., sargent, senator aaron a., sargent, mrs. aaron a., saville, mrs., scatcherd, alice cliff, scatcherd, mr., schenck, elizabeth b., schenck, robert c, scoble, rev. john, seaman, mr., seidl, professor, sewall, may wright, sewall, samuel e., sewall, mrs. samuel e., seward, governor william h., seward, mrs. william h., shaftesbury, lord, shaw, rev. anna, shelley, percy bysshe, shelley, percy florence, smalley, george w., smith, ann carroll fitzhugh, smith, elizabeth oakes, smith, gerrit, smith, greene, smith, professor horace, smith, mrs. horace, smith, peter sken, smith, sidney, smith, sisters, somerset, lady henry, southwick, abby, southwick, joseph, southwick. thankful, southworth, louisa, spaulding, bishop, spence, clara, spencer, john c, spencer, sarah andrews, spofford, jane snow, spofford, mr., sprague, governor william, staël, mme. de, stanford, senator leland, stanley, dean, stansfeld, mr., m.p., stanton, hon. daniel cady, stanton, edwin m., stanton, elizabeth cady, granddaughter of author, stanton, _hon_. gerrit smith, stanton, harriot eaton, stanton, henry, stanton, _hon_. henry brewster, stanton, margaret livingston, stanton, marguerite berry, stanton, robert livingston, stanton, theodore, stead, william t., stebbins, catharine f., stebbins, giles, stebbins, mrs., steinthal, _rev_. mr., stepniak, sterling, antoinette, stevens, thaddeus, stevenson, robert louis, stewart, alvin, stone, lucy, stout, _rev_. c., stowe, harriet beecher, straus, oscar s., stuart, charles, stuart, _dr_. jacob h., stuart, mrs. jacob h., stuart, _professor_, sturge, joseph, sumner, charles, sutherland, _duchess_ of, swift, isabella, swift, _lieutenant_, tanner, mrs., taylor, helen, taylor, mrs. peter a., terry, ellen, thacher, _mayor_, thomson, adeline, thomasson, _hon_. john p., _m. p_., thomasson, mrs. john p., thompkins, _governor_ daniel d., thompson, george, thompson, may wright, tilton, theodore, train, george francis, traut, mme. griess, tree, ellen, tudor, mrs. fenno, tyler, _professor_, moses coit, tyng, _dr_. stephen, underhill, zoe dana, van vechten, abraham, vest, _senator_ george g., victoria, _queen_, vignon, claude, villard, fanny garrison, villard, henry, vincent, henry, virchow, _professor_, waite, _chief justice_ morrison r., walter, ellen cochrane, walsingham, _sir_ francis, "warrington," washington, _general_ george, weed, thurlow, weld, angelina grimke, weld, theodore d., wellington, _duke_ of, wells, emeline b., west, benjamin, weston, deborah, whipple, e.p., whitney, anna, whittier, john g., whittle, _dr._ ewing, wigham, eliza, wigham, jane, wilberforce, canon, wilberforce, william, wilbour, charlotte beebe, wilkeson, catherine cady, wilkeson, samuel, willard, amelia, willard, emma, willard, frances e., willard, mrs. john, williams, _senator_ c.g., williams, elisha, wilson, daniel, winckworth, mr. and mrs. stephen, winslow, emily, woodhull, victoria, wollstonecraft, mary, woodward, mr., worden, mrs., wright, david, wright, frances, wright, henry c., wright, martha c., wright, mr., wright, paulina, yost, elizabeth w., yost, maria, zackesewska, _dr._ m.e., [_portions of chapters x. and xi. of this book are taken by permission from an article written by mrs. stanton for "our famous women," published by a.d. worthington & co._] the convert * * * * * 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. * * * * * the convert by elizabeth robins author of "a dark lantern," "the magnetic north," etc. new york the macmillan company all rights reserved copyright, , by the macmillan company. set up and electrotyped. published october, . reprinted march, ; march, ; august, . norwood press j. 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 freddy tunbridges' dinner-hour, was not taken into the great empty drawing-room, but, as though she were not to be of the party expected that night, straight upstairs she went behind the footman, and then up more stairs behind a maid. the smart, white-capped domestic paused, and her floating muslin streamers cut short their aërial gyrations subsiding against her straight black back as she knocked at the night-nursery door. it was opened by a middle-aged head nurse of impressive demeanour. she stood there an instant eyeing the intruder with the kind of overbearing hauteur that in these days does duty as the peculiar hall-mark of the upper servant, being seldom encountered in england among 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 from beyond the screen: 'yes, yes.' 'we're waiting!' 'mummy promised'--cut short by the nurse saying sharply, 'not so much noise, miss sara.' but the presiding genius of the tunbridge nursery opened the door a little wider and stood aside. handsome compensation for her studied coldness was offered in the shrill shrieks of joy with which a little girl and a very small boy celebrated the lady's entrance. she, for her part, joined the austere nurse in saying, 'sh! sh!' and in simulating consternation at the spectacle behind the screen, miss sara jumping up and down in the middle of her bed with wild brown hair swirling madly about a laughing but mutinous face. the visitor, hurrying forward, received the impetuous little girl in her arms, while the nurse described her own sentiments of horror and detestation of such performances, and hinted vaguely at retribution that might with safety be looked for no later than the morrow. nobody listened. miss levering nodded smiling across sara's nightgowned figure to the little boy hanging over the side of the neighbouring cot. but he kept remonstrating, 'you always go to her first.' the lady drew a flat, shiny wooden box out of the inside pocket of her cloak. the little girl seized it rapturously. 'oh, did you only bring sara's bock?' wailed the smaller tunbridge. 'i told you expecially we wanted _two_ bocks.' 'i've got two pockets and i've got two bocks. let me give him his, sara darling.' but 'sara darling' dropped her own 'bock' the better to cling round the neck of the giver. naturally master cecil sounded the horn of indignation. 'hush!' commanded his sister. 'don't you know his little lordship never did that?' and to emphasize this satirical appeal to a higher standard of manners, sara loosened her tight-locked arms an instant; but still holding to the visitor with one hand, she picked up the pillow and deftly hurled it at the neighbouring cot, extinguishing the little boy. through the general recriminations that ensued, the culprit cried with shrill rapture, 'lady gladys never pillow-fought! lady gladys was a little lady and never did _any_thing!' the merry eyes shamelessly invited miss levering to mock at dampney's former charges. but the visitor detached herself from miss sara, and wishing apparently to ingratiate herself with the offended majesty of the nurse, miss levering said gravely over her shoulder, 'now, lie down, sara, and be a good girl.' sara's reply to that was to (what she called) 'diddle up and down' on her knees and emit shrill squeals of some pleasurable emotion not defined. this, too, in spite of the fact that dampney had picked up the pillow and was advancing upon miss sara with an expression calculated to shake the stoutest heart. it obviously shook the visitor's. 'listen, sara! if you don't be quiet and let nurse cover you up, she won't want me to stay.' miss levering actually got up off the little boy's bed, and stood as though ready to carry the obnoxious suggestion into instant effect. sara darted under the bedclothes like a rabbit into its burrow. the rigid woman, without words, restored the tousled pillow to the head of the bed, extracted miss sara from her hiding-place with one hand, smoothed out the rebellious legs with the other, covered the child firmly 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 she can 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 her lace scarf--'now the coat! and you have to sit on my bed this time. it's my turn.' as the visitor divested herself of the long ermine-lined garment, 'oh, you _are_ pretty to-night!' observed the gallant young gentleman over the way, seeming not to have heard that these effects don't appeal to little boys. sara silently craned her neck. even the high and mighty mrs. dampney, in the 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 tall figure, the graceful fall of the clinging black lace gown embroidered in yellow irises, the easy bend of the small waist in its jewelled belt of yellow. the growing approval in the little face culminated in an ecstatic '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, you know--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 bent her neat, dark head over the little girl, and the gleaming jewels swung forward. 'yes,' said cecil, in a tone of grandfatherly disgust; 'yelling like a wild indian.' 'well, you _cried_,' said his sister--'just because a feather pillow hit you.' 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 eight months. but even when i was young _i_ had sense.' miss levering laughed. 'you're a horrid little pharisee--and as wild as a young colt.' contrary to received canons, the visitor seemed to find something 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 a generous admiration in family achievements. 'we waked up early, and sara said, "let's go mountaineering." so we did. all over the rocks and presserpittses.' he waved his hand comprehensively at the rugged scenery of the night-nursery. 'of course we had to pile up the chairs and things,' his sister explained. '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 real avalanche,' 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 took up the tale. but cecil suddenly sat bolt upright, his little face quite pink with excitement at recollection of these alpine exploits. 'yes, sara had come down off the wardrobe--she'd been sitting on the carved piece--she says that's the schreckhorn!--but she'd come down off it, and we was just jumping about all those mountains like two shamrocks----' 'like what?' '--when _she_ came in.' 'yes,' agreed sara. 'just when we're happiest _she_ always comes interfiddling.' 'oh, sara mine, i rather like you!' said miss levering, laying her laughing face against the tousled hair. 'now! now!' cried cecil, suddenly beating with his two fists on the counterpane as though he'd seen as much valuable time wasted as he felt it 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 for me 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 lower sink. '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 of innocence. 'you didn't say how-do-you-do to me,' said cecil, with the air of one who 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 proper how-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 covers with 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 of bed and leapt into her lap. he clasped his arms round her neck with an air 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 the interloping brother. and now of his own accord cecil had taken his arms from 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 be very careful, sara, i'll let you hold it.' it was as if she well knew the deft little hands she had delivered the ornament to, and knew equally well that in her present mood, absorption in the beauty of it would keep the woman-child still. 'there, that's better!' cecil replaced his arms firmly where the necklace had been. miss levering pulled up her long cloak from the bottom of the bed and wrapped the little boy in the warm lining. the comfort of the arrangement was so great, and it implied so little necessity for 'hanging on,' that cecil loosed his arms and lay curled up against his friend. she held him close, adapting her lithe slimness to the easy supporting and enfolding of the childish figure. the little girl was absorbed in the necklace after her strenuous hour; the boy, content for a moment, having gained his point, just to lie at his ease; the woman rested her cheek on his ruffled hair and looked straight before her. as she sat there holding him, something came into her face, guiltless though it was of any traceable change, without the verifiable movement of a muscle, something none the less that would have minded the beholder uneasily to search the eyes for tears, and, finding no tears there, to feel 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 being somehow left behind. he put up his hand to her cheek, and rubbed it softly 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 ronald says 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 liked you, 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 she stopped drawing the shining jewels lightly through her slim fingers, and began gently to swing the fleur-de-lys back and forth like a pendulum that glanced bewitchingly in the light. miss levering knew that the next phase would be to try it on, but for the 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 his impudent round face luxuriously on the soft lace-covered shoulder of the visitor, and laughed up in her face. 'aunts are very beady,' said sara, absent-mindedly, as she tried the effect 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 them off. not proper bugles, you know, what you "too! too! too!" make music with when you're fighting the enemy. my grandmother thinks bugles are little shiny black things only about that long'--he measured less than an inch on his minute forefinger--'with long holes through so they can sew them on their clothes.' 'on their caps, too,' said sara; 'only they're usurally white when they'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 laura tunbridge's children, and their young faces betrayed no surprise when the very different figure of nurse dampney emerged from behind the tall chintz screen that protected the cots from any draught through the opening door. cecil, with an action of settled despair, turned from the spectacle, and buried his face for one last moment of comfort in vida levering'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're waiting 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 fled downstairs, clasping the shining thing round her neck as she went--a swaying figure in soft flying draperies and gleaming, upraised arms. she entered the drawing-room with a quiet deliberation greater even than common. it was the effect that haste and contrition frequently wrought in 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 charm in 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-white drawing-room, yet the moment vida levering entered, she knew from the questing glance mrs. freddy sent past her children's visitor, that even now the party was not complete. other eyes turned that way as the servant announced 'miss levering.' it is seldom that in this particular stratum of london life anything so uncontrolled and uncontrollable as a 'sensation' is permitted to chequer the even distribution of subdued good humour that reigns so modestly in the drawing-rooms of the tunbridge world. if any one is so ill-advised as to bring to these gatherings anything resembling a sensation, even if it is of the less challengeable sort of striking personal beauty, the general aim of the company is to pretend either that they see nothing unusual in the conjunction, or that they, for their part, are impervious to such impacts. vida levering's beauty was not strictly of the _éclatant_ type. if it did--as could not be denied--arrest the eye, its refusal to let attention go was mitigated by something in the quietness, the disarming softness, with which the hold was maintained. men making her acquaintance frequently went through four distinct phases in their feeling about her. the first was the common natural one, the instant stirring of the pulses that beauty of any sort produces in persons having the eye that sees. the second stage was a rousing of the instinct to be 'on guard,' which feminine beauty not infrequently breeds in the breasts of men. not on guard so much against the thing itself, or even against ready submission to it, but against allowing onlookers to be witness of such submission. even the very young man knows either by experience or hearsay, that women have concentrated upon their faculty for turning this particular weapon to account, all the skill they would have divided among other resources had there been others. yet the charm is something too delicious even to desire to escape from--the impulse centres in a determination to _seem_ untouched, immune. the third stage in this declension from pleasure through caution to reassurance is induced by something so gentle, so unemphatic in the vida levering aspect, so much what the man thinks 'feminine,' that even the wariest male is reassured. he comes to be almost as easy before this particular type of allurement as he would be with the frankly plain 'good sort'; only there is all about him the exquisite aroma of a subtle charm which he may almost persuade himself that he alone perceives, since this softly gracious creature seems so little to insist upon it--seems, indeed, to be herself unaware of its presence. whereupon the man conceives a new idea of his own perspicacity in detecting a thing at once so agreeable and so little advertised. he may, with a woman of this kind, go long upon the third 'tack'--may, indeed, never know it was she who gently 'shunted' him, still unenlightened, and left him side-tracked, but cherishing to the end of time the soothing conviction that he 'might an' if he would.' to the more robust order of man will come a day of awakening, when he rubs his eyes and retreats hurriedly with a sense of good faith injured--nay, of hopes positively betrayed. if she were '_that_ sort,' why not hang out some signal? it wasn't playing fair. and so without anything so crude as a sensation, but with a retinue of covert looks following in her train, she made her way to the young hostess, and was there joined by two men and a middle-aged woman, who plainly had been a beauty, and though 'gone to fat,' as the vulgar say, had yet kept her complexion. with an air of genial authority, the pink-cheeked lady john ulland proceeded to appropriate the new-comer in the midst of a general hum of conversation, whose key to the sensitive ear had become a little heightened since the last arrival. the women grew more insistently vivacious in proportion as the men's minds seemed to wander from matters they had discussed contentedly enough before. mrs. freddy tunbridge was a very popular person. it was agreed that nobody willingly missed one of her parties. there were those who said this was not so much because of her and mr. freddy, though they were eminently likeable people; not merely because you met 'everybody' there, and not even because of the excellence of their dinners. notoriously this 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 did not care especially about mrs. freddy, that hers was an 'amusing,' above all, perhaps, a 'becoming,' house. people had a pleasant consciousness of looking uncommon well in her pretty drawing-room. others said it wasn't the room, it was the lighting, which certainly was most discerningly done--not dim, and yet so far from glaring that quite plain people enjoyed there a brief unwonted hour of good looks. only a limited amount of electricity was used, and that little was carefully masked and modulated, while the two great chandeliers each of them held aloft a very forest of wax candles. it was known, too, that the spell was in no danger of being rudely broken. the same tender but festive radiance would 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 slim neck 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 the fact that mrs. fox-moore was in the corner by the pierced screen, not talking to any one, but, on the contrary, staring dark-visaged, gloomy, sibylline, at a leaflet advertising a charity concert, a document conspicuously left by mrs. freddy on a little table. on her way to rescue mrs. fox-moore from her desert island of utter loneliness, mrs. freddy saw sir william haycroft, the newly-made cabinet minister, rather pointedly making his escape from a tall, keen-looking, handsome woman wearing 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 delicately offering him an opportunity to make any predilection known--'i think you know 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 your friends since the new government came in. but you really mean it--that nobody has introduced you to miss levering yet? what _is_ freddy thinking about!' 'dinner!' replied a voice at her elbow with characteristic laconism, and freddy 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, his eyes still on the young woman talking to lady john and the foreign ambassador. 'yes; go on,' said mrs. freddy, with as cloudless a brow as though she had no need to manufacture conversation while the dinner was being kept waiting. '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 you and i meet in the country or find ourselves alone in a crush, you'll be saying, "what's her story? why hasn't a woman like that married?" they all do! you don't believe me? just wait! freddy shall take you over, and----' was mrs. freddy beaming at the prospective success of her new friend, or was her vanity flattered by reflecting upon her own perspicacity? unavoidable as it was in a way that mrs. graham townley should be taken down to dinner by the new minister--nevertheless the antidote had been cleverly provided for. 'freddy dear--why, i thought he was---- oh, there he is!' seeing her hungry husband safely anchored in front of the iris gown, instantly she abandoned the idea of disturbing him. 'after all,' she said, turning again to haycroft, who had stood the image of stolid unimpressionableness--'after all, freddy's right. since she's going to sit beside you at dinner, it's a good reason for not making you known to each other before. or perhaps you never experience that awful feeling of being talked out by the time you go down, and not having a single thing left----' she saw that the great man was not going to vouchsafe any contribution to her small attempt to keep the ball rolling; so without giving him the chance to mark her failure by a silence, however brief, she chattered on. 'though with vida you're not likely to find yourself in that predicament. is he, ronald?' with the instinct of the well-trained female to draw into her circle any odd man hovering about on the periphery, mrs. freddy appealed to her brother-in-law. lord borrodaile turned in her direction his long sallow face--a face that would have been saturnine but for its touch of whimsicality and a singularly charming smile. 'my brother-in-law will bear me out,' mrs. freddy went on, quite as though breaking off a heated 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 knew right well was his conviction). steering wide of politics, 'i gather,' he said, with his air of amiable boredom, 'that you were discussing what used in the days of my youth to be called a lady's "conversational powers."' 'i forbid you to apply such deadly phrases to my friend,' mrs. freddy denounced him. '_your_ friend, too!' 'i'll prove my title to the distinction by proclaiming that she has the subtlest art a woman can possess.' 'ah, _that's_ more like it!' said mrs. freddy, gaily. 'what is the subtlest art?' 'the art of being silent without being dull.' if there was any sting in this for the lady nearest him, she gave no sign of making the personal application. 'now i expressly forbid your encouraging vida in silence! most men like to be amused. you know perfectly well _you_ do!' 'ah, yes,' he said languidly, catching haycroft's eye and almost making terms 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 disarming smile of his, and said good-humouredly, 'i know now why you are called a good hostess.' 'why?' asked the lady a little anxiously, for his compliments were not always soothing. a motion towards the watch-pocket. 'no one, to look at you, would suppose that your spirit was racked between the clock and the door.' 'oh,' she said, relieved, 'if they come in five minutes or so, you'll see! the dinner won't be a penny the worse. jules is such a wizard. all i mind is seeing freddy fussed.' she turned with an engaging smile to her minister again. 'freddy has the most angelic temper except when he's hungry--bless him! now that he's talking to vida levering, freddy'll forget whether it's before dinner or after.' 'what! what!' said a brisk old gentleman, with a face like a peculiarly wicked monkey. he abandoned mrs. townley with enthusiasm in order to say to his hostess, 'show me the witch who can work that spell!' 'oh, dear, i'm afraid,' said mrs. freddy, prettily, 'i'm dreadfully afraid that means you're starving! does it make you morose as it does freddy?' 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 thin draperies 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 he wrinkled up his aged nose, which was quite enough wrinkled and sufficiently 'up' already. 'who _is_ the witch?' 'why, we were talking about a member of your family.' she turned again to the new minister. 'mr. fox-moore--sir--oh! how absurd! i was going to introduce two pillars of the state to one another. i _must_ be anxious about those late people, after all.' 'as a matter of fact you and i never have met,' said haycroft, cordially taking old mr. fox-moore's hand. 'beside you permanent officials we ephemeræ, the sport of parties----' 'ah, _that's_ all right!' mrs. freddy's head, poised an instant on one side, seemed to say. 'who is it? who is late?' demanded mrs. graham townley, whose entrance into the conversation produced the effect of the sudden opening of window 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 people stand this sort of thing very much as they stand the actual draughts in their 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. though her interest in public affairs was bounded only by the limits of the empire, she had found time to reform the administration of a great london hospital. also she was related to a great many people. in the ultra smart set she of course had no _raison d'être_, but in the older society it was held meet that these things be. so that when she put her question, not only was she not ignored, but each one felt it a serious thing for anybody to be so late that mrs. graham townley instead of button-holing some one with, 'what, now, should you say is the extent of the pan-islamic influence in egypt?' should be reduced to asking, 'who are we waiting for?' 'it's certain to be a man,' said lady john ulland, as calmly convinced as 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 back and telephoned that the horses had run away with her or something of the sort.' 'dick farnborough won't turn back.' 'oh, mr. farnborough's the culprit!' said a smartly dressed woman, with a nervous, rather angry air, though the ropes of fine pearls she wore might, some would think, have soothed the most savage breast. 'yes, dick and captain beeching!' said mrs. freddy; 'and i shall give them 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 discontented person with the pearls. 'yes, she would,' lady john said aside to borrodaile. 'she has a daughter, and so have most of the london hostesses, and the young villains 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 of breaking by main force into a conversation instead of being drawn into it. 'twice in this last year i've sat with an empty place on one side of me at a dinner-party. on each occasion it was a young member of parliament 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 motor all existence has become disorganized. i always feel'--the hostess addressed herself to the minister and the pearls--'don't you, that one ought to stretch a point for people who have to go about in cabs?' as haycroft began a disquisition on the changes in social life initiated by the use of the motor-car, mrs. freddy floated away. borrodaile, looking after her, remarked, 'it's humane of my sister-in-law to think of making allowances. most of us gratify the dormant cruelty in human nature by keeping an eagle eye on the wretched late ones when at last they _do_ slink in. don't you know'--he turned to lady john--'that look of half-resentful interest?' 'perfectly. every one wants to see whether these particular culprits wear their rue with a difference.' 'or whether,' borrodaile went on, 'whether, like the majority, they merely look abject and flustered, and whisper agitated lies. personally i have known it to be the most interesting moment of the evening.' what brought mrs. fox-moore's plight forcibly home to mrs. freddy was seeing vida leave her own animated group to join her sister. mrs. freddy made her way across the room, stopping a moment to say to freddy as she passed-- '_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 the woman with the pearls.' 'not that cross-looking----' 'sh! yes, darling, that's the one. she's only looking like that because you aren't talking to her;' and mrs. freddy overtook vida just as she reached the desert island where mrs. fox-moore stood, looking seaward for a sail. a few moments later, after ringing for dinner, mrs. freddy paused an instant, taking in the fact that lady whyteleafe hadn't been made as happy by mr. tunbridge's attentions as his wife had prophesied. no, the angry woman with the pearls, so far from being intent upon freddy's remarks, was levelling at mrs. freddy the critical eye that says, 'now i shall see if i can determine just how miserably conscious you are that dinner's unpardonably late, everybody starving, and since you've only just rung, that you have at least eight minutes still to fill up before you'll hear that you are "served."' lady whyteleafe leaned against the back of the little periwinkle damask sofa, and waited to see mrs. freddy carry off these last minutes of suspense by an affectation of great 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 most awful, dreadful, appalling thing! oh, i should like to creep under the sofa and die!' 'what's up?' demanded mr. freddy, with an air of relief at being reinforced. '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_ were dead.' 'that's nothing. she always looks like that,' lady whyteleafe assured the pair. 'yes, and she makes it a great favour to come. "i seldom go into society," she writes in her stiff little notes; and you're reminded that way, without her actually setting it down, that she devotes herself to good works.' 'perhaps she doesn't know what else to do with all that money,' said the lady 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, i hate that fox-moore woman!' mrs. freddy laughed ruefully. 'and i'm sure her husband is a great deal too good for her. but how _could_ i have done it!' 'you haven't told us yet.' 'they asked me who was late, and i said dick farnborough, and that i hoped he hadn't forgotten, for i had hermione heriot here on purpose to meet him. and i told vida about the heriots trying to marry hermione to that 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 a fresh young girl tied to a worn-out old man."' '_oh!_' remarked lady whyteleafe, genuinely shocked. 'and you said that to----' mrs. freddy nodded with melancholy significance. 'even when vida said, "it seems to do well enough sometimes," _still_ i never never remembered the fox-moore story! and i went on about it being a miracle when it turned 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 and stumbled in this particular 'speech.' 'i know, i know,' she said, carrying it off with an air of comic contrition. 'i even said, "there's a modesty in nature that it isn't wise to overstep" (i'd forgotten some people think speech-making comes under that head). "it's been realized," i said--yes, rushing on my doom!--"it's been realized up to now only in the usual one-sided way--discouraging boys from marrying women old enough to be their mothers. but dear, blundering, fatuous man"'--she smiled into her husband's pleasantly mocking face--'"_he_ thinks," i said, "at _any_ age he's a fit mate for a fresh young creature in her teens. if they only knew--the dreadful old ogres!" yes, i said that. i piled it on--oh, i stuck at nothing! "the men think an ugly old woman monopolizes all the opportunities humanity offers for repulsiveness. but there's nothing on the face of the earth as hideous," i said, "as an ugly old man. doesn't it stand to reason? he's bound to go greater lengths than any woman can aspire to. there's more of him to _be_ ugly, isn't there? i appealed to them--everything about him is bigger, coarser--he's much less human," says i, "and _much_ more like a dreadful old monkey." i raised my wretched eyes, and there, not three feet away, was the aged husband of the fox-moore woman ogling hermione heriot! oh, let me die!' mrs. freddy leaned against the blue-grey sofa for a moment and half closed her pretty eyes. the next instant she was running gaily across the room to welcome richard farnborough and captain beeching. * * * * * 'i always know,' said lord borrodaile, glancing over the banisters as he and vida went down--'i always know the kind of party it's going to be when i see--certain people. don't you?' 'i know who you mean,' vida whispered back, her eyes on mrs. graham townley's aggressively high-piled hair towering over the bald pate of the minister, as, side by side, they disappeared through the dining-room door. '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'm afraid.' '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," she said, "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 an ambassador 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 london well--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 to her _tête-à-tête_ with the man who had brought her down. but lord borrodaile was a person most women liked talking to, and hardly had she begun to relish that combination in the man of careless pleasantry and pungent criticism, when vida caught an agonized glance from her hostess, which said plainly, 'rescue the man on your right,'--and lo! miss levering became aware that already, before the poor jaded politician had swallowed his soup, mrs. townley had fallen to catechising him about the new bill--a theme talked threadbare by newspaperdom and all political england. but mrs. townley, albeit not exactly old, was one of those old-fashioned women who take what used to be called 'an intelligent interest in politics.' you may pick her out in any drawing-room from the fact that politicians shun her like the plague. rich, childless, lonely, with more wits than occupation, practically shelved at a time when her intellectual life is most alert--the mrs. townleys of the world do, it must be admitted, labour under the delusion that men fighting the battle of public life, go out to dine for the express purpose of telling the intelligent female 'all about it.' she is a staunch believer not so much in women's influence as in woman's. and there is no doubt in her mind which woman's. if among her smart relations who ask her to their houses and go to hers (from that sentiment of the solidarity of the family so powerful in english life), if amongst these she succeeds from time to time in inducing two or three public officials, or even private members, to prove how good a cook she keeps, she thinks she is exercising an influence on the politics of her time. her form of conversation consists in plying her victim with questions. not here one there one, to keep the ball 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 her head, 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; and then 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. a little ashamed, its maker hastened to leave it behind. 'there's nothing i should quite so much hate talking about as politics--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 order that is you are wearing, and what you did to get it.' haycroft breathed freely. he talked for the next ten minutes about the bauble, making a humorous translation of its latin 'posy,' and describing in the same vein the service to a foreign state that had won him the recognition. he wouldn't have worn the thing to-night except out of compliment to the ambassador from the power in question. they were going on together to the reception at the foreign office. as to the order, haycroft seemed to feel he owed it to himself to smile at all such toys, but he did not disdain to amuse the pretty lady with the one in question, any more than being humane (and even genial sitting before mrs. freddy's menu), he would have refused to show the whirring wheels of his watch to a nice child. the two got on so well that the anxious look quite faded out of mrs. freddy's face, and she devoted herself gaily to the distinguished foreigner at her side. but haycroft at a party was, like so many englishmen, as the lilies of the field. they toil not, neither do they spin. the man vida had rescued from mrs. graham townley was, when in the society of women, so accustomed to seeing them take on themselves the onus of entertainment, was himself so unused to being at the smallest trouble, that when the 'order' was exhausted, had vida not invented another topic, there would have been an absolute cessation of all converse till mrs. graham townley had again caught him up like a big reluctant fish on the hook of interrogation. at a reproachful aside from lord borrodaile, miss levering broke off in the middle of her second subject to substitute, 'but i am monopolizing you disgracefully,' and she half turned away from the eminent politician into whose slightly flushed face and humid eyes had come something like animation. '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 with herself; 'you know why i did it.' he met her eye, and the faint motion that indicated the woman on his other side. 'terrible person,' he whispered. 'she goes out to dine as a soldier 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 of sour grapes on my part. i'm afraid _my_ conversation is inclined to be frivolous.' he turned and gave her her reward--the feeling smile that says, '_thank god!_' but, strangely, it did not reflect itself in the woman's face. something quite different there, lurking under the soft gaiety. was it consciousness of this being the second time during the evening that she had employed the too common vaunt of the woman of that particular world? did some ironic echo reach her of that same boast (often as mirthless 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, whose frivolity--invaluable asset!--is beginning to show wear? 'well, to return to our mutton,' he said; and, as his companion seemed suddenly to be overtaken by some unaccountable qualm, 'what a desert life would be,' he added encouragingly, 'if we couldn't talk to the discreet about the indiscreet.' 'i wonder if there wouldn't be still more oases in the desert,' she said idly, '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 very one to introduce the measure' (he shrank visibly, and seemed about to remind her of her pledge). 'it shall ordain,' she went on, 'that those who have found satisfactory husbands or wives are to rest content with their good fortune, and not be so greedy as to insist on having the children, 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 the conversation 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 make an allowance of _one_ child to every single woman the proper and accepted arrangement. no questions asked, and no disgrace.' 'disgrace!' she echoed, smiling. 'on the contrary, it should be the woman's title to honour! she should be given a beautiful order like yours 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 seizes hold of me after i've been chattering like this for an hour or more.' borrodaile bent his head, and glanced past vida to the abandoned minister. '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, with something like enthusiasm--'one person that i respect and admire.' 'oh!' he glanced about the board with an air of lazy interest. 'which one?' 'i don't know her name. i mean the woman who dares to sit quite silent and 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 proving i haven't the courage. it's just come over me,' she said, her eyes in their turn making a tour of the table, and coming back to borrodaile with the look of having caught up a bran-new topic on the way--'it's just 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 her unenlightened. 'all the women,' she said, 'are trying with might and main to amuse the men, 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 from her voice--'i suppose i should have said something like that, even if i'd been talking to my other neighbour.' borrodaile's look went again from one couple to another, for, as usual in england, the talk was all _tête-à-tête_. the result of his inspection seemed not to lend itself to her mood. 'i can't speak for others, but for myself, i'm always conscious of wanting to be agreeable when i'm with you. i'm sorry'--he was speaking in the usual half-genial, half-jeering tone--'very sorry, if i succeed so ill.' 'i've already admitted that with _me_ you succeed to admiration. but you only try because it's easy.' 'oh!' he laughed. 'you rather like talking to me, you know. now, can you lay your hand on your heart----' 'and deny it? never!' 'can you lay your hand on your heart, and say you've tried as hard to entertain 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 the woman's "part," isn't it?' 'the art of pleasing? i suppose it is--but it's rather a geisha view of life, don't you think?' 'not at all; rightly viewed, it's a woman's privilege--her natural function.' 'then the brutes are nobler than we.' wondering, he glanced at her. the face was wholly reassuring, but he said, 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 and the male bird's crest, and what the natural history bores say they're for.' chapter iii the darkness and the quiet of vida levering's bedroom were rudely dispelled at a punctual eight each morning by the entrance of a gaunt middle-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 brass rings run squealing along a bar; as if she counted that day lost which was 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 a metaphorical shaking of a bony fist in the face of the day, as much as to 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 bed offered no remonstrance at being jarred awake in this ungentle fashion. fourteen years before, when vida levering was only eighteen, she had tried to make something like a conventional maid out of the faithful northumbrian. rachel wark had entered lady levering's service just before vida's birth, and had helped to nurse her mistress through a mortal illness ten years later. after sir hervey levering lost his wife, wark became in time housekeeper and general factotum to the family. this arrangement held without a break until, as before hinted, miss vida, full of the hopeful idealism of early youth, had tried and ignominiously failed in her attempt to teach the woman gentler manners. for wark's characteristic retort had been to pack her box and go to spend sixteen months among her kinsfolk, where energy was accounted a virtue, and smooth ways held in suspicion. at the end of that time, seeming to judge the lesson she wished to impart had been sufficiently digested, wark wrote to miss vida proposing to come back. for some months she waited for the answer. it came at last from biarritz, where it appeared the young lady was spending the winter with her father. after an exchange of letters wark joined them there. in the twelve years since her return to the family, she had by degrees adapted herself to the task of looking after her young lady. the adaptation was not all on one side. many of vida's friends wondered that she could put up with a lady's maid who could do so few of the things commonly expected of that accomplished class. 'i don't want dressmaking going on in the house,' contentedly vida told off her maid's negative qualifications, 'and i hate having anybody do my hair for me. wark packs quite beautifully, and then i _do_ like some one about me--that i like.' in the early days what she had 'liked' most about the woman was that wark had known and been attached to lady levering. there was no one else with whom vida could talk about her mother. by the time death overtook sir hervey two winters ago in rome, wark had become so essential a part of vida's little entourage, that one of the excuses offered by that lady for not going to live with her half-sister in london had been--'wark doesn't always get on with other servants.' for several years miss levering's friends had been speaking of her as one fallen a victim to that passion for italy that makes it an abiding place 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 the difficulty 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, she doesn't love england at all.' nevertheless, mrs. fox-moore after some months had persuaded her to 'bring wark and try us.' the experiment, now over a year old, seemed to have turned out well. if vida really did not love her native land, she seemed to enjoy well enough what she called smiling 'the st. martin's summer' of her success in london society. * * * * * she turned over in her bed on this particular may morning, stretching out her long figure, and then letting it sink luxuriously back into relaxed quiescence with a conscious joy in prolonging those last ten minutes when sleep is slowly, softly, one after another, withdrawing her thousand veils. vaguely, as she lay there with face half buried in her pillow, vaguely she was aware that wark was making even more noise than common. when the woman had bustled in and bustled out several times, and deposited the shoes with a 'dump,' she reappeared with the delicate porcelain tray that bore the early tea. on the little table close to where the dark head lay half hidden, wark set the fragile burden down--did it with an emphasis that made cup and saucer shiver and run for support towards the round-bellied pot. vida opened her heavy-lidded eyes. 'really, wark, you know, nobody on earth would let you wake them in the morning except me.' she sat up and pulled the pillow higher. 'give me the tray here,' she said sleepily. wark obeyed. she had said nothing to vida's reproof. she stood now by the bedside without a trace of either contrition or resentment in the wooden face that seemed, in recompense for never having been young, to be able successfully to defy the 'antique pencil.' time had made but one or two faint ineffectual scratches there, as one who tries, and then abandons, an unpromising surface. the lack of record in the face lent it something almost cryptic. if there were no laughter-wrought lines about the eyes, neither was there mark of grief or self-repression near the mouth. she would, you felt, defy time as successfully as she defied lesser foes. even the lank, straw-coloured hair hardly showed the streaks of yellow-white that offered their unemphatic clue to wark's age. the sensitive face of the woman in the bed--even now with something of the peace of sleep still shadowing its brilliancy--gave by contrast an impression of vividness and eager sympathies. the mistress, too, looked younger than her years. she did not seem to wonder at the dull presence that seemed to be held there, prisoner-like, behind the brass bars at the foot of the bed. wark sometimes gave herself this five minutes' _tête-à-tête_ with her mistress before the business of the day began and all their intercourse was swamped in clothes. 'i meant to pin a paper on the door to say i wasn't to be called till ten,' said the lady, as though keeping up the little pretence of not being pleased. 'didn't you sleep well, 'm?' the maid managed wholly to denude the question of its usual grace of solicitude. 'yes; but it was so late when i began. we didn't get back till nearly three.' 'i didn't get much sleep, either.' it was an unheard-of admission from wark. '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 her astonishment, that the lids were red. wark, too, seemed uncomfortably aware of something unusual in her face, for she turned it away, and busied 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't round. i want a day or two to go into the country.' 'into the country?' no such request had been heard for a round dozen of years. '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 a confidence 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 of her 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 without opening her lips. if the speech had come from any other than wark, it would have been easy to believe it merely the prelude to complaint of a fellow-servant or plea for a rise in wages. but if wark objected to a fellow-servant, her own view of the matter had always been that the other one should go. her mistress knew quite well that in the mouth of the woman standing there with red eyes at the foot of the bed, such an announcement as had just been made, meant more. and the consciousness seemed to bring with it a sense of acute discomfort not unmixed with anger. for there was a threat of something worse than an infliction of mere inconvenience. it was a species of desertion. it was almost treachery. they had lived together all the younger woman's life, except for those two years that followed on the girl's attempt to make a conventional servant out of a creature who couldn't be that, but who had it in her to be more. they had been too long together for wark not to divine something--through all the lady's self-possession--of her sense of being abandoned. 'it's having to tell you that that kept me awake.' the wave of dull colour that mounted up to the bushy, straw-coloured eyebrows seemed on the way to have overflowed into her eyes. they grew redder than before, and slowly they filled. 'you don't like living here in this house.' vida caught at the old complication. 'i've got used to it,' the woman said baldly. then, after a little pause, during which she made a barely audible rasping to clear her throat, 'i don't like leaving you, miss. i always remember how, that time before--the only time i was ever away from you since you was a baby--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 was little, but it nearly broke my heart to come back and find you so quieted down and wise-like.' a flash of tears glimmered in the mistress's eyes, though her lips were smiling. 'of course,' the maid went on, 'though you never told me about it, i know you had things to bear while i was away, or else you wouldn't have gone away from your home that time--a mere child--and tried to teach for a 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 left you. i've never told you how i blamed myself when i heard--and i didn't wonder at you. it _was_ hard when your mother was hardly cold to see your 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 any more like you did then. but it's looking back and remembering--it's that that'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 come after me. my cousin knows the man.' 'the man who wants you to go to him as housekeeper?' vida wrinkled her brows. wark hadn't said 'gentleman,' who alone in her employer's experience had any need of a housekeeper. 'you mean you don't know him yourself?' 'not yet, 'm. i know he's a market gardener, and he wants his house looked after.' 'what if he does? a market gardener won't be able to pay the wages i----' 'the wages aren't much to begin with--but he's getting along--except for the 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 miss levering 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 written and talked about it ever since.' 'about the beads?' 'about the market gardener. and the way his house is--ever since we came back to england she's been going on at me about it. i told her all along i couldn't leave you, but she's always said (since that day you walked about with the baby and gave him the beads to play with, and wouldn't let her make him cry by taking them away)--ever since then my cousin has said you'd understand.' 'what would i understand?' wark laid her hand on the nearest of the shining bars of brass, and slowly she polished it with her open palm. she obviously found it difficult 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 creature on the earth to speak for her. as she stood there in stolid embarrassment polishing the shiny bar, miss levering clutched the tray to steady it, and with the other hand she pulled the pillow higher. one had to sit bolt upright, it seemed, and give this matter one's entire attention. 'i don't want to talk to your cousin about your affairs. we are old friends, wark. tell me yourself.' she forced her eyes to meet her mistress's. 'he told my cousin: "just you 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 and pray 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 what he'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 think you 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 leaving me?' the woman looked as if she could show cause had she a mind. but she said nothing. 'you know,' vida pursued--'you know quite well you don't need to marry for a home.' 'no, 'm; i'm quite comfortable, of course, with you. but time goes on. i don'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 in the hard-featured countenance. for there was something very like dumb reproach in wark's face. 'still,' said miss levering, 'you know, even if none of us do get younger, we are not any of us (to judge by appearances) on the brink of the grave. even if i should be smashed up in a motor accident--i know you're always expecting that--even if i were killed to-morrow, still you'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 you married.' 'me? what's that got to do with----' 'yes, miss. you see, i've counted a good while on looking after children again 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 so romantic. 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 good nurse. i say it, though she calls advice interfering. and miss doris has got 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 doris needs 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----' her knuckly hand slid down from the brass bar, and she came round to the side of the bed with an unmistakable eagerness in her face. 'if you're going to get married, i don't see as i _could_ leave ye.' the lady's lips twitched with an instant's silent laughter, but there was something else than laughter in her eyes. 'oh, i _can_ buy you off, can i? if i give you my word--if to save you from need to try the great experiment, i'll sacrifice _my_self----' 'i wouldn't like to see you make a sacrifice, miss,' wark said, with perfect gravity. 'but'--as though reconsidering--'you wouldn't feel it so 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 eye unflinching--'bunting--he's the market gardener--he's been married before. 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 been funny if it hadn't somehow been pathetic to see how instantly she was on the defensive. '"healthy and hearty," my cousin says, all but the little one. she hardly thinks they'll raise _him_.' 'well, i wish your market gardener had confined himself to raising onions and cabbages. if he hadn't those children i don't believe you'd dream of----' 'well, of course not, miss. but it seems like those children need some one 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 as an apology. 'take the tray,' said vida. from the look on her face you would say she knew she had lost the faithfullest of servants, and that five little children somewhere in a market 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 to bed the night before, they breakfasted, as they did so many other things, at the hour held to be most advantageous for doris. mr. fox-moore was sometimes there and often not. on those mornings when his health or his exertions the night previous did not prevent his appearance, there was little conversation at the fox-moore breakfast table, except such as was initiated by the only child of the marriage, a fragile girl of ten. little doris, owing to some obscure threat of hip-disease, made much of her progress about the house in a footman's arms. but hardly, so borne, would she reach the threshold of the breakfast 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 would have been surprised to watch him during the half hour that ensued, ministering to the rather querulous little creature, adapting his tone and view to her comprehension, with an art that plainly took its inspiration from affection. if doris were not well enough to come down, mr. fox-moore read his letters and glanced at 'the' paper, directing his few remarks to his sister-in-law, whom he sometimes treated in such a way as would have given a stranger the impression, in spite of the lady's lack of response, that there was some secret understanding between the two. a great many years before, donald fox-moore had tumbled into a government office, the affairs of which he had ultimately got into such excellent running order, that, with a few hours' supervision from the chief each week, his clerks were easily able to maintain the high reputation 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 of it was spent with a much younger bachelor brother near brighton. at least, this was the family legend. in spite of his undoubted affection for his child, little of his leisure was wasted at home. when people looked at the sallow, smileless face of his wife they didn't blame him. sometimes, when a general sense of tension and anxiety betrayed his presence somewhere in the great dreary house, and the master yet forbore to descend for the early meal, he would rejoice the heart of his little daughter by having her brought to his room to make tea and share his breakfast. on these occasions a sense of such unexpected surcease from care prevailed in the dining-room as called for some celebration of the holiday spirit. it found expression in the inclination of the two women to linger over their coffee, embracing the only sure opportunity the day offered 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. she had 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 the threshold. 'is--is anything the matter?' faltered his wife, half rising. 'matter? must something be the matter that i venture into my own breakfast-room of a morning?' 'no, no. only i thought, as doris didn't come, you were breakfasting upstairs, too.' no notice being taken of this, she at once set about heating water, for no one expected mr. fox-moore to drink tea made in the kitchen. 'i thought,' said he, twitching an open newspaper off the table and folding it up--'i thought i asked to be allowed the privilege of opening my paper for myself.' 'your _times_ hasn't been touched,' said his wife, anxiously occupied with 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 at till you've finished with it.' 'dreadful hardship _that_ is!' he said, glancing round, and seeing his own 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 foreign correspondence.' '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 has broken loose and taken in an extra copy.' 'oh, it's on your account, is it?' he grumbled, but the edge had gone out of his ill-humour. 'i suppose you _have_ to keep up with politics or you couldn't keep the ball rolling as you did last night?' 'yes,' said vida, with an innocent air. 'it is well known what superhuman efforts we have to make before we can qualify ourselves to talk 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 and the 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 over the sacred rite of scientific tea-making. mr. fox-moore, talking to vida about the foreign office reception, to which they had all gone on after the tunbridges' dinner, kept watching with a kind of half-absent-minded scorn his wife's fussily punctilious pains to prepare the brew 'his way.' when all was ready and the tea steaming on its way to him in the hands of its harassed maker, he curtly declined it, got up, and left the room. a moment after, the shutting of the front door announced the beginning 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 there were plenty more--'he is very good to you, vida.' and in her tone there was 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 to like 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 a patient 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 hers over 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 cheerfully for her as the servant shut the door. 'oh, is this friday? n--no.' the younger woman looked at the chill grey world through the window, and followed up the hesitating negative with a quite definite, 'i couldn't stand slums to-day.' the two exchanged the look that means, 'here we are again up against this recurring difference.' but there was no ill-humour in either face as their eyes met. between these two daughters of one father existed that sort of haunting family resemblance often seen between two closely related persons, despite one being attractive and the other in some way repellent. the observer traces the same lines in each face, the same intensification of 'the family look' in the smile, and yet knows that the slight disparity in age fails to account for a difference wide as the poles. and not alone difference of taste, of environment and experience, not these alone make up the sum of their unlikeness. you had only to look from the fresh simplicity of white muslin blouse and olive-coloured cloth in the one case, to the ungainly expensiveness of the black silk gown of the married woman, in order to get from the first a sense of dainty morning freshness, and from mrs. fox-moore not alone a lugubrious _memento mori_ sort of impression, but that more disquieting reminder of the 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 to speak, the black came off. she seemed to achieve it partly by dint of wearing (instead of any relief of lace or even of linen at her throat) a hard band of that passementerie secretly so despised of the little tunbridges. 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 on to her brown neck. it even cast an added shadow on her sallow cheek. the figure of the older woman, gaunt and thin enough, announced the further constriction of the corset. by way of revenge the sharp shoulder-blades poked the corset out till it defined a ridge in the black silk back. in front, too, the slab-like figure declined co-operation with the corset, and withdrew, leaving a hiatus that the silk bodice clothed though it did not conceal. you could not have told whether the other woman wore that ancient invention for a figure insufficient or over-exuberant. as you followed her movements, easy with the ease of a child, while she walked or stooped or caught up the fragile doris, or raised her arm to take a book from the shelf, you got an impression of a physique in perfect because unconscious harmony with its environment. if, on the contrary, you watched but so much as the nervous, uncertain hand of the other woman, you would know here was one who had spent her years in alternately grasping the nettle and letting it go--reaping only stings in life's fair fields. easy for any one seeing her in these days (though she wasn't thirty-six) to share mrs. freddy's incredulous astonishment at hearing from haycroft the night before that janet levering had been 'the beauty of her family.' mrs. freddy's answer had been, 'oh, don't make 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 those yellow and pink eyes, and her general muddiness!' 'yes, yes,' sir william had agreed. 'she's changed so that i would never have known her, but her colouring used to be her strong point. i assure you she was magnificent--oh, much more striking than the younger sister!' the bloodless-looking woman who sat uneasily at her own board clutching at a thin fragment of cold dry toast that hung cheerlessly awry in the silver rack, like the last brown leaf to a frosty tree, while she crunched the toast, spoke dryly of the poor; of how 'interesting many of them are;' how when you take the trouble to understand them, you no longer lump them all together in a featureless misery, you realize how significant and varied are their lives. 'not half as significant and varied as their smells,' said her unchastened 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 of those dingy alleys and that all-pervading greasy smell of poverty comes flooding into my face--well, simply all my most uncharitable feelings rise up in revolt. i want to hold my nose and hide my eyes, and call for the motor-car. running away isn't fast enough,' she said, with energy and a sudden spark in her golden-brown eye. mrs. fox-moore poised the fat silver jug over her own belated cup, and waited for the thick cream to come out in a slow and grudging gobbet with a heavy plump into the coffee. as she waited, she gently rebuked that fastidiousness in her companion that shrank from contact with the unsavoury 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're an 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 my heart 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 of your whitechapel raids that i feel most strongly how outrageous it is that, in addition to all my other advantages, i should buy self-approval by doing some tuppenny-ha'penny service to a toiling, starving fellow-creature.' mrs. fox-moore set down her coffee-cup. 'you mustn't suppose----' she began. 'no, no,' vida cut her short. 'i don't doubt _your_ motives. i know too well how ready you are to sacrifice yourself. but it does fill me with a kind of rage to see some of those smug settlement workers, the people that plume themselves on leaving luxurious homes. they don't say how hideously bored they were in them. they are perfectly enchanted at the excitement 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 they can get out of our sort.' mrs. fox-moore cast down her eyes as though convicted by the recollection of some concrete example. 'we're only scratching at the surface,' vida, said--'such an ugly surface, 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 been disillusioned.' vida threw down her table napkin, and stood up. 'i was thinking of people like our young parson cousin.' 'george----' vida made a shrug of half-impatient, half-humorous assent. 'leaves the bishop's palace and comes to london. he, too, wants "to live for the poor." never for an instant one of them. always the patron--the person something may be got out of--or, at all events, hoped from.' she seemed to be about to leave the room, but as her sister answered with some feeling, 'no, no, they love and respect him!' vida paused, and brought 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 look on himself as a benefactor. he's tasting the intoxication of the king among beggars.' 'you are grossly unfair, vida.' 'so he thinks when i challenge him: "what good, what earthly good, is all this unless an anodyne--for you--is good?"' 'it seems to me a very real good that george nuneaton and his kind should go into the dark places and brighten hopeless lives with a little christian kindness--sometimes with a little timely counsel.' 'yes, yes,' said the voice by the fire; 'and a little good music--don't forget the good music.' 'an object-lesson in practical religion, isn't that something?' 'practical! good heaven! a handful of complacent, expensively educated young people playing at reform. the poor wanting work, wanting decent housing--wanting _bread_--and offered a little cultivated companionship.' 'vida, what have you been reading?' 'reading? i've been visiting george at his settlement. i've been intruding myself on the privacy of the poor once a week with you--and i'm done with it! personally i don't get enough out of it to reconcile me to their getting so little.' 'you're burning,' observed the toneless voice from the head of the table. 'yes, i believe i was a little hot,' vida laughed as she drew her smoking skirt away from the fire. but she still stood close to the cheerful blaze, one foot on the fender, the green cloth skirt drawn up, leaving the more delicate fabric of her silk petticoat to meet the fiery ordeal. '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 instant over her shoulder was far gentler than her words. 'and don't in future'--she was again looking down into the fire, and she spoke slowly as one who delivers a reluctant ultimatum--'don't ask me to help, except with money. _that_ doesn't cost so much.' 'i am disappointed.' nothing further, but the sound of a chair moved back, eloquent somehow of a discouragement deeper than words conveyed. vida turned swiftly, and, coming back to her sister, laid an arm about her shoulder. 'i'm a perfect monster! but you know, my dear, you rather goaded me into saying all this by looking such a martyr when i've tried to get out of going----' 'very well, i won't ask you again.' but the toneless rejoinder was innocent of rancour. janet fox-moore gave the impression of being too chilled, too drained of the generous life-forces, even for anger. 'besides,' said vida, hurriedly, 'i'd nearly forgotten; there's the final practising at eleven.' '_i'd_ forgotten your charity concert was so near!' as mrs. fox-moore gathered up her letters, she gave way for the first time to a wintry little smile. 'the concert's mine, i admit, but the charity's the bishop's. what absurd 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 reason i'm getting up this foolish concert?' 'because you like singing, and do it so well that--yes, without your looks 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 musical enthusiasm. it amuses me to organize it. all the ticklish, difficult, "bothering" part of getting up a monster thing of this sort, reconciling malcontents, enlisting the great operatic stars and not losing the great social lights--it all interests me like a game. i'm afraid the truth is i like managing things.' 'perhaps mrs. freddy's not so far wrong.' 'does mrs. freddy accuse me of being a "managing woman," horrid thought?' 'she was talking about you in her enthusiastic way when she was here the other day. "vida could administer a state," she said. yes, _i_ laughed, too, but mrs. freddy shook her head quite seriously, and said, "to think of a being like vida--not even a citizen."' 'i'm not a citizen?' exclaimed the lady, laughing down at her sister over the banisters. 'does she think because i've lived abroad i've forfeited 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 the affairs of england than if you were a hottentot."' 'i can't say i've ever minded that. but it has an odd sound, hasn't it--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 long flight of stairs. at the top she halted a moment, and called down to mrs. fox-moore, who was examining the cards left the day before, 'speaking of our powerful influence over our men-folk--mr. freddy wasn't present, was he, when she aired her views?' 'no.' 'i thought not. her influence over mr. freddy is maintained by the strictest silence on matters he isn't keen about.' chapter v seeing ulland house for the first time on a fine afternoon in early may against the jubilant green of its woodland hillside, the beholder, a little dazzled in that first instant by the warmth of colour burning in the ancient brick, might adapt the old dean's line and call the coral-tinted structure rambling down the hillside, 'a rose-red dwelling half as old as time.' its original architecture had been modified by the generations as they passed. one lord of ulland had expressed his fancy on the eastern facade in gable and sculptured gargoyle; another his fear or his defiance in the squat and sturdy tower with its cautious slits in lieu of windows. yet another ulland had brought home from eighteenth-century italy a love of colonnades and terraced gardens; and one still later had cut down to the level of the sward the high ground-floor windows, so that where before had been two doors or three, were now a dozen giving egress to the gardens. the legend so often encountered in the history of old english houses was not neglected here--that it had been a crusader of this family who had himself brought home from the holy land the lebanon cedar that spread wide its level branches on the west, cutting the sunset into even bars. tradition also said it was a counsellor of elizabeth who had set the dial on the lawn. even the latest lord had found a way to leave his impress upon the time. he introduced 'clock golf' at ulland. from the upper windows on the south and west the roving eye was caught by the great staring face of this new timepiece on the turf--its roman numerals showing keen and white upon the vivid green. on the other side of the cedar, that incorrigible hedonist, the crumbling dial, told you in latin that he only marked the shining hours. but the brand new clock on the lawn bore neither watchword nor device--seemed even to have dropped its hands as though in modesty withheld from pointing to hours so little worthy of record. two or three men, on this fine saturday, had come down from london for the week-end to disport themselves on the ulland links, half a mile beyond the park. after a couple of raw days, the afternoon had turned out quite unseasonably warm, and though the golfers had come back earlier than usual, not because of the heat but because one of their number had a train to catch, they agreed it was distinctly reviving to find tea served out of doors. already lady john was in her place on the pillared colonnade, behind the urn. already, too, one of her pair of pretty nieces was at hand to play the skilful lieutenant. hermione heriot, tactful, charming, twenty-five, was equally ready to hand bread and butter, or, sitting quietly, to perform the greater service--that of presenting the fresh-coloured, discreetly-smiling vision called 'the typical english girl.' miss heriot fulfilled to a nicety the requirements of those who are sensibly reassured by the spectacle of careful conventionality allied to feminine charm--a pleasant conversability that may be trusted to soothe and counted on never to startle. hermione would almost as soon have stood on her head in piccadilly as have said anything original, though to her private consternation such perilous stuff had been known to harbour an uneasy instant in her bosom. she carried such inconvenient cargo as carefully hidden as a conspirator would a bomb under his cloak. it had grown to be as necessary to her to agree with the views and fashions of the majority as it was disquieting to her to see these contravened, or even for a single hour ignored. from the crown of her carefully dressed head to the tips of her pointed toes she was engaged in testifying her assent to the prevailing note. despite all this to recommend her, she was not lady john's favourite niece. no doubt about jean dunbarton holding that honour; and, to hermione's credit, her own love for her cousin enabled her to accept the situation with a creditable equability. jean dunbarton was due now at any moment, she having already sent over her 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. as miss levering was understood to be one of those expected it will be seen that a justified faith in the excellence of the ulland links had not made lady john unmindful of the wisdom of including among 'the week-enders' a nice assortment of pretty women for the amusement of her golfers in the off hours. of this other young lady swinging her golf club as she came across the lawn with the men--sole petticoat among them--it could not be pretended that any hostess, let alone one so worldly-wise as lady john ulland, would look to have the above-hinted high and delicate office performed by so upright and downright--not to say so bony--a young woman, with face so like a horse, and the stride of a grenadier. under her short leather-bound skirt the great brown-booted feet seemed shamelessly to court attention--as it were out of malice to catch your eye, while deliberately they trampled on the tenderest traditions clinging still about 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 teaspoonsful of tea. lady john filled it once, filled it twice, and turned the contents out each time into the gaping pot. then, absent-mindedly, she paused, 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 every now and then energetically shouting out his share in the conversation. the ground of lady john's interest in the group seemed to consist in a half-mechanical counting of noses. her eyes came back to the tea-table and she made a third addition to the jade and silver measure. 'we shall be only six for the first brew,' prompted the girl at her side. '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 the rear. he was younger than his rather set figure had at a distance proclaimed 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 appreciate an undisciplined creature with a streak of genius in him like paul filey.' 'oh, i rather love him myself,' said the girl, lightly, 'only as sophia says he does talk rather rot at times.' with her hand on the tea-urn, releasing a stream of boiling water into the pot, lady john glanced over the small thickset angel that poised himself on one podgy foot upon the lid of the urn. 'sophia's too free with her tongue. it's a mistake. it frightens people off.' 'men, you mean?' 'especially men.' 'i often think,' said the young woman, 'that men--all except paul--would be more shocked at sophia--if--she wasn't who she is.' 'no doubt,' agreed her aunt. 'still i sympathize with her parents. i don't see how they'll ever marry her. she might just as well be miss jones--that girl--for all she makes of herself.' 'yes; i've often thought so, too,' agreed hermione, apparently conscious that the very most was made of _her_. 'she hasn't even been taught to walk.' lady john was still watching the girl'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 a ploughed field!' 'all the same,' said hermione, under her breath, 'when she _is_ indoors i'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 of degree. nobody objects to seeing a pair of neat ankles crossed--it looks rather nice and early victorian. nowadays lots of girls cross their knees--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 in the party was that she, by common consent, played a capital game of golf--'for a woman.' that fact, however, was rather against her. for people who can play the beguiling game, _want_ to play it--and want to play it not merely now and then out of public spirit to make up a foursome, but constantly and for pure selfish love of it. woman may, if she likes, take it as a compliment to her sex that this proclivity--held to be wholly natural in a man--is called 'rather unfeminine' in a woman. but it was a defect like the rest, forgiven the lady sophia for her father's sake. lord borrodaile, held to be one of the most delightful of men, was much in request for parties of this description. one reason for his daughter's being there was that it glossed the fact that lady borrodaile was not--was, indeed, seldom present, and one may say never missed, in the houses frequented by her husband. but as he and his friends not only did not belong to, but looked down upon, the ultra smart set, where the larger freedoms are practised in lieu of the lesser decencies, lord borrodaile lived his life as far removed from any touch of scandal and irregularity as the most puritanic of the bourgeoisie. part and parcel of his fastidiousness, some said--others, that from his eton days he had always been a lazy beggar. as though to show that he did not shrink from reasonable responsibility towards his female impedimenta, any inquiry as to the absence of lady borrodaile was met by reference to sophia. in short, where other attractive husbands brought a boring wife, lord borrodaile brought an undecorative daughter. while to the onlooker nearly every aspect of this particular young woman would seem destined to offend a beauty-loving, critical taste like that of borrodaile, he was probably served, as other mortals are, by that philosophy of the senses which brings in time a deafness and a blindness to the unloveliness that we needs must live beside. lord borrodaile was far too intelligent not to see, too, that when people had got over lady sophia's uncompromising exterior, they found 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 they presented to the world an undivided front. from their point of view, just as laws existed to keep other people in order, so was 'fashion' an affair for the middle classes. the borrodailes might dress as dowdily as they pleased, might speak as uncompromisingly as they felt inclined. were they not borrodailes of borrodaile? though open expression of this spirit grows less common, they would not have denied that it is still the prevailing temper of the older aristocracy. and so it has hitherto been true that among its women you find that sort of freedom which is the prerogative of those called the highest and of those called the lowest. it is the women of all the grades between these two extremes who have dared not to be themselves, who ape the manners, echo the catchwords, and garb themselves in the elaborate ugliness, devised for the blind meek millions. as the lady sophia, now a little in advance of her companions, came stalking towards the steps, out from a little path that wound among the thick-growing laurels issued paul filey. he raised his eyes, and hurriedly thrust a small book into his pocket. the young lady paused, but only apparently to pat, or rather to administer an approving cuff to, the bedlington terrier lying near the lower step. 'well,' she said over her shoulder to filey, 'our side gave a good account 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 assumed a new aspect. you'll _never_ play a good game, you know, if you go quoting baudelaire on the links.' 'poor paul!' his hostess murmured to her niece, 'i always tremble when i see him exposed to sophia's ruthless handling.' 'yes,' whispered hermione. 'she says she's sure he thinks of himself as a prose shelley; and for some reason that infuriates sophia.' with a somewhat forced air of amusement, mr. filey was following his critic up the steps, she still mocking at his 'drives' and the way he negotiated his bunkers. arrived at the top of the little terrace, whose close-shorn turf was level with the flagged floor of the colonnade, mr. filey sought refuge near hermione, as the storm-tossed barque, fleeing before the wind, hies swift to the nearest haven. bending over the bedlington, the amazon remained on the top step, her long, rather good figure garbed in stuff which filey had said was fit only for horse-blankets, but which was harris tweed slackly belted by a broad canvas girdle drawn through a buckle of steel. '_will_ you tell me,' he moaned in hermione's ear, 'why the daughter of a hundred earls has the manners of a groom, and dresses herself in odds and 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? then there are more of them!' he glanced again at the amazon. 'horrible thought!' 'don't be so unreasonable. she couldn't play golf in a long skirt and high heels!' 'who _wants_ a woman to play golf?' hermione gave him his tea with a smile. she knew with an absolute precision just how perfectly at that moment she herself was presenting the 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 in the midst of a discussion-- 'if you stop to argue, mr. farnborough,' said lady john, holding out a cup, 'you won't have time for tea before you catch that train.' 'oh, thank you!' he hastened to relieve her, while hermione murmured regrets 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, and two men short!' 'two men short! how horrible for her!' she said it half laughing, but her view of the reality of the dilemma was apparent in her letting the subject drop. farnborough, standing there tea-cup in hand, joined again in the discussion that was going on about some unnamed politician of the day, with whose character and destiny the future of england might quite conceivably be involved. before a great while this unnamed person would be succeeding his ailing and childless brother. there were lamentations in prospect of his too early translation to the upper house. the older men had been speaking of his family, in which the tradition of public service, generations old, had been revived in the person of this younger son. 'i have never understood,' lord john was saying, 'how a man with such opportunities hasn't done more.' 'a man as able, too,' said borrodaile, lazily. 'think of the tribute he wrung out of gladstone at the very beginning of his career. whatever we may think of the old fox, gladstone had an eye for men.' 'be _quiet_, will you!' lady sophia administered a little whack to the bedlington. '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 politics and "the coming man"--who has such a frightful lot in him that very little ever comes out--it's sure to be geoffrey stonor they mean, isn't it, joey?' 'perhaps,' said her father, dryly, 'you'll just mention that to him at dinner to-night.' '_what!_' said farnborough, with a keen look in his eyes. 'you don't mean 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 rather expecting 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 to lady john as he went round to her on the pretext of more cream. 'thank you--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 to come down and try our links, but it's by a fluke that he's coming, after all.' 'he never comes to see _us_. he's far too busy, ain't he, joey, even if we can't see that he accomplishes much?' 'give him time and you'll see!' said farnborough, with a wag of his head. '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 more full 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 randolph churchill the other day, and i came across a paragraph of filial admiration about the hold lord randolph had contrived to get so early in life over the house of commons. it occurred to me to wonder just how much of a boy lord randolph was at the time. i was going to count up when i was saved the trouble by coming to a sentence that said he was then "an unproved stripling of thirty-two." you shouldn't laugh. it wasn't meant sarcastic.' 'unless you're leader of the opposition, i suppose it's not very easy to do 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 to watch stonor,' said farnborough. 'after all, they said he did very well with his under secretaryship under the last government, didn't they?' again lady john appealed to the two elder men. 'oh, yes,' said borrodaile. 'oh, yes.' 'and the way'--farnborough made up for any lack of enthusiasm--'the way he handled that balkan question!' 'all that was pure routine,' lord john waved it aside. 'but if stonor had ever looked upon politics as more than a game, he'd have been a power long before this.' 'ah,' said borrodaile, slowly, 'you go as far as that? i doubt myself if he has enough of the demagogue in him.' 'but that's just why. the english people are not like the americans or the french. the english have a natural distrust of the demagogue. i tell you if stonor once believed in anything with might and main, he'd be a leader of men.' 'here he is now.' farnborough was the first to distinguish the sound of carriage wheels behind the shrubberies. the others looked up and listened. yes, the crunch of gravel. the wall of laurel was too thick to give any glimpse from this side of the drive that wound round to the main entrance. but some animating vision nevertheless seemed miraculously to have penetrated the dense green wall, to the obvious enlivenment of the company. 'it's rather exciting seeing him at close quarters,' hermione said to filey. '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 at caricatures 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, stonor could understand the art of the thing as well as the fun--the fierce economy of line----' nobody listened. there were other attempts at conversation, mere decent pretence at not being absorbed in watching for the appearance of geoffrey stonor. chapter vi there was the faint sound of a distant door's opening, and there was a glimpse of the old butler. but before he could reach the french window with his announcement, his own colourless presence was masked, wiped out--not as the company had expected by the apparition of a man, but by a tall, lightly-moving young woman with golden-brown eyes, and wearing a golden-brown gown that had touches of wallflower red and gold on the short 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 too warm to wear) no single thing about her could at all adequately account for the air of what, for lack of a better term, may be called accessory elegance that pervaded the golden-brown vision, taking the low sunlight on her face and smiling as she stepped through the window. it was no small tribute to the lady had she but known it, that her coming was not received nor even felt as an anti-climax. as she came forward, all about her rose a significant babel: 'here's miss levering!' 'it's vida!' 'oh, how do you _do_!'--the frou-frou of swishing skirts, the scrape of chairs pushed back over stone flags, and the greeting of the host and hostess, cordial to the point of affection--the various handshakings, the discreet winding through the groups of a footman with a fresh teapot, the bedlington's first attack of 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 of scraps of talk and unfinished questions. 'you didn't see anything of my brother and his wife?' asked lord borrodaile. 'oh, yes,' his host suddenly remembered. 'i thought the freddys were coming by that four-thirty as well as----' 'no--nobody but me.' she threw her many-tailed boa on the back of the chair that paul filey had drawn up for her between the hostess and the place 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 filled for the new-comer into the nearest of the outstretched hands--'didn't i tell you i had a note from mrs. freddy by the afternoon post? they aren'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 a hurried line.' 'the children were as merry as grigs yesterday,' said vida, looking at their uncle across the table. 'i went on to the freddys' after the royal academy. no!' she put her cup down suddenly. 'nobody is to ask me how i like 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 the subject 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, 'were having 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 imagine she is rather perturbed;' and lady john glanced at borrodaile with her good-humoured, worldly-wise smile. 'poor mrs. freddy!' said vida. 'you see, she's taken it all quite seriously--this suffrage nonsense.' 'yes;' mrs. freddy's brother-in-law had met lady john's look with the same significant smile as that lady's own--'yes, she's naturally feeling rather crestfallen--perhaps she'll _see_ now!' 'mrs. freddy crestfallen, what about?' said farnborough. but he was much preoccupied at that moment in supplying lady sophia with bits of toast the exact size for balancing on the bedlington's nose. for the benefit of his end of the table paul filey had begun to describe the new one-man show of caricatures of famous people just opened in bond street. the 'mordant genius,' as he called it, of this new man--an american jew--offered an irresistible opportunity for phrase-making. and still on the other side of the tea urn the ullands were discussing with borrodaile and miss levering the absent lady whose 'case' was obviously a matter of concern to her friends. 'well, let us hope,' lord john was saying as sternly as his urbanity permitted--'let us hope this exhibition in the house will be a lesson to her.' '_she_ wasn't concerned in it!' vida quickly defended her. 'nevertheless we are all hoping,' said lady john, 'that it has come just in time to prevent her from going over the edge.' 'over the edge!' farnborough pricked up his ears at last in good earnest, feeling that the conversation on the other side had grown too interesting 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 a little 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 down some new law, but turning an abrupt corner, he followed the wandering attention of his audience--'from the point of view of the artist,' he repeated, 'it would be interesting to know what the phenomenon is, that lady john took for a precipice and that miss levering says is a mud-puddle.' 'oh,' said lord john, thinking it well to generalize and spare mrs. freddy further rending, 'we've been talking about this public demonstration of the unfitness of women for public affairs.' 'give me some more toast dice!' sophia said to farnborough. 'you haven't seen joey's new accomplishment. they're only discussing that idiotic scene 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 with an air of cheerful surprise at having at last hit on something that he and lady sophia could heartily agree about. 'perfectly revolting!' said hermione heriot, not to be out of it. for it is well known that, next to a great enthusiasm shared, nothing so draws human creatures together as a good bout of cursing in common. so with emphasis miss heriot repeated, 'perfectly revolting!' her reward was to see paul turn away from sophia and say, in a tone whose 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 to people 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 of hers--even lord borrodaile was chuckling as though at some reflection distinctly 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 lord john. 'no,' agreed his wife; '_i_ felt that before this last outbreak. at the time of the first disturbance--where was it?--in some town in the north several weeks ago----' 'yes,' said vida levering; 'i almost think that was even worse!' 'conceive the sublime impertinence,' said lady john, 'of an ignorant little factory girl presuming to stand up in public and interrupt a speech by a minister of the crown!' 'i don't know what we're coming to, i'm sure!' said borrodaile, with a detached air. 'oh, _that_ girl--beyond a doubt,' said his host, with conviction--'that girl 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 a football might, plump into the very midst of a group of school-boys. its sudden presence there stirred even the sluggish to unwonted feats. every one must have his kick at this suffrage ball, and manners were for the nonce in abeyance. in the midst of an obscuring dust of discussion, floated fragments of condemnation: 'sexless creatures!' 'the shrieking sisterhood!' etc., in which 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 horrid idea of women,' said hermione, delicately. 'no'--lord borrodaile spoke with a wise forbearance--'we don't confound a handful of half-insane females with the whole sex.' dick farnborough was in the middle of a spirited account of that earlier outbreak in the north-- 'she was yelling like a red indian, and the policeman carried her out scratching and spitting----' 'ugh!' hermione exchanged looks of horror with paul filey. 'oh, yes,' said lady john, with disgust, 'we saw all that in the papers.' miss levering, too, had turned her face away--not as hermione did, to summon a witness to her detestation, but rather as one avoiding the eyes of the men. 'you see,' said farnborough, with gusto, 'there's something about women's clothes--_especially_ their hats, you know--they--well, they ain't built for battle.' 'they ought to wear deer-stalkers,' was lady sophia's contribution to the new movement. 'it is quite true,' lady john agreed, 'that a woman in a scrimmage can never be a heroic figure.' 'no, that's just it,' said farnborough. 'she's just funny, don't you know!' 'i don't agree with you about the fun,' borrodaile objected. 'that's why i'm glad they've had their lesson. i should say there was almost nothing more degrading than this public spectacle of----' borrodaile lifted his high shoulders higher still, with an effect of intense discomfort. 'it never but once came my way that i remember, but i'm free to own,' he said, 'there's nothing that shakes my nerves like seeing a woman struggling and kicking in a policeman's arms.' but farnborough was not to be dissuaded from seeing humour in the situation. '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 well stand, miss levering leaned sideways, put an arm behind her, and took possession of her boa. 'they're just ending the first act of _siegfried_. how glad i am to be in your garden instead of covent garden!' ordinarily there would have been a movement to take the appreciative guest for a stroll. perhaps it was only chance, or the enervating heat, that kept the company in their chairs listening to farnborough-- 'the cattiest one of the two, there she stood like this, her clothes half torn off, her hair down her back, her face the colour of a lobster and 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. he said----' 'how did major wilkinson happen to be there?' asked lady john. 'he'd motored over from headquarters to move a vote of thanks to the chairman. he said he'd seen some revolting things in his time, but the scrimmage 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--what must it have been for those girls?' it was miss levering speaking. she seemed to have abandoned the hope of being taken for a stroll, and was leaning forward, chin in hand, looking at the fringe of the teacloth. richard farnborough glanced at her as if he resented the note of wondering pity in the low tone. 'it's never so bad for the lunatic,' he said, 'as for the sane people looking on.' 'oh, i don't suppose _they_ mind,' said hermione--'women like _that_.' 'it's flattery to call them women. they're sexless monstrosities,' said paul 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,' said vida, 'i thought maybe some of us knew something about them.' dick farnborough was heard saying to lord john in a tone of cheerful vigour-- 'locking up is too good for 'em. i'd give 'em a good thrashin'.' 'spirited fellow!' said miss levering, promptly, with an accent that brought down a laugh on the young gentleman's head. he joined in it, but with a _naïf_ uneasiness. what's the matter with the 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 their ravings.' as filey was quite the idlest of men, without the preoccupation of being a tolerable sportsman or even a player of games, miss levering's little laugh was echoed by others beside lady sophia. 'at all events,' said vida to lord borrodaile, as she stood up, and he drew her chair out of her way, 'even if we don't know much about these women, 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, not seeming to see hermione's hospitable hand held out for it. in the general shuffle farnborough found himself carried off by sophia and lord john. 'who is our fourth?' said lady sophia, suddenly. 'oh, borrodaile!' lord john stopped halfway across the lawn and called back, 'aren't you coming?' 'it's not a bit of use,' said sophia. 'you'll see. he's safe to sit there and talk to miss levering till the dressing-bell rings.' 'isn't she a _nice_ creature!' said lord john. 'i can't think how a woman like that hasn't got some nice fella to marry her!' * * * * * 'would you like to see my yellow garden, vida?' lady john asked. 'it's rather glorious at this moment.' obvious from the quick lifting of the eyes that the guest was on the point of welcoming the proposal, had filey not swallowed his belated cup of tea with surprising quickness after saying, 'what's a yellow garden?' in the unmistakable tone of one bent upon enlarging his experience. lady john, 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 a gardener, he pulled his long, slackly-put-together figure out of the chair 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 a cocksure 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 treating our sex in general with overmuch respect when there are only men present--but--do you think it's quite decent that they should be so free with 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 to conversations like the one at tea for a week now, and i've said as much against those women as anybody. only to-day, somehow, when i heard that boy--yes, i was conscious i didn't like it.' 'you're behaving exactly as dr. johnson did about garrick. you won't allow 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 us go and join them in the garden. see if you can stand before my yellow blaze and not feel melted.' the elder woman and the younger went down the terrace through a little copse to her ladyship's own area of experimentation. a gate of old florentine scrolled iron opened suddenly upon a blaze of yellow in all the shades from the orange velvet of the wallflower through the shaded saffron of azalias and a dozen tints of tulip to the palest primrose and jonquil. the others were walking round the enclosing grass paths that served as broad green border, and filey, who had been in all sorts of queer places, said the yellow garden made him think of a mexican serapé--'one of those silk scarves, you know--native weaving made out of the pineapple 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 that plant to get so fine a result. filey had lost no time in finding a place for himself by miss levering, while hermione trailed dutifully round the garden with the others. occasionally she looked over her shoulder at the two on the seat by the sunken wall--vida leaning back in the corner motionless, absolutely inexpressive; filey's eager face bent forward. he was 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 of woman is'--again that motion of the hands--'_what_ it is, that when i see her stepping down from her pedestal i----' the hands indicated consternation, followed hard by cataclysmic ruin. 'of course, lots of men 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 than most people--you'd simply loathe the sort of thing we were talking about at 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 very spine, how you shrink from such horrors.' miss levering, raising her eyes suddenly, caught the look hermione cast backward as lady john halted her party a moment near the pansy-strip in the gorgeous yellow carpet spread out before them. 'don't you want to sit down?' vida called out to the girl, drawing aside her gown. 'what?' said hermione, though she had heard quite well. slowly she retraced 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 was disappointed. there was nothing paul filey liked better than an audience, and he had already the impression that miss heriot was what he would have scorned to call anything but 'simpatica.' 'i'm sure you've shown the new garden to dozens already,' miss levering said to the niece of the house. 'sit down and confess you've had enough of it!' 'oh, i don't think,' began hermione, suavely, 'that one ever gets too much 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 worthy of high fellowship. then he leaned across miss heriot and said to the lady 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 only cure for the horrors of modern civilization--for the very thing we were talking about at tea! what is it but a loss of the sense of beauty that's to blame?' elbows on knees, he leaned so far forward that he could see both faces, and yet his own betrayed the eye turned inward--the face of the one who quotes. the ladies knew that he was obliging them with a memorized extract from 'a plea for the Æsthetic basis.' 'nothing worse can happen to the world than loss of its sense of beauty. men, high and low alike, cling to it still as incarnated in women.' (hermione crossed her pointed toes and lowered her long eyelashes.) 'we have made woman the object of our deepest adoration! we have set her high on a throne of gold. we have searched through the world for jewels to crown her. we have built millions of temples to our ideal of womanhood and called them homes. we have fought and wrought and sung for her--and all we ask in return is that she should tend the sacred fire, so that the light of beauty might not die out of the world.' he was not ill-pleased with his period. 'but women'--he leaned back, and illustrated with the pliant white hands that were ornamented with outlandish rings--'women are not content with their high and holy office.' '_some_ women,' amended hermione, softly. 'there are more and more every day who are not content,' he said sternly; then, for an instant unbending and craning a little forward, 'of course i don't mean you--_you_ are exceptions--but of women in the mass! look at them! they force their way into men's work, they crowd into the universities--yes, yes' (in vain hermione tried to reassure him by 'exceptions')--'beauty is nothing to them! they fling aside their delicate, provocative draperies, they cast off their scented sandals. they pull on brown boots and bicycling skirts! they put man's yoke of hard linen round their ivory throats, and they scramble off their jewelled thrones to mount the rostrum and the omnibus!' 'why? _why_ do they?' vida demanded, laughing. 'nobody ever tells me why. i can't believe they're as unselfish as _you_ make out.' 'i!' 'you ought to admire them if they voluntarily give up all those beautiful things--knowing beforehand they'll only win men's scorn. for you've always warned them!' he didn't even hear. 'ah, ladies, ladies!' half laughing, but really very much in earnest, he apostrophized the peccant sex, 'i should like to ask, are we men to look upon our homes as dusty din-filled camps on the field of battle, or as holy temples of peace? ah!' he leaned back in his corner, stretched out his long legs, and thrust his restless hands in his pockets. 'if they knew!' 'women?' asked hermione, with the air of one painstakingly brushing up crumbs of wisdom. paul filey nodded. 'knew----?' 'they would see that in the ugly scramble they had let fall their crowns! if they only knew,' he repeated, 'they would go back to their thrones, and, with the sceptre of beauty in one hand and the orb of purity 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 levering made no rejoinder, 'what greater victory do women want?' he demanded. for the first time miss levering bent her head forward slightly as though to see how far he was conscious of the fatuity of his climax. but his 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 of forbearance. 'what i mean is----' miss levering jumped up. 'lord borrodaile!' he was standing at the little iron gate waiting for his hostess, who had stopped to speak to one of the gardeners. 'wait a moment!' vida called, and went swiftly down 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 the other 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 of rhododendrons. '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,' he added, after a moment. she nodded half absently. 'i feel as if i'd known you for years instead of for months,' she said. 'yes, i have rather that feeling, too. except that i'm always a little nervous 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 be interrupted if not broken by some one's carrying you off. it would be a pity, 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 an odd 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 than one 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 give me your reasons.' 'no. that's why i shall never even consider marrying--so that i shall not have to set out my reasons.' he had never seen that look in her face before. he made an effort to put aside 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 with me.' '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 grey hair.' '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 touch of magic in it.' but, as though to condone the confession, 'you haven't told 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. my sister's new coachman is stupid about finding short cuts in london, and we got blocked by a procession--a horrible sort of demonstration, you know.' 'oh, the unemployed.' 'yes. and i got so tired of leaning out of the window and shouting directions that i left the maid and the luggage to come later. i got out of the brougham and ran through a slum, or i'd have lost my train. i nearly 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 gleam of interest that few things could arouse in their cool depths. 'no, not in a shop.' she stopped and leaned against a tree. 'in the street. it was a middle-aged workman. when i caught sight of his back and saw his worn clothes--the coat went up in the middle, and had that despairing sag on both sides--it crossed my mind, here's another of those miserable, unemployed wastrels obstructing my way! then he looked round 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 looked round at. then i noticed he had a rope in his hand, and was dragging something. as the people who had been between us hurried on i saw--i saw a child, two or three years old, in a flapping, pink sun-bonnet. he was sitting astride a toy horse. the horse was clumsily made, and had lost its tail. but it had its head still, and the board it was mounted on had fat, wooden rollers. the horse was only about that long, and so near the ground that, for all his advantage in the matter of rollers, still the little rider's feet touched the pavement. they even trailed and lurched, as the horse went on, in that funny, spasmodic gait. the child had to half walk, or, rather, make the motions--you know, without actually bearing 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 them till, as i say, i nearly lost my train. the dingy workman, smoking imperturbably, dragging the grotesque, almost hidden, horse--the delighted child in the flapping sun-bonnet--the crisis when they came to the crossing! the man turned and called out something. the child declined to budge. i wondered what would happen. so did the man. he waited a moment, and puffed smoke and considered. the baby dug his heels in the pavement and shouted. then i saw the man carefully tilt the toy horse up by the rope. i stood and watched the successful surmounting of the obstacle, and the triumphant progress as before--sun-bonnet flapping, smoke curling. of course the man was content! he had lost the battle. you saw that in his lined face. what did it matter? _he held the future by a string._' lord borrodaile lifted his eyes and looked at her. without a word the two walked on. the first to speak after the silence was the man. he pointed out a curious 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 the new 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 rest of 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 of farnborough being driven by the park road to the station. 'oh, i do believe it's the new mare they're trying in the dogcart,' said hermione. '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 your jean.' 'yes; it's odd your never having met, especially as she knows your cousins at bishopsmead so well.' 'i've been so little in england----' 'yes, i know. a great business it is,' lady john explained to lord borrodaile, 'each time to get that crusty old covenanter, jean's grandfather, to allow her to stay at bishopsmead. so it's the sadder for them 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 her temperature 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 her guests. 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's been promising for ages to come here, it's been arranged that we should take him off their hands. of course we're delighted.' miss levering walked on, between her two companions, looking straight in front of her. as lady john, with a glance at her watch, quickened the pace-- '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 to her. can i have a trap of some sort to take me over?' she put aside the objections with a gentle but unmistakable decision that made lady john say-- 'i'm sure i've alarmed you more than there was the least need for. but the carriage shall wait and bring you back just as soon as you've satisfied yourself.' 'i can't tell, of course, till i've seen mary. but may my maid be told not to unpack----' 'not unpack!' 'in case i have to send for my things.' 'my _dear_!' lady john stopped short for very vexation. '_don't_ desert us! i've been so congratulating myself on having you, since i knew geoffrey 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 be revolving some further plan. 'why shouldn't'--she turned suddenly--'why shouldn't the dogcart take me on after dropping mr. farnborough at the station? yes, that will be simplest. mr. farnborough!' she waved to him as the cart came in sight, 'wait! good-bye! forgive my rushing off, won't you?' she called back over her shoulder, and then with that swift, light step of hers, she covered by a short cut the little distance that lay between her and the lodge gate. 'i wish i'd held my tongue,' said lady john almost angrily as she hastened in the opposite direction. already some sense seemed to reach her 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 was an air of elaborate mystery. yet the expedition was no further than to trafalgar 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 distinctly fortunate for any one who wanted to 'see what they were like,' and who was yet unwilling to commit herself by doing anything so eccentric as publicly to seek admission under any roof known to show hospitality to 'such goings on.' in those days, only a year ago, and yet already such ancient history that the earlier pages are forgotten and scarce credible if recalled, it took courage to walk past the knots of facetious loafers, and the unblushing suffragette poster, into the hall where the meetings were held. deliberately to sit down among odd, misguided persons in rows, to listen to, and by so much to lend public countenance to 'women of that sort'--the sort that not only wanted to vote (quaint creatures!), but were not content with merely wanting to--for the average conventional woman to venture upon a step so compromising, to risk seeming for a moment to take these crazy brawlers seriously, was to lay herself open to 'the comic laugh'--most dreaded of all the weapons in the social armoury. but it was something wholly different to set out for a sunday afternoon concert, or upon some normal and recognized philanthropic errand, and on the way find one's self arrested for a few minutes by seeing a crowd gathered in a public square. yet it had not been easy to screw mrs. fox-moore up to thinking even this non-committal measure a possible one to pursue. 'what would anybody think,' she had asked vida, 'to see them lending even the casual support of a presence (however ironic) to so reprehensible a spectacle!' had it not been for very faith in the eccentricity of the proceeding--one wildly unlikely to be adopted, mrs. fox-moore felt, by any one else of 'their kind'--she would never have consented to be drawn into vida's absurd project. of course it was absolutely essential to disguise the object of the outing from mr. fox-moore. not merely because with the full weight of his authority he would most assuredly have forbidden it, but because of a nervous prefiguring on his wife's part of the particular things he would say, and the particular way he would look in setting his extinguisher on the enterprise. vida, from the first, had never explained or excused herself to him, so that when he asked at luncheon what she was going to do with this fine sunday afternoon, she had simply smiled, and said, 'oh, i have a tryst to keep.' it was her sister who added anxiously, 'is wood leading now at the queen's hall concerts?' and so, without actually committing herself to a lie, gave the impression that music was to be their quest. an hour later, while the old man was nursing his gout by the library window, he saw the ladies getting into a hansom. in spite of the inconvenience 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 a concert.' 'why do you say that? you know i never like to take the horses out on sunday----' 'rubbish! you think a dashing, irresponsible hansom is more in keeping with the factory girls' club or some giddy whitechapel frivolity!' mrs. fox-moore gave her sister a look of miserable apprehension; but the younger woman laughed and waved a hand. she knew that, even more than the hansom, their 'get up' had given them away. it must be confessed she had felt quite as strongly as her sister that it wouldn't do to be recognized 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 by eyes however undiscerning, under circumstances so questionable, would be distinctly 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 her discarded mourning-gowns. from a small tuscan straw travelling-toque, the new maid, greatly wondering at such instructions, had extracted an old paste buckle and some violets, leaving it 'not fit to be seen.' in spite of having herself taken these precautions, vida had broken into uncontrollable smiles at the apparition of mrs. fox-moore, asking with pride-- '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 an uneasy merriment every time she turned her eyes that way. little as mr. fox-moore thought of his wife's taste, either in clothes or in amusements, he would have been more mystified than ever he had been in his life had he seen her hansom, ten minutes later, stop on the north side of trafalgar square, opposite the national gallery. 'look out and see,' she said, retiring guiltily into the corner of the conveyance. 'are they there?' and it was plain that nothing could more have relieved mrs. fox-moore at that moment than to hear 'they' were not. but vida, glancing discreetly out of the side window, had said-- 'there? i should think they are--and a crowd round them already. look at their banners!' and she laughed as she leaned out and read the legend, 'we demand votes for women' inscribed in black letters on the white ground of two pieces of sheeting stretched each between a pair of upright poles, standing one on either side of the plinth of nelson's column. in the very middle, and similarly supported, was a banner of blood 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 a banner!' and so intrigued was she that, like some shy creature dwelling in a shell, cautiously she protruded her head out of the shiny, black sheath of the hansom. but as she did so she met the innocent eye of a passer-by, tired of craning 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 the fare. 'did that man know us?' asked the other, lifting up the flap from the back 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 vida was fain to add, 'no, no, do come--and i'll tell you what he was really looking at.' 'what?' said mrs. fox-moore, putting out her head again. 'he was struck,' said vida, biting her lip to repress smiles, 'by the hat of the woman of the people.' but the lady was too entirely satisfied with her hat to mind vida's poking fun at it. '"effingham, the enemy!"' mrs. fox-moore read for herself as they approached the flaunting red banner. 'how perfectly outrageous!' 'how perfectly _silly_!' amended the other, 'when one thinks of that kind 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 though detecting an additional proof of turpitude. 'those two policemen,' she went on, in a whisper, 'why are they looking at _us_ like that?' vida glanced at the men. their eyes were certainly fixed on the two ladies in a curious, direct fashion, not exactly impudent, but still in a way no policeman had ever looked at either of them before. a coolly watchful, slightly contemptuous stare, interrupted by one man turning to say something to the other, at which both grinned. vida was conscious of wishing that she had come in her usual clothes--above all, that janet had not raked out that 'jumble sale' object she had perched on her head. the wearer of the incriminatory hat, acting upon some quite unanalyzed instinct to range herself unmistakably on the side of law and order, paused as they were passing the two policemen and addressed them with dignity. '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 decidedly snubby air-- 'it ain't our business to go _lookin'_ fur trouble;' and he turned his eyes 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 you present to make it safe----' 'if ladies wants to be safe,' said number one, 'they'd better stop in their 'omes.' 'that's the first rude policeman i ever----' began mrs. fox-moore, as they 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 historic column the little group of women and a solitary man stood out against the background of the banners. here they were--these new furies that pursued the agreeable men one sat by at dinner--men who, it was well known, devoted their lives--when they weren't dining--to the welfare of england. but were these frail, rather depressed-looking women--were they indeed the ones, outrageously daring, who broke up meetings and bashed in policemen's helmets? nothing very daring in their aspect to-day--a little weary and preoccupied they looked, as they stood up there in twos and threes, talking to one another in that exposed position of theirs, while from time to time about their ears like spent bullets flew the spasmodic laughter and rude comment of the crowd--strangely unconscious, those 'blatant sensation-mongers,' of the thousand eyes and the sea of upturned faces! 'not _quite_ what i expected!' said mrs. fox-moore, with an unmistakable accent of disappointment. it was plainly her meaning that to a general reprehensibleness, 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 weedy youths and wastrel old men. a few there were who looked like decent artizans, but more who bore the unmistakable aspect of the beery out-of-work. among the strangely few women, were two or three girls of the domestic servant or strand restaurant cashier class--wearers of the cheap lace blouse and the wax bead necklace. mrs. fox-moore, forgetting some of her reluctance now that she was on the spot, valiantly followed vida as the younger woman threaded her way among the constantly increasing crowd. just in front of where the two came to a final standstill was a quiet-looking old man with a lot of unsold sunday papers under one arm and wearing like an apron the bill of the _sunday times_. many of the boys and young men were smoking cigarettes. some of the older men had pipes. mrs. fox-moore commented on the 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,' laughed vida, as though she saw a symbolism in the fact, further convicting these women of folly. 'but there's a well-dressed man--that one who isn't holding up anything that 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 of them.' she said it quite distinctly for the benefit of the people round her. both ladies were still obviously self-conscious, occupied with the need to look completely detached, to advertise: '_i'm_ not one of them! never think it!' but it was gradually being borne in upon them that they need take no further trouble in this connection. nobody in the crowd noticed any one except 'those ordinary looking persons,' as mrs. fox-moore complainingly called them, up there on the plinth--'quite like what one sees on the tops of omnibuses!' certainly it was an exercise in incongruity to compare these quiet, rather depressed looking people with the vision conjured up by lord john's 'raving lunatics,' 'worthy of the straight jacket,' or paul filey's 'sexless monstrosities.' 'it's rather like a jest that promised very well at the beginning, only the teller has forgotten the point. or else,' vida added, looking at the face of one of the women up there--'or else the mistake was in thinking it a jest at all!' she turned away impatiently and devoted her attention to 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 the one i was tellin' you about,' said a red-haired man, with a cheerful and rubicund face. '_looks_ like she'd be 'andy with her fists, don't she?' contributed a friend alongside. the boys in front and behind laughed appreciatively. but the ruddy man said, 'fists? no. _she's_ the one wot carries the dog-whip;' and they all craned forward with redoubled interest. it is sad to be obliged to admit that the two ladies did precisely the same. while the boys were, in addition, cat-calling and inquiring about the dog-whip-- 'that must be the woman the papers have been full of,' mrs. fox-moore whispered, 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 the others, but even she had the pallor of the worker in the town. she carried her fine head and shoulders badly, like one who has stooped over tasks at an age when she should have been running about the fields. she drew her thick brows together every now and then with an effect of determination that gave her well-chiselled features so dark and forbidding an aspect it was a surprise to see the grace that swept into her face when, at something one of her comrades said, she broke into a smile. two shabby men on vida's left were working themselves into a fine state of moral indignation over the laxity of the police in allowing these 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, indicating a 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 little ripple of laughter. 'hasn't she got any of her jewels along with her to-day?' said another voice. '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 and have never yet been in a mixed crowd before in all our lives?--never _as a part of it_.' 'i think myself it's less strange we haven't done it before than that we're doing it now. there's the woman selling things. let us ask her----' they had noticed before a faded-looking personage who had been going about on the fringe of the crowd with a file of propagandist literature on her arm. vida beckoned to her. she made her way with some difficulty through the chaffing, jostling horde, saying steadily and with a kind of cheerful doggedness-- 'leaflets! citizenship of women, by lothian scott! labour record! prison experiences of miss----' 'how much?' asked miss levering. 'what you like,' she answered. miss levering took her change out in information. 'can you tell me who the speakers are?' 'oh, yes.' the haggard face brightened before the task. 'that one is the famous 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 woman with the heavy pile of printed propaganda on her arm was so lit with enthusiasm, that it, too, was almost good-looking, in the same way as the younger, more regular face up there, frowning at the people, or the sun, 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 away to make change for a new customer. 'do you mean the mother of the gracchi?' said vida, at a venture, and saw how if she herself hadn't understood the joke the lady with the literature 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 nefarious goings on of the 'dreadful' progeny quite to appreciate the bystander's surprise, but they gazed with renewed interest at the delicate face. 'what can the man mean! she doesn't _look_----' mrs. fox-moore hesitated. '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 the mother of young women renowned for their dreadfulness. but as soon as she opens her mouth no doubt we'll smell the brimstone. i wish she'd begin her raging. why are they waiting?' 'it's only five minutes past,' said the lady with the literature. 'i think 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 more earnest 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' that rot about?' she turned away quite unruffled. 'citizenship of women, one penny.' 'i hope you _do_ get paid for so disagreeable a job--forgive my saying so,' said vida. 'paid? oh, no!' she said cheerfully. 'i'm too hard at work all week to help much. and i can't speak, so i do this. leaflets! citizenship----' 'is that pinched-looking creature at the end,'--mrs. fox-moore detained the pamphlet-seller to point out a painfully thin, eager little figure sitting on the ledge of the plinth and looking down with anxious eyes at the 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 that vida asked-- 'and who is miss mary o'brian?' but the pamphlet-seller had descried a possible customer, and was gone. 'mary o'brian,' said a blear-eyed old man, 'is the one that's just come out 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 the words these strange fellow-citizens used, meaning often failed to accompany sound. 'oh, is _that_ mary?' a rollicking young rough, with his hat on the extreme 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 language she knew. but it seemed in some way to involve dishonour, for the chairman, who had been consulting with the man in grey, turned suddenly and faced the crowd. her eyes were shining with the light of battle, but what she said in a peculiarly pleasant voice was-- 'miss o'brian has come here for the express purpose of telling you how she liked it.' 'oh, she's going to tell us all about it. 'ow _nice_!' but they let the thin little slip of a girl alone after that. it was a new-comer, a few moments later who called out from the fringe of the crowd-- 'i say, mary, w'en yer get yer rights will y' be a perliceman?' even the tall, grave guardians of the peace ranged about the monument, even they smiled at the suggested image. after all, it might not be so uninteresting to listen to these people for a few minutes. it wasn't often that life presented such an opportunity. it probably would never occur again. these women on the plinth must be not alone of a different world, but of a different clay, since they not only did not shrink from disgracing themselves--women had 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 to open 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 she had been received with polite applause, telling the jeering crowd several things they certainly had not known before, that, among other matters, 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 his ear. 'and to express our sympathy with the brave women----' the staccato cries throughout the audience dissolved into one general hoot; 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 are still in prison.' 'serve 'em jolly well right!' 'give the speaker a chaunce, caun't ye?' said the newsvendor, with a withering 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 to cheer the chairman at every juncture, and equally ready to administer caustic reproof to her opponents. 'our friends who are in prison, are there simply for trying to bring before 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 the injustice----' '_that_ ain't why they're in gaol. it's fur ringin' wot's-'is-name's door-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 to see what proportion of the charge was humour and how much was fact. the youth resented so deeply the turn the conversation had taken that he fell back for a moment on bitter silence. 'when you go to call on some one,' the chairman was continuing, with the patient air of one instructing a class in a kindergarten, 'it is the custom to ring the bell. what do you suppose a door-bell is for? do you think our deputation should have tried to get in without ringing at the door?' 'they 'adn't no business goin' to 'is private 'ouse.' 'oh, look 'ere, just take that extry 'arf pint outside the meetin' and cool off, will yer?' it was the last time that particular opponent aired his views. the old man's judicious harping on the ''arf pint' induced the ardent youth to moderate his political transports. they were not rightly valued, it appeared. after a few more mutterings he took his 'extry 'alf pint' into some more congenial society. but there were several others in the crowd who had come similarly fortified, and they were everywhere the most audible opponents. but above argument, denial, abuse, steadily in that upper air the clear voice kept on-- 'do you think they _wanted_ to go to his house? haven't you heard that they didn't do that until they had exhausted every other means to get a hearing?' to the shower of denial and objurgation that greeted this, she said with uplifted hand-- 'stop! let me tell you about it.' the action had in it so much of authority that (as it seemed, to their own surprise) the interrupters, with mouths still open, suspended operations for a moment. 'why, this is a woman of education! what on earth is a person like that doing in this _galère_?' vida asked, as if mrs. fox-moore might be able to 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 talking to these louts?' 'there's a good many voters here,' said a tall, gloomy-looking individual, wearing a muffler in lieu of a collar. 'she's politician enough to know that.' mrs. fox-moore looked through the man. 'the only reassuring thing i see in the situation,' she said to her sister, 'is that they don't find many women to come and listen to their nonsense.' 'well, they've got you and me! awful thought! suppose they converted us!' mrs. fox-moore didn't even trouble to reply to such levity. what was interesting was the discovery that this 'chairman,' before an audience so unpromising, not only held her own when she was interrupted and harassed by the crowd--even more surprising she bore with the most recalcitrant members of it--tried to win them over, and yet when they were rude, did not withhold reproof, and at times looked down upon them with so fine a scorn that it seemed as if even those ruffianly young men felt the edge of it. certainly a curious sight--this well-bred woman standing there in front of the soaring column, talking with grave passion to those loafers about the 'great woman question,' and they treating it as a sunday afternoon street entertainment. the next speaker was a working woman, the significance of whose appearance in that place and in that company was so little apprehended by the two ladies in the crowd that they agreed in laughingly commiserating the chairman for not having more of her own kind to back her up in her absurd contention. though the second speaker merely bored the two who, having no key either to her pathos or her power, saw nothing but 'low cockney effrontery' in her effort, she nevertheless had a distinct success with the crowd. here was somebody speaking their own language--they paid her the tribute of their loudest hoots mixed with applause. she never lost her hold on them until the appearance on the plinth 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 the northern burr in his speech, and the northern turn for the uncompromising in opinion. every soul there save the two 'educated' ladies knew this was the man who had done more to make the labour party a political force to be reckoned with than any other creature in the three kingdoms. whether he was conscious of having friends in a gathering largely tory (as lower-class crowds still are), certainly he did 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, running comment-- 'oh, of _course_! he says that to curry favour with the mob--a rank demagogue, this man! such pandering to the populace!' then, turning sharply to her companion, '_he wants votes!_' she said, as though detecting 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 the people's heads with revolutionary ideas! monstrous wickedness, _i_ call it, stirring up class against class! i begin to wonder what the police are thinking about.' she looked round uneasily. the excitement had certainly increased as the little grey politician denounced the witlessness of the working-class, and when they howled at him, went on to expound a trenchant doctrine of universal responsibility, which preceded the universal suffrage that was to come. much of what he said was drowned in uproar. it had become clear that his opinions revolted the majority of his hearers even more than they did the two ladies. so outraged were the sensibilities of the hooligan and the half-drunk that they drowned as much of the speech as they were able in cat-calls and jeers. but enough still penetrated to ears polite not only to horrify, but to astonish them--such force has the spoken word above 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 that the 'rank demagogue' roused in the mob was to light a lamp whereby she read wondering the signs of an unsuspected bond between janet fox-moore and the reeking throng. when, contrary to the old-established custom of the demagogue, the little politician in homespun had confided to the men in front of him what he thought of them, he told them that the woman's movement which they held themselves so clever for ridiculing, was in much the same position to-day as the extension of suffrage for men was in ' . had it not been for demonstrations (beside which the action that had lodged the women in gaol was innocent child's play), neither he, the speaker, nor any 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 our fathers did to get ours? they broke down hyde park railings, they burnt the 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 the red-hot violence of their chartist forbears--till one half-drunken listener, 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 the last sally. 'not that it applies, of course,' she was in haste to add. 'oh, what does it matter?' her sister waved it aside. 'an unscrupulous politician 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 a fanatic, but he's honest, i should say. those scotch peasants, you know----' 'oh, because he's rude, and talks with a burr, you think he's a sort of political thomas carlyle?' though vida smiled at the charge, something in her alert air as she followed the brief recapitulation of the chartist story showed how an appeal to justice, or even to pity, may fail, where the rousing of some dim sense of historical significance (which is more than two-thirds fear), may arrest and even stir to unsuspected deeps. the grave scotsman's striking that chord even in a mind as innocent as vida's, of accurate or ordered knowledge of the past, even here the chord could vibrate to a strange new sense of possible significance in this scene '----after all.' it would be queer, it would be horrible, it was fortunately incredible, but what if, 'after all,' she were ignorantly assisting at a scene that was to play its part in the greatest revolution the world had seen? some such mental playing with possibilities 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, then indeed might they be worth watching--even if it were only after one good look to hide the eyes in dismay. that possibility of historic significance had suddenly lifted the sordid exhibition to a different plane. as the man, amid howls, ended his almost indistinguishable peroration, the unmoved chairman stepped forward again to try to win back for the next 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 one of her auditors looked at the woman leader in the crusade with new eyes--not with sympathy, rather with a vague alarm. vida levering's air of almost strained attention was an unconscious public confession: 'i haven't understood these strange women; i haven't understood the spirit of the mob that hoots the man we know vaguely for their champion; i haven't understood the allusions nor the argot that they talk; i can't check the history that peasant has appealed to. in the midst of so much that is obscure, it is meet to reserve judgment.' something of that might have been read in the look lifted once or twice as though in wonderment, above the haggard group up there between the guardian lions, beyond even the last reach of the tall monument, to the cloudless sky of june. was the great shaft itself playing a part in the impression? was it there not at all for memory of some battle long ago, but just to mark on the fair bright page of afternoon a huge surprise? what lesser accent than just this titanic exclamation point could fitly punctuate the record of so strange a portent!--women confronting the populace of the mightiest city in the world--pleading in her most public place their right 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 "picture hat"!' but they stared for a few moments as if, in despite of themselves, fascinated by this lady be-feathered, be-crimped, and be-ringed, wearing her huge hat cocked over one ear with a defiant coquetry above a would-be conquering smile. the unerring wits in the crowd had already picked her out for special attention, but her active 'public form' was even more torturing to the fastidious feminine sense than her 'stylish' appearance. for her language, flowery and grandiloquent, was excruciatingly genteel, one moment conveyed by minced words through a pursed mouth, and the next carried away on a turgid tide of rhetoric--the swimmer in this sea of sentiment flinging out braceleted 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 of transpontine sense of drama in her, the populace mocked less and applauded more. why not? she was very much like an overblown adelphi heroine, and they could see her act for nothing. but every time she apostrophized the '_wim--men--nof--vinglund!_' two of those same gave way 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 keep back the best speakers for the last.' the two ladies turned, and began to edge their way out of the tightly packed mass of humanity. 'it's rather a pity, too,' said mrs. fox-moore, looking back, 'for this is the only chance we'll ever have. i did want to hear what the skilly was.' '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 more what 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 paused again and again two or three times, looking back at the scene with a recurrent curiosity, and each time repelled by the platform graces of the 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 greatly augmented crowd, something even then prevented their instantly making the most of their escape. they stood criticizing and denouncing. again mrs. fox-moore said it was a pity, since they were there, that they should have to go without hearing one of those who had been in prison, 'for we'll never have another chance.' 'perhaps,' said her sister, looking back at the gesticulating figure--'perhaps we're being a little unreasonable. we were annoyed at first because they weren't what we expected, and when we get what we came to see, we run away.' while still they lingered, with a final fling of arms and toss of plumes, the champion of the women of england sat down in the midst of applause. 'you hear? it's all very well. most of them simply loved it.' and now the chairman, in a strikingly different style, was preparing the way for the next speaker, at mention of whom the crowd seemed to feel they'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 different matter 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 the stuff they smoked! 'pah!' observed mrs. fox-moore, getting the full benefit of a noxious puff. '_pah!_' '_wot!_' said the smoker, turning angrily. 'pah to you, miss!' he eyed mrs. fox-moore from head to foot with a withering scorn. 'comin' 'ere awskin' us fur votes' (vida nearly fainted), 'and ain't able to stand a little tobacco.' 'stand in front, janet,' said miss levering, hastily recovering herself. '_i_ don't mind smoke,' she said mendaciously, trying to appease the defiler of the air with a little smile. indeed, the idea of mrs. fox-moore having come to 'awsk' this person for a vote was sufficiently quaint. 'this is the sort of thing they mean, i suppose,' said that lady, 'when they 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 get any nearer,' she said hastily. 'this chairman-person can make herself heard without screeching.' but having lost the key during the passage over the pipe, they could only make out that she was justifying some one to the mob, some one who apparently was coming in for too much sharp criticism for the chairman to fling her to the wolves without first diverting them a little. the battle of words that ensued was almost entirely unintelligible to the two ladies, but they gathered, through means more expressive than speech, that the chairman was dealing with some sort of crisis in the temper of the meeting, brought about by the mention of a name. the only thing clear was that she was neither going to give in, nor going to turn over the meeting in a state of ferment to some less practised hand. 'yes, she did! she had a perfect right,' the chairman maintained against a storm of noes--'more than a right, _a duty_, to perform in going with that deputation on public business to the house of a public servant, since, unlike the late prime minister, he had refused to women all opportunity to treat with him through the usual channels always open to citizens having a political grievance.' 'citizens? suffragettes!' 'very well.' she set her mouth. 'suffragettes if you like. to get an abuse 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 a preoccupied, careless world, we accept the clumsy label; we wear it proudly. and it won't be the first time in history that a name given in derision has become a badge of honour!' why, the woman's eyes were suffused!--a flush had mounted up to her hair! 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 that she heard any interruption it suited her to hear. 'some one asking, at this time of day, why women want the vote? why, for exactly the same reason that you men do. because, not having any voice in public affairs, our interests are neglected; and since woman's interests are man's, all humanity suffers. we want the vote, because taxation without representation is tyranny; because the laws as they stand bear hardly on women; and because those unfair, man-made laws will never be altered till women have a share in electing the men who control legislation.' 'yer ought ter leave politics to us----' 'we can't leave politics to the men, because politics have come into the home, and if the higher interests of the home are to be served, women must 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 the crowd. 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 in your improvement of the world you men have taken women's business out of her home? in the old days there was work and responsibility enough for woman without going outside her own gate. the women were the bakers and brewers, the soap and candle-makers, the loom-workers of the world. you men,' she said, delicately flattering them, '_you_ have changed all that. you have built great factories and warehouses and mills. but how do you keep them going? by calling women to come in their thousands and help you. but women love their homes. you couldn't have got these women out of their homes without the goad of poverty. you men can't always earn enough to keep the poor little home going, so the women work in the shops, 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 of the 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 the women of this country are wage-earning women! yet, you go on foolishly echoing: woman's place is at home.' 'true! true!' said the aged champion, unabashed. 'then there are those men, philanthropists, statesmen, who believe they are safeguarding the interests of women by making laws restricting their work, and so restricting their resources without ever consulting these women. if they consulted these women, they would hear truths that would open their blind eyes. but no, the woman isn't worthy of being consulted. she is worthy to do the highest work given to humanity, to bear 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 she breaks the law that she has no share in making, she is worth hanging, but she is not worth consulting about her own affairs--affairs of supremest importance to her very existence--affairs that no man, however great and good, can understand so well as she. she will never get justice until she gets the vote. even the well-to-do middle-class woman----' 'wot are _you_?' 'and even the woman of what are called the upper classes--even she must wince at the times when men throw off the mask and let her see how in their 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 the sex disqualification, what happened?' 'y' kicked up a row!' 'lot o' yer got jugged!' 'the same thing happened that has been happening for half a century every time the question comes up in that english parliament that englishmen are supposed to think of with such respect as a place of dignity. what _happened_?' she leaned forward and her eyes shone. 'what happened in that sacred place, that ark where they safeguard the honour of england? what happened to _our_ honour, that these men dare tell us is so safe in their hands? our cause was dragged through filth. the very name "woman" was used as a signal for jests and ribald laughter, and for such an exhibition of sex rancour and mistrust that it passed imagination to think what the mothers and wives of the members must think of the public confession of the deep disrespect their menfolk feel for them. some one here spoke of "a row."' she threw back her head, and faced the issue as though she knew that by bringing it forward herself, she could turn the taunt against the next speaker into a title of respect. 'you blame us for making a scene in that holy place! you would have us imitate those other women--the well-behaved--the women who think more of manners than of morals. there they were--for an example to us--that night of the debate, that night of the "row"--there they sat as they have always done, like meek mute slaves up there in their little gilded pen, ready to listen to any insult, ready to smile on the men afterward. in only one way, but it was an important exception, in just one way that debate on woman suffrage differed from any other that had ever 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 enough character to resent such treatment as the members down there on the floor of the house were giving to our measure. though the women who ought to have felt it most sat there cowed and silent, i am proud to think there were other women who cried out, "_shame!_" yes, yes,' she interrupted the interrupters, 'those women were dragged away to prison, and all the world was aghast. but i tell you that cry was the beginning of a new chapter in human history. it began with "shame!" but it will end 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 still pouring down on the people, vida's mind at the word 'veil,' so peremptorily uttered, reverted by some trick of association to the oriental 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 of the 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 the figures of two young men hovering on the outer circle. the sun caught their tall, glossy hats, played upon the single flower in the frock coat, struck on the eyeglass, and gleamed mockingly on the white teeth of the one who smiled the broadest as they both stood, craning their necks, whispering and laughing, on the fringe of the crowd. 'why, it's dick farnborough--and that friend of his from the austrian embassy.' vida pulled down her veil. chapter viii devoutly thankful at having escaped from her compromising position unrecognized, mrs. fox-moore firmly declined to go 'awskin' fur the vote' again! when vida gave up her laughing remonstrance, mrs. fox-moore thought her sister had also given up the idea. but as vida afterwards confessed, she told herself that she would go 'just once more.' it could not be but what she was under some illusion about that queer spectacle. from one impression each admitted it was difficult to shake herself free. whatever those women were or were not, they weren't fools. what did the leaders (in prison and out), what did they think they were accomplishing, besides making themselves hideously uncomfortable? the english parliament, having flung them out, had gone on with its routine, precisely as though nothing had happened. _had_ anything happened? that was the question. the papers couldn't answer. they were given over to lies. the bare idea of women pretending to concern themselves with public affairs--from the point of view of the press, it was enough to make the soberest sides shake with homeric laughter. so, then, one last time to see for one's self. and on this occasion no pettiness of disguise, miss levering's aspect seemed to say--no recurrence of any undignified flight. she had been frightened away from her 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 her from seeking companionship outside. had wark not gone over to the market-gardener, her former mistress would have had no misgiving about taking the woman into her confidence. but wark, with lightning rapidity, had become mrs. anderson slynes, and was beyond recall. so the new maid was told the following sunday, that she might walk with her mistress across hyde park (where the papers said the meetings in future were to be), carrying some music which had to be returned to the tunbridges. pursuing this programme, what more natural than that those two chance pedestrians should be arrested by an apparition on their way, of a flaming banner bearing, along with a demand for the vote, an outrageous charge against a distinguished public servant--'a pity the misguided creatures didn't know him, just a little!' yes. there it was! a rectangle of red screaming across the vivid green of the park not a hundred yards from the marble arch, the denunciatory banner stretched above the side of an uncovered van. a little crowd of perhaps a hundred collected on one side of the cart--the loafers on the outermost fringe, lying on the grass. never a sign of a suffragette, and nearly three o'clock! impossible for any passer-by to carry out the programme of pausing to ask idly, 'what are those women screeching about?' seeming to search in vain for some excuse to linger, miss levering's wandering eye fell upon a young mother wheeling a perambulator. she had glanced with mild curiosity at the flaunting ensign, and then turned from it to lean forward and straighten her baby's cap. 'i wonder what _she_ thinks of the woman question,' miss levering observed, 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, read demand and denunciation on the banner, laughed, and they, too, for the most part, went on. an eton boy, who looked as if he might be her grandson, came by with a white-haired lady of distinguished aspect, who held up her voluminous silken skirts and stared silently at the legend. 'do you see what it says?' the eton boy laughed as he looked back. '"_we demand the vote._" fancy! they "demand" it. what awful cheek!' and he laughed again at the fatuity of the female creature. vida glanced at the dignified old dame as though with an uneasy new sense 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 a moment look quite strange. she turned and glanced back at the ridiculous cart as if summoning the invisible presence of mrs. chisholm to moderate the insolence of the budding male. still there was no sign either of mrs. chisholm or any of her fellow-conspirators against the old order of the world. miss levering stood a moment hesitating. 'i believe i'm a little tired,' she said to the discreet maid. 'we'll rest here a moment,' and she sat down with her back to the crowd. a woman, apparently of the small shopkeeping class, was already established at one end of the only bench anywhere near the cart. her child who was playing about, was neatly dressed, and to vida's surprise wore sandals on her stockingless feet. this fashion for children, which had been growing for years among the upper classes, had found little imitation among tradesmen or working people. they presumably were still too near the difficulty of keeping their children in shoes and stockings, to be able to see anything but a confession of failure in going 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 far less tolerable in the eyes of the pauper than the traditional splendour of extravagance in the upper class, an extravagance that feeds more than the famished stomach with the crumbs that it lets fall. as miss levering sat watching the child, and wondering a little at the sandals, 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 that plan of sandals. the woman answered with such self-possession and good sense, that the lady sent a half-amused glance over her shoulder as if relishing in advance the sturdy disapproval of this highly respectable young mother when she should come to realize how near she and the precious daughter were to the rostrum of the shrieking sisterhood. it might be worth prolonging the discussion upon health and education for the amusement there would be in seeing what form condemnation of the suffragettes took among people of this kind. by turning her head to one side, out of the tail of her eye the lady could see that an excitement of some sort was agitating the crowd. the voices rose more shrill. people craned and pushed. a derisive cheer went up as a woman appeared on the cart. the wearer of the tam-o'-shanter! three others followed--all women. miss levering saw without seeming to look, still listening while the practical-minded mother talked on about her child, and what 'was good for it.' all life had resolved itself into pursuit of that. an air of semi-abstraction came over the lady. it was as if in the presence of this excellent bourgeoise she felt an absurd constraint in showing an interest in the proceedings of these unsexed creatures behind them. to her obvious astonishment the mother of the child was the first to jump 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 her bare-legged offspring melted into the growing crowd. vida turned to the maid and met her superior smile. 'that woman says she has come a long way to hear these people advocating woman's suffrage,' and slowly with an air of complete detachment she approached the edge of the crowd, followed by the supercilious maid. they were quickly hemmed in by people who seemed to spring up out of the ground. it was curious to look back over the vivid green expanse and see the dotted humanity running like ants from all directions to listen to this handful of dowdy women in a cart! in finding her way through the crowd it would appear that the lady was not much sustained by the presence of a servant, however well-meaning. much out of place in such a gathering as mrs. fox-moore or any ultra-oldfashioned woman was, still more incongruous showed there the relation of mistress and maid. the punctilious gorringe was plainly horrified at the proximity to her mistress of these canaille, and the mistress was not so absorbed it would seem but what she felt the affront to seemliness in a servant's seeing her pushed and shoved aside--treated with slight regard or none. necessary either to leave the scene with lofty disapproval, or else make light of the discomfort. 'it doesn't matter!' she assured the girl, who was trying to protect her mistress's dainty wrap from contact with a grimy tramp. and, again, when half a dozen boys forced their way past, 'it's all right!' she nodded to the maid, 'it's no worse than the crowd at charing cross coming over from paris.' but it was much worse, and gorringe knew it. 'the old man is standing on your gown, miss.' 'oh, would you mind----' miss levering politely suggested another place for his feet. but the old man had no mind left for a mere bystander--it was all absorbed in suffragettes. ''is feet are filthy muddy, 'm,' whispered gorringe. it may have been in part the maid's genteel horror of such proximities that steeled miss levering to endure them. under circumstances like these the observant are reminded that no section of the modern community is so scornfully aristocratic as our servants. their horror of the meanly-apparelled and the humble is beyond the scorn of kings. the fine lady shares her shrinking with those inveterate enemies of democracy, the lackey who shuts the door in the shabby stranger's face, and the dog who barks a beggar from the gate. and so while the maid drew her own skirts aside and held her nose high in 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 for speakers to-day, for two of them were younger even than miss claxton of the 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 by all these louts!' 'oh, yes, 'm, quite 'orrid,' agreed the maid, but with the air of 'what can you expect of persons so low?' 'however, the young girls seem to have as much self-possession as the older ones!' pursued miss levering, as she looked in vain for any sign of flinching from the sallies of cockney impudence directed at the occupants of the cart. they exhibited, too, what was perhaps even stranger--an utter absence of any flaunting of courage or the smallest show of defiance. what was this armour that looked like mere indifference? it couldn't be that those quiet-looking young girls _were_ indifferent to the ordeal of standing up there before a crowd of jeering rowdies whose less objectionable utterances were: 'where did you get that 'at?' 'the one in green is my girl!' 'got yer dog-whip, miss?' and such-like utterances. the person thus pointedly alluded to left her companions ranged along the side of the cart against the background of banner, while she, the famous miss claxton, took the meeting in charge. she wasted no time, this lady. her opening remarks, which, in the face of a fire of interruption, took the form of an attack upon the government, showed her an alert, competent, cut-and-thrust, imperturbably self-possessed politician, who knew every aspect of the history of the movement, as able to answer any intelligent question off-hand as to snub an impudent irrelevance, able to take up a point and drive it well in--to shrug and smile or frown and point her finger, all with most telling effect, and keep 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 knot of young men, who had pushed their way near the front, kept on shouting argument and abuse, she interrupted her harangue an instant. pointing out the ring-leader-- 'now you be quiet, if you please,' she said. 'these people are here to listen 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 they stay.' then, as the interrupter began again, 'no, it's no use, my man'--she shook her head gently as if almost sorry for him--'you can't talk _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 a standstill, was a cheerful, big, sandy man with long flowing moustachios, a polo cap, and a very dirty collar. at intervals he inquired of the men around him, in a great jovial voice, 'are we down-'earted?' as though the meeting had been called, not for the purpose of rousing interest in the question of woman's share in the work of the world, but as though its object were to humiliate and disfranchise the men. but his exclamation, repeated at intervals, came in as a sort of refrain to the rest of the proceedings. 'the conservatives,' said the speaker, 'had never pretended they favoured broadening the basis of the franchise. but here were these liberals, for thirty years they'd been saying that the demand on the part of women for political recognition commanded their respect, and would have their support, and yet there were four hundred and odd members who had got into the house of commons very largely through the efforts of women--oh, yes, we know all about that! we've been helping the 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,' she dismissed it. 'in future we are neither for liberal nor conservative nor labour. we are for women. when we get the sex bar removed, it will be time for us to sort ourselves into parties. at present we are united against any government that continues to ignore its duty to the women of the country. in the past we were so confiding that when a candidate said he was in favour of woman's suffrage (he was usually a liberal), we worked like slaves to get that man elected, so that a voice might be raised for women's interests in the next parliament. again and again the man we worked for got in. but the voice that was to speak for us--that voice was mute. we had served his purpose in helping him to win his seat, and we found ourselves invariably forgotten or ignored. the conservatives have never shown the abysmal hypocrisy of the liberals. we can get on with our open enemies; it's these _cowards_' ('boo!' and groans)--'these cowards, i say--who, in order to sneak into a place in the house, pretend to sympathize with this reform--who use us, and then betray us; it's these who are women's enemies!' 'why are you always worrying the liberals? why don't you ask the conservatives to give you the vote?' 'you don't go to a person for something he hasn't got unless you're a fool. the liberals are in power; the liberals were readiest with fair promises; and so we go to the liberals. and we shall continue to go to them. we shall never leave off' (boos and groans) 'till they leave office. then we'll begin on the conservatives.' she ended in a chorus of laughter and cheers, 'i will now call upon miss cynthia chisholm to propose the resolution.' wherewith the chairman gave way to the younger of the two girls. this one of the gracchi--a gentle-seeming creature, carelessly dressed, grave and simple--faced the mob with evident trepidation, a few notes, to which she never referred, in her shaking hand. what brought a girl like that here?--was the question on the few thoughtful faces in the crowd confronting her. she answered the query by introducing the resolution in an earnest little speech which, if it didn't show that much of the failure and suffering that darken the face of the world is due to women's false position, showed, at all events, that this young creature held a burning conviction that the subjection of her sex was the world's root-evil. with no apparent apprehension of the colossal audacity of her position, the girl moved gravely that 'this meeting demands of the government the insertion of an enfranchisement clause in the plural voting bill, and demands that it shall become law during the present session.' her ignorance of parliamentary procedure was freely pointed out to her. 'no,' she said, 'it is you who are ignorant--of how pressing the need is. you say it is "out of order." if treating the women of the country fairly is out of order, it is only because men have made a poor sort of order. 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 _a stake_ in the country. no one denies we have that.' the crowd kept on about soldiering, till the speaker was goaded into saying-- 'i don't say women like fighting, but women _can_ fight! in these days warfare isn't any more a matter of great physical strength, and a woman can pull a trigger as well as a man. the boer women found that out--and so has the russian. i don't like thinking about it myself--for i seem to realize too clearly what horrors those women endured before they could carry 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--the great mass of women never in all their lives wanted to hit anybody or anything. and that'--she came nearer, and leaned over the side of the cart with scared face--'it's that that makes it so dreadful to realize how at last when women's eyes are opened--when they see their homes and the holiest things in life threatened and despised, how quickly after all _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 or twice 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?' and such-like brilliant relevancies. although she flushed at some of these sallies, she stuck to her guns with a pluck that won her friends. in one of the pauses a choleric old man gesticulated with his umbrella. 'if what the world needed was woman's suffrage, it wouldn't have been left 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 recently invented.' the child seemed in her loneliness to reach out for companioning. she spoke of 'our friend john stuart mill.' 'oo's mill?' 'that great liberal wrote in ----' but mill and she were drowned together. 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 like you done.' 'benjamin disraeli was on our side. mazzini--charles kingsley. as long ago as , a woman's suffrage bill that was drafted by dr. pankhurst and 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 this reform--they were women like florence nightingale, and harriet martineau, and josephine butler, and the two thousand other women of influence who memorialized mr. gladstone.' something was called out that vida could not hear, but that brought the painful 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 difficult for me to tell you what i think you ought to know. i don't believe i could go on if i didn't see over there the reformer's tree. it makes me think of how much had to be borne before other changes could be brought about.' she reminded the people of what had been said and suffered on that very spot in the past, before the men standing before her had got the 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'm sure it was hard enough. when we women remember what _they suffered_--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 are ready to bear whatever has to be borne. there seem to be things harder to face than bullets, but it doesn't matter, they'll be faced.' the lady standing with her maid in the incongruous crowd, looked round once or twice with eyes that seemed to say, 'how much stranger life is than we are half the time aware, and how much stranger it bids fair to be!' the rude platform with the scarlet backing flaming in the face of the glorious summer afternoon, near the very spot upon which the great battles for reform had been fought out in the past, and in place of england's sturdy freeman making his historic appeal for justice, and admission to the commons--a girl pouring out this stream of vigorous english, upholding the cause her family had stood for. her voice failed her a little towards the close, or rather it did not so much fail as betray to any sensitive listener the degree of strain she put upon it to make it carry above laughter and interjection. as she raised the note she 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 a moisture to her face, steadying her voice as the thought of the struggle to come, shook and clouded it, and calling on the people to judge of this matter without prejudice. it was a thing to live in the memory--the vision of that earnest child trying to fire the london louts with the great names of the past, and failing to see her bite her lip to keep back tears, and, bending over the rabble, find a choked voice to say-- 'if your forefathers and foremothers who suffered for the freedom you young men enjoy--if they could come out of their graves to-day and see how their descendants use the great privileges they won--i believe they would go back into their graves and pull the shrouds over their eyes to hide them from your shame!' 'hear! hear!' 'right you are.' but she was done. she turned away, and found friendly hands stretched out to draw her to a seat. the next speaker was an alert little woman with a provincial accent and the briskness of a cock-sparrow, whose prettiness, combined with pertness, rather demoralized the mob. 'men and women,' she began, pitching her rather thin voice several notes too high. 'men and women!' some one piped in mimicry; and the crowd dissolved in laughter. it was curious to note again how that occasional exaggerated shrillness of the feminine voice when raised in the open air--how it amused the mob. they imitated the falsetto with squeals of delight. each time she began afresh she was met by the shrill echo of her own voice. the contest went on for several minutes. the spectacle of the agitated little figure, bobbing and gesticulating and nothing heard but shrill squeaks, raised a very pandemonium of merriment. it didn't mend matters for her to say when she did get a hearing-- 'i've come all the way from----' (place indistinguishable in the confusion) '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 there came out, and the rest lost. so much hilarity in the crowd attracted to it a bibulous gentleman, who kept calling out, 'oh, the pretty dear!' to the rapture of the bystanders. he became so elevated that the police were obliged to remove him. when the excitement attending this passage had 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 the accumulations of _centuries_ on me, and i'm only just beginning to unload! although we haven't got the vote--_not yet_--never mind, we've got 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 i know 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's suffrage.' she went down under a flood of jeers, and rose to the surface again to say-- 'a man's petition, praying parliament for goodness' sake give those women the vote! yes, you'd better be seeing about that petition, my friends, for i tell you there isn't going to be any peace till we get the 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 are visiting the women in their homes, explaining and stirring them up to a sense of their wrongs.' 'this i should call an example of what _not_ to say!' remarked a shrewd-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 are outside 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 the laugh. 'look at you! _look_ at you!' she said, when quiet was restored. the young revellers gave a rather blank snigger, as though they had all along supposed looking at them to be an exhilarating occupation for any young woman. 'what do you do with your power? you throw it away. you submit to being taxed and to _our_ being taxed to the tune of a hundred and twenty-seven millions, that a war may be carried on in south africa--a war that most of you know nothing about and care nothing about--a war that some of us knew only too much about, and wanted only to see abandoned. we see constantly how you men either misuse the power you have or you don't use it at all. don't appreciate it. don't know what to do with it. haven't a notion you ought to be turning it into good for the world. hundreds of men don't care anything about political influence, except that women shouldn't have it.' she was getting on better till some one called out, 'you ought to get married.' '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 and encouraged personalities. in vain she tried to recover that thread of attention which, not her interrupter, but herself had snapped. she retired in the midst of uproar. the chairman came forward and berated the crowd for its un-english behaviour 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 minutes for questions. and i may say that it is a great and rare pleasure to have any that are intelligent. don't waste anything so precious. just save it up till you're asked for it. i want you now to give a fair hearing to mrs. bewley.' this was a wizened creature of about fifty, in rusty black, widow of a stonemason and mother of four children--'four _livin'_,' she said with some significance. she added her mite of testimony to that of the , organized women of the mills, that the workers in her way of life realized 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 women relief-officers and matrons in the prisons. and it's very 'ard on women that there isn't the same cheap lodgin'-'ouse accommodation fur single women as there is fur single men. it's very 'ard on poor girls. it's worse than 'ard. but men won't never change that. we women 'as got to do it.' 'go 'ome and get your 'usban's tea!' said a new-comer, squeezing her way into the tight-packed throng, a queer little woman about the same age as the speaker, but dressed in purple silk and velvet, and wearing a wonderful purple plush hat on a wig of sandy curls. she might have been a prosperous milliner from the commercial road, and she had a meek man along who wore the husband's air of depressed responsibility. she was spared the humiliating knowledge, but she was taken at first for a sympathizer with the cause. in manners she was precisely like what the suffragette was at that time expected to be, pushing her way through the crowd, and vociferating 'shyme!' to all and sundry. the men who had been pleasantly occupied in boo-ing the speaker turned and glared at her. the hang-dog husband had an air of not observing. some of the boys pushed and harried her, but, to their obvious surprise, they heard her advising the rusty widow: 'go 'ome and get your 'usban's tea!' she varied that advice by repeating her favourite 'shyme!' varied by 'wot beayviour!--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 purple plumes and smile at the men. it was the sorriest travesty of similar scenes in a politer world. to the credit of the loafers about her, they did not greatly encourage her. she was perhaps overmature for her _rôle_. but they ceased to jostle her. they even allowed her to get in front of them. the tall, rusty woman in the cart was meanwhile telling a story of personal experience of the operation of some law which shut out from any share in the benefits of the new act which regulates the feeding of school children, the very people most in need of it. for it appeared that orphans and the children of widows were excluded. the bill provided only for children living under their father's roof. if the roof was kept over them by the shackled hands of the mother, according to the speaker, they might go hungry. 'no, no,' miss levering shook her head, explaining to her maid. 'i don't doubt the poor soul has had some difficulty, some hard experience, but she can't be quoting the law correctly.' nevertheless, in the halting words of the woman who had suffered, if only from misapprehension upon so grave a point, there was a rude eloquence that overbore the lady's incredulity. the crowd hissed such gross unfairness. 'if women 'ad 'ave made the laws, do you think we'd 'ave 'ad one like that disgracin' the statue-book? no! and in all sorts o' ways it looks like the law seems to think a child's got only one parent. i'd like to tell them gentlemen that makes the laws that (it may be different in their world, i only speak for my little corner of it)--but in 'ackney it looks 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 show yet.' '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 pore little home is sold up, and the children's scattered among relations, or sent out so young to work it makes yer 'art ache. but if a man dies--you see it on every side, _in 'ackney_--the widow takes in sewin', or goes out charin', or does other people's washin' as well as 'er own, or she mykes boxes--_something_ er ruther, any'ow, that makes it possible fur 'er to keep 'er 'ome together. you don't see the mother scatterin' the little family w'en the only parent the law seems to reconize is dead and gone. 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 than that. 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 our children, but it breaks our 'earts to work without tools. the tool we're needin' is the tool that mends the laws. i 'ave pleasure in secondin' the resolution.' with nervously twitching lips the woman sat down. they cheered her lustily--a little out of sympathy, a good deal from relief that she had finished, and a very different sort of person was being introduced by the chairman. chapter ix 'i will now call upon the last speaker. yes, i will answer any general questions _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 one of the two youngest 'suffragettes' came forward. she had been sitting very quietly in her corner of the cart, looking the least concerned person in hyde park. almost dull the round rather pouting face with the vivid scarlet lips; almost sleepy the heavy-lidded eyes. but when she had taken the speaker's post above the crowd, the onlooker wondered why he had not noticed her before. it seemed probable that all save those quite new to the scene had been keeping an eye on this person, who, despite her childish look, was plainly no new recruit. her self-possession demonstrated that as abundantly as the reception she got--the vigorous hoots and hoorays in the 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 by either talking or shouting, there was observable the indefinable something that says, 'now the real fun's going to begin.' you see the same sort of manifestation in the playhouse when the favourite comedian makes his entrance. he may have come on quite soberly only to say, 'tea is ready,' but the grin on the face of the public is as ready as the tea. the people sit forward on the edge of their seats, and the whole atmosphere of the theatre undergoes some subtle change. so it was here. and yet in this young woman was the most complete lack of any dependence upon 'wiles' that platform ever saw. her little off-hand manner seemed to say, 'don't expect me to encourage you in any nonsense, and, above all, don't dare to presume upon my youth.' she began by calling on the government to save the need of further demonstration by giving the women of the country some speedy measure of justice. 'they'll have to give it to us in the end. they might just as well do it gracefully and at once as do it grudgingly and after more "scenes."' whereupon loud booing testified to the audience's horror of anything approaching unruly behaviour. 'oh, yes, you are scandalized at the trouble we make. but--i'll tell you a secret'--she paused and collected 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 and gorgeous jewelry. the men laughed and shook their heads. she just was! they crowded nearer. '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 ago how they had to take away somebody for disturbing our meeting. it wasn't a woman.' 'hear, hear!' 'the police are our friends, when the government allows them to be. the other day when there was that scene in the house, one of the policemen who was sent up to clear the gallery said he wished the members would come and do their own dirty work. they hate molesting us. we don't blame the police. we put the blame where it belongs--on the liberal government.' '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--women get nothing even from their professed political friends, they've nothing 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 that was possible to accomplish that way had been done. the cause hadn't moved an inch for years. it was even doing the other thing. yes, it was going backward. even the miserable little pettifogging share women had had in urban and borough councils--even that they were deprived of. and they were tamely submitting! women who had been splendid workers ten years ago, women with the best capacities for public service, had fallen into a kind of apathy. they were utterly disheartened. many had given up the struggle. that was the state of affairs with regard to woman's suffrage only a few short months ago. we looked at the suffragists who had grown grey in petitioning parliament and being constitutional and "ladylike," and we said, "_that's no good._"' through roars of laughter and indistinguishable denunciation certain fragments 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 knew we were getting on.' the audience screamed. '_we began to feel encouraged!_' a very hurricane swept the crowd. perhaps it was chiefly at the gleam of eye and funny little wag of the head with the big floppity hat that made the people roar with delight. 'yes; when things got 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 think might have rubbed his eyes and said, "everybody's laughing at them--why, there must be something serious at the bottom of this!" but no; the members 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_ mean the prime minister. the prime minister, between you and me, is as good a suffragist as any of us. only he----well, he likes his comfort, does the prime minister!' when ernestine looked like that the crowd roared with laughter. yet it was impossible not to feel that when she herself smiled it was because she couldn't help it, and not, singularly enough, because of any dependence she placed upon the value of dimples as an asset of persuasion. what she seemed to be after was to stir these people up. it could not be denied that she knew how to do it, any more than it could be doubted that she was ignorant of how large a part in her success was played by a peculiarly amusing and provocative personality. always she was the first to be grave again. 'now if you noisy young men can manage to keep quiet for a minute, i'll tell 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 to you.' a little wind had sprung up and ruffled her hair. it blew open her long plain coat. it even threatened to carry away her foolish flapping hat. she held it on at critical moments, and tilted her delicate little greuze-like face at a bewitching angle, and all the while that she was looking so fetching, she was briskly trouncing by turns the liberal party and the delighted crowd. the man of the long moustachios, who had been swept to the other side of the monument, returned to his old inquiry 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 squaring their shoulders as much as to say, 'now we'll just trip her up at the first opportunity.' 'that's a very black cloud, miss,' gorringe had whispered several minutes before a big raindrop had fallen on the lady's upturned face. as gorringe seemed to be the only one who had observed the overclouding of 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 while ernestine was explaining things. the great majority turned up their coat collars and stood their ground. the maid hurriedly produced an umbrella and 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, until something 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 the world whose promise at election time i would trust!' it struck some common chord in the gathering. they roared with appreciation, 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 are old 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 _the least bit_ impressed any more, when a candidate tells us he's in favour of woman's suffrage. we say, "oh, we've got four hundred and twenty of your 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 reason for the general belief that they were indifferent, if not opposed, to woman'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'm in 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 they are, we say, "you don't care twopence about it. you are like the humbugs who 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 before we knew any better. _never again!_' once more that wise little wag of the head, while the people shrieked with laughter. it was highly refreshing to think those government blokes couldn't take in ernestine. 'it's only the very young or the very foolish who will ever be caught that way again,' she assured them. ''ow old are you?' 'much too old to----' 'just the right age to think about gettin' married,' shouted a pasty-faced youth. 'haw! haw!' then a very penetrating voice screamed, 'will you be mine?' and that started off several others. though the interruptions did not anger nor in the least discompose this surprising young person in the cart--so far at least as could be seen--the audience looked in vain for her to give the notice to these that she had to other interruptions. it began to be plain that, ready as she was to take 'a straight ball' from anybody in the crowd, she discouraged impertinence by dint of an invincible deafness. if you wanted to get a rise out of ernestine you had to talk about her 'bloomin' policy.' no hint in her of the cheap smartness that had wrecked the other speaker. in that highly original place for such manifestation, ernestine offered all unconsciously a new lesson of the moral value that may lie in good-breeding. she won the loutish crowd to listen to her on her own terms. 'both parties,' she was saying, 'have been glad enough to use women's help to get candidates elected. we've been quite intelligent enough to canvass for them; we were intelligent enough to explain to the ignorant men----' she acknowledged the groans by saying, 'of course there are none of that sort here, but elsewhere there are such things as ignorant men, and women by dozens and by scores are sent about to explain to them why they should vote this way or that. but as the chairman told you, any woman who does that kind of thing in the future is a very poor creature. she deserves no sympathy when her candidate forgets his pledge and sneers at womanhood in the house. if we put ourselves under men's feet we must _expect_ to be trodden on. we've come to think it's time women should give up the door-mat attitude. that's why we've determined on a policy of independence. we see how well independence has worked for the irish party--we see what a power in the house even the little labour party is, with only thirty members. some say those thirty labour members lead the great liberal majority by the nose----' 'hear! hear!' 'rot!' they began to cheer lothian scott. some one tossed mr. chamberlain's name into the air. like a paper balloon it was kept afloat by vigorous puffings of the human breath. ''ray fur joe!' 'three cheers for joe!'--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 a new-comer, but he looks just your kind! give him a hearing.' she strained her voice to overtop the din. 'he's a _liberal_.' 'hooray!' 'yes, i thought you'd listen to a liberal. he's asking that old question, why did we wait till the liberals came in? why didn't we worry the conservatives when they were in power? the answer to that is that the woman's suffrage cause was then still in the stage of mild constitutional propaganda. women were still occupied in being ladylike and trying to get justice by deserving it. now wait a moment.' she stemmed another torrent. 'be quiet, while i tell you something. you men have taught us that women can get a great deal by coaxing, often far more than we deserve! but justice isn't one of the things that's ever got 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 so loud 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 might hear what else the irrepressible ernestine had to say upon that absorbing topic). 'you men discovered years ago that you weren't going to get justice just by deserving it, or even by being men, so when you got tired of asking politely for the franchise, you took to smashing windows and burning down custom houses, and overturning bishops' carriages; while _we_, why, we haven't so much as upset a curate off a bicycle!' others might laugh, not ernestine. 'you men,' she went on, 'got up riots in the streets--_real_ riots where people lost their lives. it may have to come to that with us. but the government may as well know that if women's political freedom has to be bought with blood, we can pay that price, too.' above a volley of boos and groans she went on, 'but we are opposed to violence, and it will be our last resort. we are leaving none of the more civilized ways untried. we publish a great amount of literature--i hope you are all buying some of it--you can't understand our movement unless you do! we organize branch unions and we hire halls--we've got the somerset hall to-night, and we hope you'll all come and bring your friends. we have very interesting debates, and _we_ answer questions, politely!' she made her point to laughter. 'we don't leave any stone unturned. because there are people who don't buy our literature, and who don't realize how interesting the somerset hall debates are, we go into the public places where the idle and the foolish, _like that man just over there!_--where they may point and laugh and make their poor little jokes. but let me tell you we never hold a meeting where we don't win friends to our cause. a lot of you who are jeering and interrupting now are going to be among our best friends. _all_ the intelligent ones are going to be on our side.' above the laughter, a rich groggy voice was heard, 'them that's against yer 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've been told by one of the other speakers how the men suffer by the women more 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 about through your keeping the women out of your unions. you never would have done that if they'd had votes. you saw the important people ignored them. 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 got to 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 have an answer ready, but the crowd fell silent, like people determined to puzzle out a conundrum. 'don't you know that there are girls and women in this very city who are working early and late for rich men, and who are expected by those same employers to live on six shillings a week? perhaps i'm wrong in saying the men expect the women to live on that. it may be they _know_ that no girl can--it may be the men know how that struggle ends. but do they care? do _they_ bother about chivalry? yet they and all of you are dreadfully exercised for fear having a vote would unsex women. we are too delicate--women are such fragile flowers.' the little face was ablaze with scorn. 'i saw some of those fragile flowers last week--and i'll tell you where. not a very good place for gardening. it was a back street in liverpool. the "flowers"' (oh, the contempt with which she loaded the innocent word!)--'the flowers looked pretty dusty--but they weren't quite dead. i stood and looked at them! hundreds of worn women coming down steep stairs and pouring out into the street. what had they all been doing there in that--garden, i was going to say!--that big grimy building? they had been making cigars!--spending the best years of their lives, spending all their youth in that grim dirty street making cigars for men. whose chivalry prevents that? why were they coming out at that hour of the day? because their poor little wages were going to be lowered, and with the courage of despair they were going on strike. no chivalry prevents men from getting women at the very lowest possible wage--(i want you to notice the low wage is the main consideration in all this)--men get these women, that they say are so tender and delicate, to undertake the almost intolerable toil of the rope-walk. they get women to make bricks. girls are driven--when they are not driven to worse--they are driven to being lodging-house slaveys or over-worked scullions. _that's_ all right! women are graciously permitted to sweat over other people's washing, when they should be caring for their own babies. in birmingham'--she raised the clear voice and bent her flushed face over the crowd--'in birmingham those same "fragile flowers" make bicycles to keep alive! at cradley heath we make chains. 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 the slums, you may drive them to the streets. you _do_. but a vote would unsex them.' her full throat choked. she pressed her clenched fist against her chest and seemed to admonish herself that emotion wasn't her line. 'if you are intelligent you know as well as i do that women are exploited the length and the breadth of the land. and yet you come talking about chivalry! now, i'll just tell you men something for your future guidance.' she leaned far out over the crowd and won a watchful silence. '_that talk about chivalry makes women sick._' in the midst of the roar, she cried, 'yes, they mayn't always show it, for women have had to learn to conceal their deepest feelings, but depend on it that's how they feel.' then, apparently thinking she'd been serious enough, 'there might be some sense in talking to us about chivalry if you paid our taxes for us,' she said; while the people recovered their spirits in roaring with delight at the coolness of that suggestion. 'if you forgave us our crimes because we are women! if you gave annuities to the eighty-two women out of every hundred in this country who are slaving to earn their bread--many of them having to provide for their children; some of them having to feed sick husbands or old parents. but chivalry doesn't carry you men as far as that! no! no further than the door! you'll hold that open for a lady and then expect her 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 faced the wind and the raindrops, as if she were going to wind up in first-class fighting form. the umbrellas went down before a gleam of returning sun. an aged woman in rusty black, who late in the proceedings had timidly adventured a little way into the crowd, stood there lost and wondering. she had peered about during the last part of miss blunt's speech with faded incredulous eyes, listened to a sentence or two, and then, turning with a pathetic little nervous laugh of apology, consulted the faces of the lords of creation. when the speaker was warned that a policeman had his eye on her, the little old woman's instant solicitude showed that the dauntless suffragist had both touched and frightened her. she craned forward with a fluttering anxiety till she could see for herself. yes! a stern-looking policeman coming slow and majestic through the crowd. was he going to hale the girl off to holloway? no; he came to a standstill near some rowdy boys, and he stared straight before him--herculean, impassive, the very image of conscious authority. whenever ernestine said anything particularly dreadful, the old lady craned her neck to see how the policeman was taking it. when ernestine fell to drubbing the government, the old lady, in her agitation greatly daring, squeezed up a little nearer as if half of a mind to try to placate that august image of the power that was being flouted. but it ended only in trembling and furtive watching, till ernestine's reckless scorn at the idea of chivalry moved the ancient dame faintly to admonish the girl, as a nurse might speak to a wilful child. 'dear! _dear!_'--and then furtively trying to soothe the great policeman she twittered at his elbow, 'no! no! she don't mean it!' when ernestine declared that women could open doors for themselves, some one called out-- 'when do you expect to be a k.c.?' 'oh, quite soon,' she answered cheerfully, with her wind-blown hat rakishly over one ear, while the boys jeered. 'well,' said the policeman, 'she's pawsed 'er law examination!' as some of the rowdiest boys, naturally surprised at this interjection, looked round, he rubbed it in. 'did better than the men,' he assured them. was it possible that this dread myrmidon of the law was vaunting the prowess 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 benefit had the admission been made. 'so they say!' he observed, with an assumption of indifference, quite other than the tone in which he had betrayed where his sympathies, in spite of himself, really were. well, well, there were all kinds, even of people who looked so much alike as policemen. now the crowd, with him and miss levering as sole exceptions, were dissolved again in laughter. what had that girl been saying? 'yes, we're spectres at the liberal feast; and we're becoming inconveniently numerous. we've got friends everywhere. up and down the country 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 the orator. on she went-- 'organizing branches and carrying forward the work of propaganda. you people in london stroll about with your hands in your pockets and your hats on the back of your heads, and with never a _notion_ of what's going on in the world that thinks and works. that's the world that's making the future. some of you understand it so little you think all that we tell you is a joke--just as the governing class used to laugh at the idea of a labour party in conservative england. while those people were laughing, the labour men were at work. they talked and wrote; they lectured, and printed, and distributed, and organized, and one fine day there was a general election! to everybody's astonishment, thirty labour men were returned to parliament! just that same sort of thing is going on now among women. we have our people at work everywhere. and let me tell you, the most wonderful part of it all is to discover how little teaching we have to do. how _ready_ the women are, all over the three kingdoms.' '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!' above roars 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 papers to say they're against the suffrage, they are very ignorant, those ladies, or else it may be they write their foolish letters to please their menfolk. some of them, i know, think the end and aim of woman is to please. i don't blame them; it's the penalty of belonging to the parasite class. but those women are a poor little handful. they write letters to prove that they "don't count," and they _prove it_.' she waved them away with one slim hand. 'that's one reason we don't bother much with holding drawing-room meetings. the older suffragists have been holding drawing-room meetings _for forty years_!' she brought it out to shouts. '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 women are working and suffering and hoping for a better time.' with that miss ernestine sat down. they applauded her lustily; they revelled in laughing praise, yielding to a glow that they imagined to be pure magnanimity. 'are there any questions?' miss claxton, with her eyes still screwed up to meet the returning sun and the volley of interrogatory, appeared at the side of the cart. 'now, one at a time, please. what? i can't hear when you all talk together. write it down and hand it to me. now, you people who are nearer--what? very well! here's a man who wants to know whether 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 of answering it she turned to the opposite side and looked out over the clamourers on the left. they were engaged for the most part in inquiring about her matrimonial prospects, and why she had carried that dog-whip. something in her face made them fall silent, for it was both good-humoured and expectant, even intent. 'i'm waiting,' she said, after a little pause. 'at every meeting we hold there's usually another question put at the same time as that first one about the quarrels that will come of husbands and wives holding different opinions. as though the quarrelsome ones had been waiting for women's suffrage before they fell 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 were enfranchised we wouldn't be an inch forrader, because the wife would vote as her husband told her to. the man's vote would simply be duplicated, and things would be exactly as they were." neither objector seems to see that the one scruple cancels the other. but to the question put this afternoon, i'll just say this.' she bent forward, and she held up her hand. 'to the end of time there'll be people who won't rest till they've found something to quarrel about. and to the end of time there'll be wives who follow blindly where their husbands lead. and to the 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 it will go on as long as there are any left, and it's got no more to do with women's voting than it has with their making cream tarts. no, not half as much!' she laughed. 'now, where's that question that you were going to write?' some one handed up a wisp of white paper. miss claxton opened it, and upon the subject presented she embarked with the promising beginning, 'your economics are pretty wobbly, my friend,' and proceeded to clear the matter up and incidentally to flatten out the man. one wondered that under such auspices 'question time' was as popular as it obviously was. there is no doubt a fearful joy in adventuring yourself in certain danger before the public eye. besides the excitement of taking a personal share in the game, there is always the hope that it may have been reserved to you to stump the speaker and to shine before the multitude. a gentleman who had vainly been trying to get her to hear him, again asked something in a hesitating way, stumbling and going back to recast the form of his question. he was evidently quite in earnest, but either unaccustomed to the sound of his own voice or unnerved to find himself bandying words in hyde park with a suffragette. so when he stuck fast in the act of fashioning his phrases, miss claxton bent in the direction whence the voice issued, and said, briskly obliging-- 'you needn't go on. i know the rest. what this gentleman is trying to ask is----' and although no denial on his part reached the public ear, it was not hard to imagine him seething with indignation, down there helpless in his crowded corner, while the facile speaker propounded as well as demolished 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 any here.' 'more women would join us openly but for fear of their fellow-cowards. thousands upon thousands of women feel a sympathy with this movement they dare not show.' 'lots of women don't want the vote.' 'what women don't want it? are you worrying about a handful who think because they have been trained to like subservience everybody else ought to like subservience, too? the very existence of a movement like this is a thorn in their sleek sides. we are a reproach and a menace to such women. but this isn't a movement to compel anybody to vote. it is to give the right to those who _do_ want it--to those signatories of the second largest petition ever laid on the table of the house of commons--to the , textile workers--to the women who went last month in deputation to the prime minister, and who represented over half a million belonging to trades unions and organized societies. to--perhaps more than all, to the unorganized women, those whose voices are never heard in public. _they_, as mrs. bewley told you--they are beginning to want it. the women who are made to work over hours--_they_ want the vote. to compel them to work over hours is illegal. but who troubles to see that laws are fairly interpreted for the unrepresented? i know a factory where a notice went up yesterday to say that the women employed there will be required to work twelve hours a day for the next few weeks. instead of starting at eight, they must begin at six, and work till seven. the hours in this particular case are illegal--as the employer will find out!' she threw in with a flash, and one saw by that illumination the avenue through which his enlightenment would come. 'but in many shops where women work, twelve hours a day is legal. much of women's employment is absolutely unrestricted, except that they may not be worked on sunday. and while all that is going on, comfortable gentlemen sit in armchairs and write alarmist articles about the falling birth-rate and the horrible amount of infant mortality. a government calling itself liberal goes pettifogging on about side issues, while women are debased and babies die. here and there we find a man who realizes that the main concern of the state should be its children, and that you can't get worthy citizens where the mothers are sickly and enslaved. the question of statecraft, rightly considered, always reaches back to the mother. that state is most prosperous that most considers her. no state that forgets her can survive. the future is rooted in the well-being of women. if you rob the women, your children and your children's children pay. men haven't realized it--your boasted logic has never yet reached so far. of all the community, the women who give the next generation birth, and who form its character during the most impressionable years of its life--of all the community, these mothers now or mothers to be ought to be set free from the monstrous burden that lies on the shoulders of millions of women. those of you who want to see women free, hold up your hands.' a strange, orchid-like growth sprang up in the air. hands gloved and ungloved, 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 silent upper air for the whole human economy. 'now, down.' the pallid growth vanished. 'those against the freedom of women.' again hands, hands. far too many to suit the promoters of the meeting. but miss claxton announced, 'the ayes are in the majority. the meeting is with us.' 'she can't even count!' the air was full of the taunting phrase--'can't count!' 'yes,' said miss claxton, wheeling round again upon the people, as some of her companions began to get down out of the cart. 'yes, she can count, and she can see when men don't play fair. each one in that group held up _two_ hands when the last vote was taken.' she made a great deal of this incident, and elevated it into a principle. 'it is entirely characteristic of the means men will stoop to use in opposing the women'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 flew about. '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 of great 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 if there would be trouble. vida and her maid escaped towards the marble arch. ''andsome scented 'andkerchief! suffragette programme!' the raucous voice followed them, and not the voice alone. through the air was wafted the 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 fluttered responsibility. 'mrs. freddy and i have been lunching with the whyteleafes. she had to go 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 cousin sophia----' 'are you given to good works, too?' he interrupted. 'what a terribly philanthropic age it is!' jean smiled as she went on with her explanation. 'although it wasn't her sunday, sophia, like an angel, has gone to the club. and i'm here to explain. 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 be kept 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 a misleading look of absent-mindedness, which dashed the girl's obvious excitement over the encounter. 'i see,' he had said slowly. what he saw was a graceful creature of medium height, with a clear colour and grey-blue eyes fixed on him with an interest as eager as it was frank. what the grey-blue eyes saw was probably some glorified version of stonor's straight, firm features, a little blunt, which lacked that semblance of animation given by colour, and seemed to scorn to make up for it by any mobility of expression. the grey eyes, set somewhat too prominently, were heavy when not interested, and the claim to good looks which nobody had dreamed of denying seemed to rest mainly upon the lower part of his face. the lips, over-full, perhaps, were firmly moulded, but the best lines were those curves from the ear to the quite beautiful chin. the gloss on the straight light-brown hair may have stood to the barber's credit, but only health could keep so much grace still in the carriage of a figure heavier than should be in a man of forty--one who, without a struggle, had declined from polo unto golf. there was no denying that the old expression of incipient sullenness, fleeting or suppressed, was deepening into the main characteristic of his face, though it was held that he, as little as any man, had cause to present that aspect to a world content to be his oyster. yet, as no doubt he had long ago learned, it was that very expression which was the cause of much of the general concern people seemed 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 garden expecting 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.' she spoke as if the gladness that was not to be repressed called for some explanation. 'mrs. freddy says that she and mr. freddy see so little of you nowadays. that was why she made such a point of my coming and trying to--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 had flushed with mingled embarrassment and excitement, he proceeded to increase her perturbation by suggesting, 'mrs. freddy had to overcome your dislike for the mission.' 'dislike? oh, no!' 'what then?' 'my--well----' she lifted her eyes, and dared to look him full in the face 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 stonor when he smiled. they felt relieved from some intangible responsibility for the order of the universe. the girl brightened wonderfully. 'oh, yes, very alarming indeed,' she assured him cheerfully. 'how do you make that out?' 'i don't need to "make it out." it's so very plain.' then a little hastily, as if afraid of having said something that sounded like impious fault-finding, 'anybody's alarming who is so--so much talked about, and so--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 up my mind that i wouldn't be afraid of you any more since our week-end at ulland.' 'ah, that's better!' there was nothing in the words, but in the gentleness with which he brought them out, so much that the girl turned her eyes away and played with 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 in the 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 some fine self-abnegating deed. they spoke of that sunday walk in the valley below the ulland links, and the crossing of a swollen little stream on a rotting and rickety log. 'i _had_ to go,' she explained apologetically. 'hermione had gone on and forgotten the puppy hadn't learnt to follow. i was afraid he'd lose himself.' 'it _was_ a dangerous place to go across,' he said, as if to justify some 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 if to surprise in her some reflection upon his too solid flesh--or might it even be upon the weight of years? but the uncritical admiration in her face must have reassured him before the words, 'i thought you'd be too grand. 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 blue of 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 never seen 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 to scotland. 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 a horrible windy hill--he simply loves that!' 'and you don't love it _at all_. i see.' he seemed to be thinking out something. compunction visited the face before him. 'i didn't mean to say i didn't love it _at all_. it's like those people you care to be with for a little while, but if you must go being with them for ever you come to hate them--almost.' they sat silent for a moment, then with slow reflectiveness, like one who 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 some gulf of betrayal. 'there are walks about my grandfather's more beautiful than anything you ever saw--or perhaps i ought to say more beautiful than anything _i_ ever saw.' 'nicer walks than at ulland?' 'oh, no comparison! one is a bridle-path all along a wonderful brown trout 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 real friend. mctaggart "has the gaelic." but he hasn't much else, so perhaps you'd prefer his wife.' 'why should i prefer his wife?' jean's face was full of laughter. stonor's plan of going to scotland had singularly altered the character of that country. its very inhabitants were now perceived to be enlivening even to talk about; to _know_--the gamekeeper'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 or experience is what we chiefly prize--in ladies.' 'oh, isn't it? i didn't know, you see. i didn't know how dreadfully you might 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 seemed by implication to have steered clear of mrs. mctaggart's pitfalls), that jean 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 far as to call on the mctaggarts if you'll undertake that she won't instruct me about foreign lands.' 'no such irrelevance! she'd tell you about london. she was here for six whole months. and she got something out of it i don't believe even you have. a certificate of merit.' 'no. london certainly never gave me one.' 'you see! mrs. mctaggart lived the life of the metropolis with such success that she passed an examination before she left. the subject was: "incidents in the life of abraham." it says so on the certificate. she has it framed and hung in the parlour.' he smiled. 'i admit few can point to such fruits of metropolitan ausbildung. but i think i shall prefer the burnside--or even the bog.' 'no; the moors. they're best of all.' she sat looking straight before her, with her heart's deep well overflowing at her eyes. as if she felt vaguely that some sober reason must be found for seeing those same moors in this glorified light all of a sudden, she went on, 'i'll show you a special place where white heather grows, and the rabbits tumble about as tame as kittens. it's miles away from the sea, but the gulls come sunning themselves and walking about like pigeons. i used to hide up there when i was little and naughty. nobody ever found the place out except 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 than anybody 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 of what poetry really was till down at ulland you took my book away from me, and read aloud----' * * * * * mr. freddy let himself and lord borrodaile in at the front door so closely on the heels of mrs. freddy that the servant who had closed the door behind her had not yet vanished into the lower regions. at a word from that functionary, mr. freddy left his brother depositing hat and stick with the usual deliberation, and himself ran upstairs two steps at a 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-room in every house in the land for the reassurance of the timid feminine creature. she was known to add privately that it was not ignored by men--and that those who came often, contracted a habit of hurrying upstairs close at the servant's heels, in order to have two seconds to spare for furtive consultation, while he went on to open the drawing-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 which enigmatic rejoinder she pushed open the door, and went briskly through the double drawing-room to where mr. geoffrey stonor and jean dunbarton were 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 telling miss dunbarton that in another age she would have been a sort of dinah morris, or more likely another st. ursula with a train of seven thousand virgins.' 'and all because i've told him about my girls' club! and----' 'yes,' he said, '"and"----' he turned away and shook hands with his two kinsmen. he sat talking to them with his back to the girl. it was a study in those delicate weights and measures that go to estimating the least tangible things in personality, to note how his action seemed not only to dim her vividness but actually to efface the girl. in the first moments she herself accepted it at that. her looks said: he is not aware of me any more--ergo, i don't exist. during the slight distraction incident to the bringing in of tea, and mr. freddy's pushing up some of the big chairs, mr. stonor had a moment's remembrance of her. he spoke of his scottish plans and fell to considering dates. then all of a sudden she saw that again and yet more woundingly his attention had wandered. the moment came while lord borrodaile was busy russianizing a cup of tea, and mr. freddy, balancing himself on very wide-apart legs in front of his wife's tea-table, had interrogated 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 stonor caught her brother-in-law's. 'freddy'--she arrested her husband as he was making for the bell--'say, "except to miss levering."' 'all right. except to miss levering.' and it was at that point that jean saw she wasn't being listened to. even mrs. freddy, looking up, was conscious of something in stonor's face that made her say-- 'old sir hervey's youngest daughter. you knew _him_, i suppose, even if you haven't met her. jean, you aren't giving mr. stonor anything to eat.' '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 been sent away, and who might still be expected to invade. 'nobody remembers anybody else when that miss levering of theirs is to the fore. you began to say when--to talk about scotland.' he had taken out his watch. 'i was wondering if the children were down yet. shall we go and see?' jean jumped up with alacrity. 'sh!' mrs. freddy held up a finger and silenced her little circle. 'they must 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 the servant had opened the door and announced: 'mrs. heriot, miss heriot, captain beeching,' mr. freddy, the usually gracious host, was leading the way through the back drawing-room, unblushingly abetting mr. stonor's escape under the very eyes of persons who would have gone miles on the chance of meeting him. small wonder that jean was consoled for knowing herself too shy to follow, if she remembered that he had actually asked her to do so! she showed no surprise at the tacit assumption on the part of his relations that geoffrey stonor could never be expected to sit there as common mortals might, making himself more or less agreeable to whoever might chance to drop in. unless they were 'very special' of course he couldn't be 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 waylay the escaping lion. 'oh, how do you do?'--she thrust out a hand. and he went out as if she had been thin air! it was the kind of insolence that used to be more common, because safer, than it is likely to be in future--a form of condoned brutality that used to inspire more awe than disgust. people were guilty even of a slavish admiration of those who had the nerve to administer this wholly disproportionate reproof to the merely maladroit. it could be done only by one whom all the world had conspired to befog and befool about his importance in the scheme of things. small wonder the girl, too, was bewildered. for no one seemed to dream of resenting what had occurred. the lesson conveyed appeared to be that the proper attitude to certain of your fellow-creatures was very much the traditional one towards royalty. you were not to speak unless you were spoken to. and yet this man who with impunity snubbed persons of consideration, was the same one who was coming to call on sally mctaggart--he was going to walk the bridle-path along the burnside to the white heather haven. with the dazed look in her eyes, and cheeks scarlet with sympathy and confusion, the girl had run forward to greet her aunt, and to do her little share toward dissipating the awkward chill that had fallen on the company. after producing a stammered, 'oh--a--i thought it was----' the immediate effect on mrs. heriot was to make her both furious and cowed. though a nervous stream of talk trickled on, mrs. freddy's face did not lose its flustered look nor did the company regain its ease, until a further diversion 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 by being 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 would never 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 a mood 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 doubt whether 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 knowing usually did. although far from distinguished in appearance, mr. greatorex would have stood in no danger of being overlooked, even if he had not those twinkling jewel-like eyes, and two strands of coal-black hair trained across his large bumpy cranium, from the left ear to the right, and securely pasted there. 'it's that wretched radical, st. john greatorex.' mrs. heriot turned from her niece to lord borrodaile. 'what foundation is there,' she demanded, '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 the balm of alliance with lord borrodaile. but he held aloof. 'oh, they say he has his points--a good judge of wine, and knows more about parliamentary procedure than most of us.' 'how you men stand up for one another! you know perfectly well you can't endure him.' mrs. heriot jerked her head away and faced the group round the tea-table. 'what is she saying? that she's been to a suffrage meeting in hyde park!' 'how could she! nothing would induce me to go and listen to such people!' 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 some new arrivals, and drawing after her a portion of the company, including lady whyteleafe and richard farnborough, who one after another had come in a few moments before. it was to the young man that greatorex was saying, with a twinkle, 'i am sure mr. farnborough agrees with me.' slightly self-conscious, he replied, 'about miss levering being too--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 deposited himself at her side. 'god bless my soul!' he said. 'she's only saying that to get a rise out of you.' farnborough seemed unable to bear the momentary shadow obscuring the lady's brightness. 'ah, yes'--greatorex leaned back again--'your frocks aren't serious enough.' 'haven't i been telling you it's an exploded notion that the suffrage people 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. we can, 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 how much better policy it would be if they _did_ take a little trouble about their looks. now, if we got our maids to do those women's hair for them--if we lent them our french hats--ah, _then_'--lady whyteleafe nodded till the pear-shaped pearls in her ears swung out like milk-white bells ringing an alarum--'they'd convert you creatures fast enough then.' 'perhaps "convert" is hardly the word,' said vida, with ironic mouth. as though on an impulse, she bent forward to say, with her lips near lady whyteleafe's pearl drop: 'what if it's the aim of the movement to get away from the need of just these little dodges?' 'dodges?' but without the exclamation, miss levering must have seen that she had been speaking in an unknown tongue. a world where beauty exists for beauty's sake--which is love's sake--and not for tricking money or power out of men, even the possibility of such a world is beyond the imagining of 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 nothing short 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 lion in 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't you 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 the group, jean precipitated herself gaily into the conversation. 'have they told 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 little young one--he said women would never be respected till they had the vote!' mr. greatorex snorted, the other men smiled, and all the women, except aunt lydia, did the same. 'i remember telling him,' mrs. heriot said, with marked severity, 'that he was too young to know what he was talking about.' 'yes, i'm afraid you all sat on the poor gentleman,' said lord borrodaile. 'it was such fun. he was flat as a pancake when we'd done with him. aunt ellen was here. she told him with her most distinguished air she didn't want 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 that only jean heard them. the girl looked up. 'me?' 'you had the satisfaction of knowing you had made yourself immensely popular 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 were listening to lord borrodaile's contented pronouncement: 'i'm afraid the new-fangled seed falls on barren ground in our old-fashioned gardens--_pace_ my charming sister-in-law.' greatorex turned sharply. 'mrs. tunbridge! god bless my soul, you don't mean----' 'there is one thing i will say for her'--mrs. freddy's brother-in-law lazily defended the honour of the house--'she doesn't, as a rule, obtrude her opinions. there are people who have known her for years, and haven't a notion she's a light among the misguided.' but greatorex was not to be reassured. 'mrs. tunbridge! lord, the perils that 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't had 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 to clear 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't think you must call them----' 'why not?' said lord borrodaile. '_i_ can forgive them for worrying the liberals'--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 lord borrodaile. 'they've become nothing less than a public nuisance. going about with dog-whips and spitting in policemen's faces.' 'i wonder,' said mrs. freddy, with a harassed air--'i wonder if they did spit!' '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 her in a couple of agitated steps. 'yes, and if ever i muster up courage to come back, it will be to vote for better manners in public life, not worse than we have already.' 'so should i,' observed mrs. freddy, meekly. 'don't think i defended the suffragettes.' '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 we lost no time in dissociating ourselves from the two or three hysterical----' she caught her brother-in-law's critical eye, and instantly 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 the honours of the house to a lady who had had so little profit of her visit. beeching carried off the reluctant farnborough. mrs. freddy kept up her spirits until after the exodus; then, with a sigh, she sat down beside vida. 'it's true what that old cynic says,' she admitted sorrowfully. '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 opera ever gripped an audience as the situation in the house did that night. there we all sat breathless--with everything more favourable to us than it had been within the memory of woman. another five minutes and the resolution would have passed. then--all in a moment'--mrs. freddy clasped her hands excitedly--'all in a moment a horrible, dingy little flag was poked through the grille of the woman's gallery--cries--insults-- scuffling--the police--the ignominious turning out of the women--_us_ as well as the---- oh, i can't _think_ of it without----' she jumped up and walked to and fro. 'then the next morning!' she paused. 'the people gloating. our friends antagonized--people who were wavering--nearly won over--all thrown back! heart-breaking! even my husband! freddy's been an angel 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 it gives him a horrid twist inside when he sees even the discreetest little paragraph to say that i am "one of the speakers." but he's always been an angel about it before this. after the disgraceful scene, he said, "it just shows how unfit women are for any sort of coherent thinking or concerted action."' 'to think,' said jean, more sympathetically, 'that it should be women who'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 up the 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 be dreadful to find you've done such a lot of harm to the thing you care most 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 the woman question so that it's advertised in every paper, and discussed under 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 days since 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 known they _do_ want something, and--"want it bad,"' vida added, smiling. jean drew her low chair almost in front of the lady who had so wounded her sensibilities a little while before with that charge of popularity-hunting. 'mrs. tunbridge says before that horrid scene everything was favourable at last,' the girl hazarded. 'yes,' said mrs. freddy, 'we never had so many friends in the house before----' '"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)--a liberal whip told me the other day. a radical member went out of the house after his speech in favour of the women's bill, and as he came back half an hour later he heard some members talking in the lobby about the astonishing number who were going to vote for the measure. and the friend 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 feet as the figure of her brother-in-law appeared in the doorway. but she turned her back on him and affected absorption in the tableau presented by jean leaning forward, elbow on knee, chin in hand, gazing steadily in vida levering's face. 'i don't want to interrupt you two,' said the hostess, 'but i think you must look at the pictures.' 'oh, yes, i brought them specially'--lord borrodaile deflected his course in order to take up from the table two squares of cardboard tied face to face with tape. 'bless the man!' mrs. freddy contemplated him with smiling affectation of scorn. 'i mean the new photographs of the children. he's thinking of some reproductions herbert tunbridge got while he was abroad--pictures of things somebody's unearthed in sicily or cyprus.' 'crete, my dear.' he turned his back on the fond mother and jean who was already oh-ing with appreciation at the first of a pile of little saras and cecils. when he came back to his corner of the sofa he made no motion to undo his packet, but 'now then!' he said, as he often did on sitting down beside vida levering--as though they had been interrupted on the verge of coming to an agreement about something. she, with an instinct of returning the ball, usually tossed at him some scrap of news or a jest, or some small social judgment. this time when he uttered his 'now then,' with that anticipatory air, she answered instantly--'yes; something rather odd has been happening. i've been seeing 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 something differently looked at. why do we pretend that all conversion is to some religious 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 my sex--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 the compliments i liked best.' 'we all do. it means we have a sense of proportion--the mental suppleness that is capable of the ironic view; an eye that can look right as well as left.' she nodded. 'when you wrote to me once, "my dear ironist," i--yes--i felt rather superior. i'm conscious now that it's been a piece of hidden, intellectual pride with me that i could smile at most things.' 'well, do you mean to forswear pride? for you can't live without smiling.' 'i've seen something to-day that i don't feel i want to smile at. and yet to you it's the most ludicrous spectacle in london.' 'this is all very mysterious.' he turned his long, whimsical face on one side 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 of people would do what i have, if they only knew how queer and interesting it is, and how already the outer aspect of the thing is changing. at the first meetings very few women of any class. now there are dozens--scores. soon there'll be hundreds. there were three thousand people in the park this afternoon, so a policeman told me, but hardly any 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 passionate feeling, 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 movement in france. they say there's a frauenbewegung in germany. from finland to italy----' '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 a representative chamber! it's a sort of epidemic.' 'the egyptians, too, restless under "benefits." and now everywhere, as if by some great concerted movement--the women!' 'yes, yes; there's plenty of regrettable restlessness up and down the world, a sort of wave of revolt against the constituted authorities. if it goes too far--nothing for us but a military despotism!' she shook her head with a look of such serene conviction that he persisted, '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 people learning 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 moral aristocracy--the smallest and most rigid in the world. this thing that you're just opening your eyes to, is the rage against restraint that goes with decadence. but the phlegmatic englishman won't lead in that dégringolade.' 'you mean we won't be among the first of the great nations to give women the suffrage?' '_england?_' the slow head-shake and the smile airily relegated the woman'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 to his friend's better taste. a confession of sheer physical loathing crept into his face as he let fall two or three little sentences about these women'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 meet her gaze. 'don't think----' she prayed, and stumbling against the new hardness in his face, broke off, withdrew her eyes and changed the form of what she had meant to say. 'i think i like good manners, too, but i see it would be a mistake to put them first. what if we have to earn the right 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 her friend with a fresh appeal in her eyes. but his were wearing their new cold look. she seemed to nerve herself to meet some numbing danger of cowardice. '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 it too cheap an idea of morals that women should take credit for the enduring that keeps the wrong alive? you won't say women have no stake in morals. have we any right to let the world go wrong while we get compliments for our forbearance and for pretty manners?' 'you began,' said borrodaile, 'by explaining other women's notions. you have ended by seeming to adopt them as your own. but you are a person of some intelligence. you will open your eyes before you go too far. you belong to the people who are responsible for handing on the world's treasure. as we've agreed, there never was a time when it was attacked from so many sides. can't you see what's at stake?' 'i see that many of the pleasantest things may be in eclipse for a time.' '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 civilized beings is a very complex thing. it isn't filled by good intentions nor even by the cardinal virtues. the function of the older societies is to hand 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 best of their day left off. we do for manners and the arts in general what the moors did for learning when the wild hordes came down. there were capital chaps among the barbarians,' he smiled, 'i haven't a doubt! but it was the men who held fast to civilization's clue, they were the people who mattered. _we_ matter. we hold the clue.' he was recovering his spirits. 'your friends want to open the gates still wider to the huns. 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 than the mass of men. the women! they are civilization's only ally against your 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 on any 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 her glove--'just as well that each of us should know where to find the other. so tell me, what if it should be a question of going forward in the 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 little uneasily--like one who has surprised even himself by some too-illuminating avowal. 'see here,' he put out a hand. 'i'm not going to 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 word he had flung out--it seemed to have struck wide some window that had been shuttered close before. the woman stood there in the glare. she did not refuse to be drawn back to her place on the sofa, but she looked round first to see if the others had heard and how they took it. a glimpse of mrs. freddy's gown showed her out of earshot on the balcony. 'i've got something here really rather wonderful,' lord borrodaile went on, with that infrequent kindling of enthusiasm. he had taken one of the unmounted photographs from between its two bits of cardboard and was holding it up before his eyeglass. 'yes, he's an extraordinary beggar!'--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 of what was not then so widely known--details of that most thrilling moment perhaps in all the romance of archæology--where the excavators of knossos came upon the first authentic picture of a man belonging to that mysterious and forgotten race that had raised up a civilization in some things rivalling the greek--a race that had watched minoan power wane and die, and all but the dimmest legend of it vanish, before the builders of argos and mycenæ began laying their foundation stones. borrodaile, with an accent that for him was almost emotion, emphasized the strangeness to the scholar of having to abandon the old idea of the greek being the sole flower of mediterranean civilization. for here was this wonderful island folk--a people standing between and bridging east and west--these cretan men and women who, though they show us their faces, their delicate art and their stupendous palaces, have held no parley with the sons of men, some say for three and thirty centuries. 'but wait! they'll tell us tales before those fellows have done! i wouldn't mind hearing what this beggar has to say for himself!' at last he shared the picture. they agreed that he was a beggar to be reckoned with--this proud athlete coming back to the world of men after his long sleep, not blinded by the new day, not primitive, apologetic, but meeting us with a high imperial mien, daring and beautiful. 'what do you suppose he is carrying in that vase?' vida asked; 'or is that some trophy?' 'no, no, it's the long drinking cup--to the expert eye that is added evidence of his high degree of civilization. but _think_, you know, a man 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 the women!' 'why, they had got as far as flouncing their gowns and puffing their sleeves! their hair!'--'dear me, they must have had a m. raoul to ondulé and dress it.' 'amazing!--was there ever anything so modern dug out of the earth before?' 'no, nothing like it!' he said, holding the pictures up again between the glass and his kindling eye. 'ce sont vraiment des parisiennes!' over his shoulder the modern woman looked long at that strange company. 'it is nothing less than uncanny,' she said at last. 'it makes one vaguely wretched.' 'what does?' 'to realize that so long ago the world had got so far. why couldn't people like these go further still? why didn't their sons hold fast what so great a race had won?' 'these things go in cycles.' 'isn't that a phrase?'--the woman mused--'to cover our ignorance of how things go--and why? why should we be so content to go the old way to destruction? if i were "the english" of this splendid specimen of a cretan, i would at least find a new way to perdition.' 'perhaps we shall!' they sat trying from the accounts of lord borrodaile's archæological friends to reconstruct something of that vanished world. it was a game they had played at before, with etruscan vases and ivories from ephesus--the man bringing to it his learning and his wit, the woman her supple imagination and a passion of interest in the great romance of the pilgrimage 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 somewhere else on our uneasy earth men will begin again----' '----the fruitless round! but it's horrible--the waste of effort in the world! it's worse than horrible. it's insane.' she looked up suddenly into his face. 'you are wise. tell me what you think the story of the world means, with its successive clutches at civilization--all those histories of slow and painful building--by ganges and by nile and in the isles of greece.' 'it's a part of the universal rhythm that all things move to--nature's way,' he answered. 'or was it because of some offence against one of her high laws that she wiped the old experiments out? what if the meaning of history is that an empire 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, appearing through 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 cretan frescoes 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 attention they 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 go down to help him to decide which is the best.' 'geoffrey?' 'geoffrey stonor--you know him, of course. but nobody knows the very nicest side of geoffrey, do they?' she appealed to borrodaile,--'nobody who hasn't seen him with children?' 'i never saw him with children,' said vida, buttoning the last button of her glove. 'well, come down and watch him with sara and cecil. they perfectly adore him.' 'no, it's too late.' but the fond mother drew her friend to the window. 'you can see them from here.' vida was not so hurried, apparently, but what she could stand there taking in the picture of sara and cecil climbing about their big, kind cousin, 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 to borrodaile. 'oh, yes,' he agreed, 'they won't care about anybody else while geoffrey is there.' lord borrodaile stooped and picked up a piece of folded paper off the sofa. 'did i drop that?' he opened it. '_votes for_----' he read the two words out in an accent that seemed to brand them with foolishness, even with vulgarity. 'no, decidedly i did not drop it.' he was conveying the sheet to the wastepaper basket as one who piously removes some unsavoury litter out of the way of those who walk delicately. 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 lot of the poor in whitechapel. 'even if it were not friday,' vida said slyly as her sister was preparing to leave the house, 'you'd invent some errand to take you out of the contaminated air of queen anne's gate this afternoon.' 'well, as i told you,' said the other woman, nervously, 'you ask that person here on your own responsibility.' vida smiled. 'i'm obliged to ask people here if i want to see them quietly. 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 making trouble for yourself. you'll have to pay handsomely for your curiosity.' 'well, i've been rather economical of late. maybe i'll be able "to pay."' 'don't imagine you'll be able to settle an account of that kind with a single cheque. give people like that an inch, and they'll expect a weekly ell.' 'are you afraid she'll abstract the spoons?' 'i'm not only afraid, i _know_ she won't be satisfied with one contribution, or one visit. she'll regard it as the thin end of the wedge--getting her nose into a house of this kind.' irresistibly the words conjured up a vision of some sharp-visaged female marauder insinuating the tip of a very pointed nose between the great front door and the lintel. 'i only hope,' the elder woman went on, 'that i won't be here 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 in the good old way. little doris was ill in bed. mr. fox-moore was understood to have joined his brother's coaching party. the time had been discreetly chosen--the coast was indubitably clear. but would it remain so? to insure that it should, miss levering had a private conference with the 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 the drawing-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't make a mistake. she---- it will be a stranger--some one who has never been here before. wait! i'll look out of the morning-room window. if it is the person i'm expecting, i'll ring the bell. you understand. if the morning-room bell has rung just as this person comes, it will be the one i'm expecting.' 'yes, miss.' with a splendid impassivity in the face of precautions so unprecedented, the servant withdrew. vida smiled to herself as she leaned back among the cushions of her capacious sofa, cutting the pages of a book. a pleasant place this room of hers, wide and cool, where the creamy background of wall and chintz-cover was lattice-laced with roses. the open windows looked out upon one of those glimpses of greenery made vivid to the london eye, not alone by gratitude, but by contrast of the leafage against the ebonized bark of smoke-ingrained bole and twig. the summer wind was making great, gentle fans of the plane branches; it was swaying the curtains that hung down in long, straight folds from the high cornices. no other sound in the room but the hard grate of the ivory paper-knife sawing its way through a book whose outside alone (a muddy-brown, pimpled cloth) proclaimed it utilitarian. among the fair-covered italian volumes, the vellum-bound poets, and those friends-for-a-lifetime wearing linen or morocco to suit a special taste; above all, among that greater company 'quite impudently french' that stood close ranked on shelves or lay about on tables--the brown book on its dusty modern theme wore the air of a frieze-coated yeoman sitting amongst broadcloth and silk. the reader glanced from time to time at the clock. when the small glittering hand on the porcelain face pointed to twenty minutes past five, the lady took her book and her paper-knife into a front room on the floor below. she sat down behind the lowered persienne, and every now and then lifted her eyes from the page and peered out between the tiny slits. as the time went on she looked out oftener. more than once she half rose and seemed about to abandon all hope of the mysterious visitor when a hansom dashed up to the door. one swift glance: 'they go in cabs!'--and miss levering ran to the bell. a few moments after, she was again established in her sofa corner, and the door of her sitting-room opened. 'the lady, miss.' into the wide, harmonious space was ushered a hot and harassed-looking woman, in a lank alpaca 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 her hand. 'i am late, but it was very difficult to get away at all.' miss levering pushed towards her one of the welcoming great easy-chairs that stood holding out cool arms and a lap of roses. the tired visitor, with her dusty clothes and brusque manner, sat down without relaxing to the luxurious invitation. her stiffly maintained attitude and direct look said as plain as print, now what excuse have you to offer for asking 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 levering smile as she said-- 'yes, i've been expecting you for the last half hour, but it's very good of 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 subsided on to the sofa. 'i heard you speak the other day as i told you in my note. but all the same i came away with several unanswered questions--questions that i wanted to put to you quietly. as i wrote you, i am not what _you_ would call 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 pocket by 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,' said miss claxton. 'i suppose i can make some little contribution without--without its committing 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 talk to--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--even the 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'm not used to, and i don't take to it over-kindly.' 'in the crush at the end,' said miss levering, 'i overheard a scrap of conversation between two men. they were talking about you. "very good for 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. and personally," he said, "i don't know many men who could have kept that crowd 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 as those i heard on sunday.' 'we have a good many who speak well, but we look upon ernestine blunt as our genius.' 'yes, she seems rather a wonderful little person, but i wrote to you because--partly because you are older. and you gave me the impression of being 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 of hers, 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, you don'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 so clear, 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 called out--things about----' miss claxton's frown deepened. it was plain she heard the echo of that insistent, 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 its violent 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 against the movement.' no word out of miss claxton. she sat there, not leaning back, nor any longer stiffly upright, but hunched together like a creature ready to spring. 'i believed those stories too; but when i had watched you, and listened to you on sunday,' miss levering hastened to add, a little shamefaced at the necessity, 'i said to myself, not' (suddenly she stopped and smiled with disarming frankness)--'i didn't say, "that woman's too well-behaved, or too amiable;" i said, "she's too intelligent. that woman never spat at a policeman.'" 'spit? no,' she said grimly. '"nor bit, nor scratched, nor any of those things. and since the papers have lied about that," i said to myself, "i'll go to headquarters for information."' 'what papers do you read?' 'oh, practically all. this house is like a club for papers and magazines. 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 it reading those papers that set you to thinking?' 'reading papers? oh, no. it was----' she hesitated, and puckered up her brows again as she stared round the room. 'yes, go on. that's one of the things i wanted to know, if you don't mind--how you came to be identified with the movement.' a little wearily, without the smallest spark of enthusiasm at the prospect of imparting her biography, miss claxton told slowly, even dully, and wholly without passion, the story of a hard life met single-handed from even the tender childhood days--one of those recitals that change the relation between the one who tells and the one who listens--makes the last a sharer in the life to the extent that the two can never be strangers any more. though they may not meet, nor write, nor have any tangible communication, there is understanding between them. at the close miss levering stood up and gave the other her hand. neither said anything. they looked at each other. after the lady had resumed her seat, miss claxton, as under some compulsion born of the other's act of sympathy, went on-- 'it is a newspaper lie--as you haven't needed to be told--about the spitting and scratching and biting--but the day i was arrested; the day of the deputation to effingham, i saw a policeman knocking some of our poorer women about very roughly' (it had its significance, the tone in which she said 'our poorer women'). 'i called out that he was not to do that again. he had one of our women like this, and he was banging her against 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. i struck the coward in the face.' the air of the mild luxurious room grew hot and quivered. the lady on the sofa lowered her eyes. 'they must be taught,' the other said sternly, 'the police must be taught, they are not to treat our women like that. on the whole the police behave well. but their power is immense and almost entirely unchecked. 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 they have? don't they hear constantly in the courts how little it costs a man to be convicted of beating his own wife?' she fired the questions at the innocent person on the sofa, as if she held her directly responsible for the need to ask them. 'stealing is far more dangerous; yes, even if a man's starving. that's because bread is often dear and women are always cheap.' she waited a moment, waited for the other to contradict or at least resent the dictum. the motionless figure among the sofa cushions, whose very 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 she went on with a harsh hostility that seemed almost personal-- 'we'd rather any day be handled by the police than by the self-constituted stewards of political meetings.' partly the words, even more the look in the darkening face, made miss levering say-- 'that brings me to something else i wanted to be enlightened about. one reason i wrote to ask for a little talk with _you_ specially, was because i couldn't imagine your doing anything so futile as to pit your physical strength--considerable as it may be--but to pit your muscle against men's is merely absurd. and i, when i saw how intelligent you were, i saw that you know all that quite as well as i. why, then, carry a 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 know there must be some rational explanation.' but if there were it was not forthcoming. 'so you see your most indefensible and even futile-appearing action gave the cue for my greatest interest,' said vida, with a mixture of anxiety and bluntness. 'for just the woman you were, to do so brainless a thing--what was behind? that was what i kept asking myself.' 'it--isn't--only--_rough_ treatment one or two of us have met'--she pulled out the words slowly--'it's sometimes worse.' they both waited in a curious chill embarrassment. 'not the police, but the stewards at political meetings, and the men who volunteer to "keep the women in order," they'--she raised her fierce eyes and the colour rose in her cheeks--'as they're turning us out they punish us in ways the public don't know.' she saw the shrinking wonder in the woman opposite, and she did not spare her. 'they punish us by underhand maltreatment--of the kind 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, no woman, 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 to hear a laugh like that. the figure on the sofa winced. 'i assure you people don't know,' said vida. 'it's known well enough to those who've had to suffer it, and it's known to the brutes of men who----' 'ah, but you _must_ realize'--miss levering jumped to her feet--'you must admit that the great mass of men would be indignant if they knew.' 'you think so?' the question was insulting in its air of forbearance with a fairy-tale view of life. 'think so? i _know_ it. i should be sorry for my own powers of judgment if i believed the majority of men were like the worst specimens--like those you----' 'oh, well, we don't dwell on that side. it's enough to remember that women without our incentive have to bear worse. it's part of a whole system.' 'i shall never believe that!' exclaimed vida, thinking what was meant was an organized conspiracy against the suffragettes. 'yes, it's all part of the system we are in the world to overturn. why should we suppose we'd gain anything by complaining? don't hundreds, thousands of meek creatures who have never defied anybody, don't they have to bear worse ignominies? every man knows that's true. who troubles himself? what is the use, we say, of crying about individual pains and penalties? no. the thing is to work day and night to root out the system that makes such things possible.' 'i still don't understand--why you thought it would be a protection to carry----' 'a man's fear of ridicule will restrain him when nothing else will. if one of them is publicly whipped, _and by a woman_, it isn't likely to be forgotten. even the fear of it--protects us from some things. after an experience some of the women had, the moment our committee decided on another demonstration, little mary o'brian went out, without consulting anybody, and bought me the whip. "if you will go," she said, "you shan't go unarmed. if we have that sort of cur to deal with, the only thing is to carry a dog-whip."' miss claxton clenched her hands in their grey cotton gloves. there was silence in the room for several seconds. 'what we do in asking questions publicly--it's only what men do constantly. the greatest statesman in the land stops to answer a man, even if he's a fool naturally, or half drunk. they treat those interrupters with respect, they answer their questions civilly. they are men. 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 at last.' 'you mean what are called your tactics?' 'i mean the spirit of the women. i mean: not to mind the price. when you've got people to feel like that, success is sure.' 'but it comes very hard on those few who pay with the person, as the french 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 eyes from the other's face. 'of course,' the ex-prisoner went on, 'if more women did a little it wouldn'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 mill girl--came up from the country with only two pounds in her pocket to rouse london. and she did it!' her comrade exulted. 'but there's a class we don't reach. if only'--she hesitated and glanced reflectively at the woman 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 one exercising an extreme moderation); 'but many of them are such sexless creatures.' miss levering opened wide eyes--a glint of something like amazed laughter 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 of society by these hard-working, hard-hitting sisters of theirs was not the 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 do the things they do.' 'what sort of things?' 'oh, i can't go into that.' she stood up and tugged at her wrinkled cotton gloves. 'but it's easy for us to see they're sexless.' she seemed to resent the unbelief in the opposite face. 'lady caterham sent for me the 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_ she sympathized 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 of our tactics, so i just sat and waited for the "dog-whip."' it was obvious that the lady without influence in her county winced at that, almost as though she felt the whip on her own shoulders. she was indeed a hard-hitter, this woman. 'i don't go about talking of why i carry a whip. i _hate_ talking about it,' she flung the words out resentfully. 'but i'd been sent to try to get that woman to help, and so i explained. i told her when she asked why it seemed necessary'--again the face flushed--'i told her!--more than 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 have no sex-pride, those upper-class women!' 'lady caterham probably didn't understand.' 'perfectly. she asked questions. no, it just didn't matter much to her that a woman should suffer that sort of thing. she didn't feel the indignity of it. perhaps if it had come to her, _she_ wouldn't have suffered,' 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 this bitterness against 'the parasite class,' she wiped out the memory of it by the enthusiasm with which she spoke of those other women, her fellow-workers. 'our women are wonderful!' she lifted her tired head. 'i knew they'd never 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 clinging round her, her weather-beaten tam on one side. but in the confident look with which she spoke of 'our women,' the brow had cleared. you saw that it was beautiful. miss levering stood at the door with an anxious eye on the stair, as if fearful of the home-coming of 'her fellow-coward,' or, direr catastrophe--old mr. fox-moore's discovering the damning fact of this outlaw's presence under his roof! yet, even so, torn thus between dread and desire to pluck out the heart of the new mystery, 'the militant woman,' miss levering did not speed the parting guest. as though recognizing fully now that the prophesied use was not going to be made 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 see me--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 work among the women in wales. we have great hopes of those west-country women. 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 welsh women, 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 been seeing just recently what they're made of, too!' she paused on the threshold and began to tell in a low voice of women 'new to the work,' who had been wavering, uncertain if they could risk imprisonment--poor women with husbands and children. 'when they heard _what it might mean_--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 save the younger ones from having to face that sort of thing. that was how we got some of the wives and mothers.' she went on with a stern emotion that was oddly contagious, telling about a certain scene at the headquarters of the union. against the grey and squalid background of a poor women's movement, stood out in those next seconds a picture that the true historian who is to come will not neglect. 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 women that if they shared in the agitation, they were not only facing imprisonment, but unholy handling. 'it was only fair to let them know the worst,' said the woman at the door, '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 of this aspect of the battle--their horror and their shame. at the memory of 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, it was 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 simplicity with which they accepted aid--the absence in the responsible ones of conventional gratitude. this became matter for both surprise and instruction to the outsider. it no doubt had the effect of chilling and alienating the 'philanthropist on the make.' even to the less ungenerous, not bargainers for approbation or for influence, even in their case the deep-rooted suspicion we have been taught to cultivate for one another, makes the gift of good faith so difficult that it can be given freely only to people like these, people who plainly and daily suffered for their creed, who stood to lose all the things most of us strive for, people who valued neither comfort, nor money, nor the world's good word. that they took help, and even sacrifice, as a matter of course, seemed in them mere modesty and sound good sense; tantamount to saying, 'i am not so silly or self-centred as to suppose you do this for _me_. you do it, of course, for the cause. the cause is yours--is all 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 by concern for the larger issue than by sheer personal interest. vida levering's first experience of this 'new attitude' came one late afternoon while on her way to leave cards on some people in grosvenor road. driving through pimlico about half-past six, she lifted up her eyes at the sound of many voices and beheld a mob of men and boys in the act of pursuing a little group of women, who were fleeing up a side street away from the river. the natural shrinking and disgust of 'the sheltered woman' showed in the face of the occupant of the brougham as she 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. the end of the street abutted on pimlico pier. two or three knots of people were still standing about, talking and looking up the street at the little crowd of shouting, gesticulating rowdies. a woman with a perambulator, making up her mind at just the wrong moment to cross the road, found herself almost under the feet of the fox-moore horses. the coachman pulled up sharply, and before he had driven on, the lady's eyes had 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 of the 'disturbance,' and then-- 'after all, i must go up that street. drive fast till you get near those people. quick!' 'up _there_, miss?' 'yes, yes. make haste!' for the crowd was moving on, and still no sign of a policeman. by the time the brougham caught up with them, the little huddle of folk had nearly reached the top of the street. in the middle of the _mêlée_ a familiar face. ernestine blunt! 'oh, henderson!'--miss levering put her head out of the window--'that girl! 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 had passed the storm centre. the lady hanging out of the window looked back and saw that ernestine's face, very pink as to cheeks, very bright as to eyes, was turned quite unruffled on the rabble. 'can't you see the meeting's over?' she called out. 'you boys go home now and think about what we've told you.' the reply to that was a laugh and a concerted 'rush' that all but carried the girl and her companions off their feet. to henderson's petrifaction, the door of the brougham was hastily opened and then slammed to, leaving miss levering in the road, saying to him over her shoulder-- 'wait just round the corner, unless i call.' with which she hurried across the street, her eyes on the little face that, in spite of its fresh colouring, looked so pathetically tired. making her way round the outer fringe of the crowd, vida saw on the other side--near where ernestine and her sore-beset companions stood with their backs to the wall--an opening in the dingy ranks. fleet of foot, 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 vida levering's face, and then, turning round, said-- 'where's mrs. brown?' 'never mind mrs. brown!' whispered the strange lady, drawing off as the rowdy young men came surging round that side. there was another rush and a yell, and vida fled. when next she turned to look, it was to see two women making a sudden dash for liberty. they had 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 jeered frantically as the other women fled. it was too much. not ernestine's isolation alone, the something childish in the brilliant face would have enlisted a less sympathetic observer. a single moment's wavering and the lady made for the place where the besiegers massed less thick. she was near enough now to call out over the rowdies' heads-- 'come. why do you stay there?' faces turned to look at her; while ernestine shouted back the cryptic sentence-- 'it wasn't my bus!' _bus?_ had danger robbed her of her reason? the boys were cheering now and looking past miss levering: she turned, bewildered, to see 'mrs. brown' and a sister reformer mounting the top of a sober london road car. they had been running for that, then--and not for life! miss levering 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 followed the new face as simply as though she had been waiting for just that summons. the awful moment was when, with a shout, the tail of rowdies followed after. miss levering had not bargained for that. her agitated glance left the unsavoury horde at her heels and went nervously up and down the street. it was plainly not only, nor even chiefly, the hooligans she feared, but the amazéd eye of some acquaintance. bad enough to meet henderson's! 'jump in!' she said hastily to the girl, and then, 'go on!' she called out 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 an air 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 a soothing, 'motherly' sort of way, calculated to steady the lady's nerves--reassuring the rescuer. vida's eye fell on the festoon of braid falling from the dark cloth skirt. 'well, the polite attentions of your friends seem to have rather damaged your 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 at battersea at----' 'what were you doing at pimlico pier?' 'holding a meeting for the government employees--the people who work for the 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 the docks, 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 while they 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--whenever there's time.' 'isn't it a pity not to get your food regularly? won't you last longer if 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 are disgraced, 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 difference to more than one life. those days of the summer that miss claxton spent indoctrinating the women of wales, and that mrs. chisholm utilized in 'organizing scotland,' were dedicated by ernestine and her friends to stirring up london and the various dim and populous worlds of the suburbs. much oftener than even mrs. fox-moore knew, her sister, instead of being in the houses where she was supposed to be, and doing the things she was expected to be doing, might have been seen in highly unexpected haunts prosecuting her acquaintance with cockney crowds, never learning ernestine's fearlessness of them, and yet in some way fascinated almost as much as she was repelled. at first she would sit in a hansom at safe distance from the turmoil that was usually created by the expounders of what 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 their hands.' as the crowd broke and dissolved, the lady in the hansom would throw open the doors, and standing up in front of the dashboard, she would hail and carry off the arch-agitator, while the crowd surged round. several times this programme had been carried out, when one afternoon, after seeing the girl and her big leather portfolio safe in the cab, and the cab safe out of the crowd, vida heaved a sigh of relief. '_there!_ now tell me, what did you do yesterday?'--meaning, how in the world did you manage without me to take care of you? 'yesterday? we had a meeting down at the woolwich arsenal. and we distributed handbills for two hours. and we had a debate in the evening at 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 her new 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 you looked 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,' she added. 'i don't think i knew about that,' said ernestine, absently. then alert, disdainful, 'fancy the member for wrotton saying---- yes, we went to see him 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. his idea seemed to be to get us to promise to behave nicely while the overworked house of commons considered the iniquity of some men having more than one vote--they hadn't a minute this session to consider the much greater iniquity of no women having any vote at all! of course he said he _had_ been a great friend to woman suffrage, until he got shocked with our tactics.' she smiled broadly. 'we asked him what he'd ever done to show his friendship.' 'well?' 'he didn't seem to know the answer to that. what strikes me most about men is their being so illogical.' * * * * * lady john ulland had been openly surprised, even enthusiastically grateful, at discovering before this that vida levering was ready to help her with some of the unornamental duties that fall to the lot of the 'great ladies' of england. 'i don't know what that discontented creature, her sister, means by saying 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 concerts helped to rebuild the chantry? 'such a _nice creature_!' was lord john's contribution. then, showing the profundity of his friendly interest, 'why doesn't she find some nice fella 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 some understanding of the changed face life was coming to wear for her. when he found that laughing at her failed of the desired effect, he offered touching testimony to his affection for her by trying to understand. it was no small thing for a man like borrodaile, who, for the rest, found it no easier than others of his class rightly to interpret the modern scene as looked down upon from the narrow lancet of the mediæval tower which 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 quite unconquerable 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 go slumming. 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. 'let the proletariat attend to the affairs of the proletariat. they don't need a woman like you.' 'they not only need--what's more, they are getting, all kinds! it's that, more than anything else, that shows their strength. the miracle it is, to see the way they all work together! women, the poorest and most ignorant (except of hardship), working shoulder to shoulder with women of substance and position. oh, yes, they are winning over that sort, teachers and university graduates--a whole group who would be called intellectuals if they were men--all doing what men have said women could never do--pulling together. and, oh! that reminds me,' she said suddenly, smiling as one who has thought of a capital joke at her companion's expense: 'it's my duty to warn you. i went with your daughter to lunch at her country club, and they were all discussing the suffrage! a good dozen! and sophia--well, sophia came out in a new light. i want you, please, to believe _i've_ never talked to her.' 'oh,' said borrodaile, with an unconscious arrogance, 'sophia doesn't wait to be talked to. she takes her own line. politics are a tradition with our women. i found her reading the parliamentary debates when she was fourteen.' 'and your boys, are they equally----?' he sighed. 'the world has got very topsy-turvy. all my girls are boys--and all my boys are girls.' 'well, sophia can take care of the country club! i remember how we scoffed when she organized it.' 'it's had precisely the effect i expected. takes her away from her own home, 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 your garden 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 of the 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, to hold feeble little debates in, to listen to pettifogging little lectures, and imagine they're _dans le mouvement_.' 'they are to accustom women to thinking and acting together. while you and i have been laughing at them, they've been building up a huge machinery of organization, ready to the hand of the chief engineer who is to come.' 'horrible thought!' 'well, horrible or not, i don't despise clubs any more. they're largely responsible for the new corporate spirit among women.' he pulled himself out of the cavernous comfort of his chair, and stood glooming in front of the screen that hid the fireless grate. 'clubs, societies, leagues, they're all devices for robbing people of their freedom. it's no use to talk to me. i'm one of the few individualists left in the world. i never wanted in my life to belong to any body.' her pealing laughter made him explain, smiling, 'to any corporation, was what i meant.' 'no, no. you got it right the first time! the reason that, in spite of my late perversities, you don't cast me off is because i'm one of the few women who don't make claims.' 'it is the claim of the community that i resent. i want to keep clear of all complication. i want to be really free. i could never have pledged myself to any church or any party.' 'perhaps'--she smiled at him--'perhaps that's why you are a beautiful and ineffectual angel.' 'the reason i never did is because i care about liberty--the thing itself. you are in danger, i see, of being enamoured of the name. in thought women are always half a century or so behind. what patriot's voice 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? just as men are finding out the vanity of the old dreams, the women seem to be seizing on them. the mass of intelligent men have no longing for political power. if a sort of public prominence is thrust on men'--he shrugged as if his shoulders chafed under some burden--'_in their hearts_ they curse their lot. i suppose it's all so new to the woman she is amused. she even--i'm _told_'--his lifted hand, with the closed fingers suddenly flung open, advertised the difficulty a sane person found in crediting the uncanny rumour--'i'm _told_ that women even like public 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 so much, unless it is having to make a speech.' 'well, now, shall i stop "playing at ma'ams" and just say that when i hear a man like you explaining in that superior way how immensely he _doesn't care_, i seem to see that that is precisely the worst indictment against your class. if special privilege breeds that----' it merely amused him to see that she was forgetting herself. he sat down again. he stretched out his long legs and interlaced his fingers across his 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 work and to sacrifice, if to get those impulses out of life, you must carry your share of the world's burden, then no intelligent creature can be sorry 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 is mercifully small.' 'it would grow if you sweated for your bread.' 'help! help!' he said, not above his usual tone, but slowly he turned his fine head as the door opened. he fixed the amused grey-green eyes on old mr. fox-moore: 'a small and inoffensive pillar of the upper house is in 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 the stairs. '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 i ought 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 hand again. 'good-bye, my dear,' he said gently. 'it's great fun having you in the world!' he spoke as though he had personally arranged this provision against dulness for his latter end. * * * * * the next evening he came up to her at a party to ask why she had absented herself from a dinner the night before where he expected to find 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 if you'd seen me.' 'where?' 'wandering about the purlieus of battersea.' 'bless me! who with?' 'why, with that notorious suffragette, miss ernestine blunt. oh, you'd have stared even harder if you'd seen us, i promise you! she with a leather portfolio under one arm--a most business-like apparatus, and a dinner-bell in one hand.' 'a _dinner_ bell!' he put his hand to his brow as one who feels reason reeling. 'yes, holding fast to the clapper so that we shouldn't affright the isle out of season. i, if you please, carrying an armful of propagandist literature.' '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,' he laughed, but no one who knew him could mistake his seriousness. 'come over here.' he found a sofa a little apart from the crush. 'who goes with 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 a responsibility.' '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 highly original. it is simple beyond anything in the world. they select an open space at the convergence of several thoroughfares--if possible, near an omnibus centre. for these smaller meetings they don't go to the length of hiring a lorry. do you know what a lorry is?' 'i regret to say my education in that direction leaves something to be desired.' 'last week i was equally ignorant. to-day i can tell you all about it. a lorry is a cart or a big van with the top off. but such elegancies are for 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 the battersea restaurateur.' 'naturally--poor man!' 'exactly. he refuses. but he also asks questions. he is amazed. he is against the franchise for women. "you'll _never_ get the vote!" "well, we must have something," says ernestine. "i'm sure it isn't against your principles to lend a woman a chair." she lays hands on one. "i never said you could have one of my----" "but you meant to, didn't you? isn't a chair one of the things men have always been ready to offer us? thank you. i'll take good care of it and bring it back quite safe." out marches ernestine with the enemy's property. she carries the chair into the road and plants it in front of the fire station. usually there are two or three "helpers." sometimes ernestine, if you please, carries the meeting entirely on her own shoulders--those same shoulders being about so wide. yes, she's quite a little thing. if there are helpers she sends them up and down the street sowing a fresh crop of handbills. when ernestine is ready to begin she stands up on that chair, in the open street and, as if she were doing the most natural thing in the world, she begins ringing that dinner bell. naturally people stop and stare and draw nearer. ernestine tells me that battersea has got so used now to the ding-dong and to associating it with "our meeting," that as far off as they hear it the inhabitants say, "it's the suffragettes! come along!" and from one street and another the people emerge laughing and running. of course as soon as there is a little crowd that attracts more, and so the snowball grows. sometimes the traffic is impeded. oh, it's a much odder world than i had suspected!' for a moment laughter interrupted the narrative. '"the salvation army doesn't _quite_ approve of us," ernestine says, "and the socialists don't love us either! we always take their audiences away from them--poor things," says ernestine, with a sympathetic air. "_you_ do!" i say, because'--vida nodded 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 in particular they come to hear," she says, "it's just that a woman making a speech is so much more interesting than a man making a speech." it surprises 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 to her, i was stirred. i was even thrilled. she had that crowd in the hollow of her hand! when she wound up, "the motion is carried. the meeting is over!" and climbed down off her perch, the mob cheered and pressed round her so close that i had to give up trying to join her. i extricated myself and crossed the street. she is so little that, unless she's on a chair, she is swallowed up. for a long time i couldn't see her. i didn't know whether she was taking the names and addresses of the people who want to join the union, or whether she had slipped away and gone home, till i saw practically the whole crowd moving off after her up the street. i followed for some distance on the off-side. she went calmly on her way, a tiny figure in a long grey coat between two helpers, the lancashire cotton-spinner and the cockney working woman, with that immense tail of boys and men (and a few women) all following after--quite quiet and well-behaved--just following, because it didn't occur to them to do anything else. in a way she was still exercising her hold over her meeting. i saw, presently, there was one person in front of her--a great big fellow--he looked like a carter--he was carrying home the chair!' they both laughed. 'well, she's found a thick-and-thin advocate in you apparently,' said borrodaile. 'ah! if only you could _see_ her! trudging along, apparently quite oblivious of her quaint following, dinner bell in one hand, leather case piled high with "tracts" on the other arm, some of the leaflets sliding off, tumbling on to the pavement.' vida laughed as she recalled the scene. 'then dozens of hands darting out to help her to recover her precious 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't the quaintness all to herself.' 'no. oh, no,' vida agreed. 'i thought of you, and how you'd look if you had come on us suddenly. after the crowd had melted and the helpers had vanished into the night, we went on together--all the way, from the battersea 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 will ever know half how wonderful. you, for instance, you haven't, after all i've said, you haven't _an idea_!' 'oh, i don't doubt--i don't think i ever doubted that women have a facility 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 for the women.' 'how is it bad?' 'how can it fail to be! all that horrible publicity. all that concentrating of crude popular interest on themselves! believe me, nobody who watches a public career carefully but sees the demoralizing effect the limelight has even on men's characters. and i suppose you'll admit that men are less delicately organized than women.' 'i can only say i've seen the sort of thing you mean in our world, where a good many women have only themselves to think about. i've looked in vain for those evil effects among the suffrage women. it almost seems, on the contrary, as if there were something ennobling in working for a public cause.' 'personally, i can't say i've observed it--not among the political women of my acquaintance!' 'but you only know the old kind. yes, the kind whose idea of influence is to make men fall in love with them, whose idea of working is to put on 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 persuasion that make the ideal women and'--with an ironic little bow--'the impassioned convert.' 'i'm bound to admit,' she said stoutly, 'that i think the suffrage movement in england has the advantage of being engineered by a very remarkable set of women. not in ability alone, but in dignity of character. people will never know, i sometimes think, how much the movement 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 future will know. but i seem to be the only one who minds.' she laughed. 'i could take my oath _they_ never give the matter a thought. one thing----' she leaned forward and then checked herself. 'no, i've talked about 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 with men.' 'of course! she knew you were watching her. she no doubt thinks the eyes of the world are upon her.' 'on the contrary, it's her unselfconsciousness that's the most surprising thing about her. or, no! it's something more interesting even than that. she is conscious, in a way, of the hold she has on the public. but it hasn't any of the deteriorating effect you were 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 a little thing of three, "what a clever baby you are!" or, "you've got the most beautiful eyes in the world." the child would realize that you meant well, that you were being pleasant, but it wouldn't think about either its cleverness or its eyes. it's like that with ernestine. when i said to her, "you made an astoundingly good speech to-night. the best i've heard even you make," she looked at me with a sort of half-absent-minded, half-wondering expression, without a glimmer of personal 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, she interrupted me with a little laugh, "it's a sign of grace in you not to get tired of our speeches," she said. "i suppose we repeat ourselves a good 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, that she's always fresh and stimulating, because--i suppose it's because she's always thinking of the great impersonal object, and talking about it out of her own eager heart. ernestine? she's as unhackneyed as a spring 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 up to.' '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 me keenly alive again to all sorts of things that i see now don't matter--things that have lost some of their power to trouble me, but that i should feel for you.' 'what sort of----' 'oh, oddities, uglinesses--things that abound, i'm told, at all men's meetings, and that yet, somehow, we'd like to eliminate from women's quite 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 walking along the thames embankment in the neighbourhood of pimlico pier. he passed without seeing the only other person visible at that quiet hour--one of the 'unemployed,' like himself, but save in that respect sufficiently unlike the earl of borrodaile was the grimy, unshaven tramp collapsed in one corner of the double-seated municipal bench. lord borrodaile's fellow-citizen leaned heavily on one of the stout scrolls of ironwork which, repeated at regular intervals on each side, divided the seat into six compartments. no call for any one to notice such a man--there are so many of them in these piping times of peace and prosperity. then, too, they go crawling about our world protected from notice, as the creatures are who take their colouring from bark or leaf or arctic snows. so these other forms of life, weather-beaten, smoke-begrimed, subdued to the hues of the dusty roads they travel, and the unswept spaces where they sleep--over these the eye glides unseeing. as little interested in the gentleman as the gentleman was in him, the wastrel contemplated the river with grimly speculative eye. but when suddenly borrodaile's sauntering figure came to a standstill near the lower end of the bench, the tramp turned his head and watched dully the gloveless hands cross one over the other on the knob of the planted umbrella; the bent head; one hand raised now, groping about the waistcoat, lighting upon what it sought and raising a pince-nez, through which he read the legend scrawled in chalk upon the pavement. with a faint saturnine smile lord borrodaile dropped the glass, and took his bearings. he consulted his watch, and walked on. upon his return a quarter of an hour later, he viewed the same little-alluring prospect from the opposite side of the street. the tramp still stared at the river, but on his side of the bench, at the other end, sat a lady reading a book. between the two motionless figures and the parapet, a group of dirty children were wrangling. lord borrodaile crossed the wide street and paused a moment just behind the lady. he leaned forward as if to speak to her across the middle division of the bench. but he reconsidered, and turning his back to her, sat down and drew an evening paper out of his pocket. he was so little like that glittering figment, the peer of popular imagination, that the careless sobriety of dress and air in the person of this third occupant of the capacious double bench struck an even less arresting note than the frank wretchedness of the other man. presently one of the children burst out crying, and continued to howl lustily till the lady looked up from her page and inquired what was the matter. the unwashed infant stared open-mouthed at this intruder upon her grief. instead of answering, she regarded the lady with a bored astonishment, as who should say: what are you interrupting me for, just in the middle of a good yell? she then took up the strain as nearly as possible where she had left off. she was getting on very well with this second attempt at a demonstration until miss levering made some mention of a penny, whereupon the infant again suspended her more violent manifestations, though the tears kept rolling down. after various attempts on the lady's part, the little girl was induced to 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 quietly listening behind his paper. when the child couldn't answer those questions that were of a general nature, the tramp did, and the three were presently quite a pleasant family party. the only person 'out of it' was the petrified gentleman on the other side. a few minutes before the arrival of the suffragettes, two nondescript young men, in a larky mood, appeared with the announcement that they'd seen '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 the enthusiasm with which they availed themselves of the rest of lord borrodaile's side of the bench, it was obvious they had hurried to the spot 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 sunday aufternoons. 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 of spirited young men he did not specify. as they lit their cigarettes the company received further additions--one obviously otherwise employed than with politics. her progress--was it symbolic?--was necessarily slow, for a small child clung to her skirt, and she trundled a sickly boy in a go-cart. the still sniffling person in possession of the middle seat on the other side (her anxious and watery eye fixed on the penny) was told by miss levering to make room for the new-comers. the child's way of doing so was to crowd closer to the neighbourhood of the fascinating coin. but that mandate to 'make room' had proved a conversational opening through which poured--or trickled rather--the mother's sorry little history. her husband was employed in the clothing department of the army and navy stores--yes, nine years now. he was considered very lucky to keep his place when the staff was reduced. but the costliness of raising the children! it was well 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 of her babies contrasted strangely with her patient tenderness to the querulous boy in the go-cart. meanwhile miss levering had not forgotten her earlier acquaintance. as the wan mother watched the end of the transaction which left the sniffler now quite consoled, in possession of the modest coin, she said naïvely-- 'when anybody gives one of my children a penny, i always save half of it for them the next day.' vida levering turned her head away, and in so doing met lord borrodaile's eyes over the back of the bench. she gave a faint start of surprise, 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 show their interest in a matter that's supposed to concern them so much?' vida craned her head. 'beside you, only one!' borrodaile's mocking voice went on. 'isn't this an instance of your sex's indifference to the whole thing? isn't it equally an instance of man's keenness about public questions?' he couldn't forbear adding in a whisper, 'even such a question, and such men?' vida still craned, searching in vain for refutation in female form. but she did not take her failure lying down. 'the men who are here,' she said, 'the great majority of men at all open-air meetings seem to be loafers. woman--whatever else she may or may 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 the silliest description. yes, and if she's a decent person at all, she's not 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 a woman arriving from opposite directions. 'yes,' she whispered; 'that's ernestine with the pile of handbills on her arm.' the lady sent out smiles and signals of welcome with a lifted hand. the busy propagandist took no notice. she was talking to her two companions, one of whom, the younger with head on one side, kept shooting out glances half provocative, half appealing, towards lord borrodaile and the young men. she seemed as keenly alive to the fact of these male presences as the two other women seemed oblivious. 'which is the one,' asked lord borrodaile, 'that you were telling me about?' 'why, ernestine blunt--the pink-cheeked one in the long alpaca coat.' 'she doesn't look so very devilish,' he laughed. after an impatient moment's hope that devilishness might develop, he said, 'she hasn't seen you 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 much stock in me.' 'why doesn't she?' 'oh, there are only two kinds of people that interest ernestine. those who'll be active in carrying on the propaganda, and those who have yet to be converted.' 'well, i'm disappointed,' he teased, perceiving how keen his friend was that 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 kept glancing at them. ernestine, having finished what she was saying, made her way to where miss levering sat, not, it would appear, for any purpose so frivolous as saying good evening, but to deposit what were left of the handbills and the precious portfolio in the care of one well known by now to have a motherly oversight of such properties. lord borrodaile's eyes narrowed with amusement as he watched the hurried pantomime. instead of 'thank you,' as vida meekly accepted the incongruous and by no 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 in the 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 get some 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 going to worry you,' she caught herself up. then, confidentially, 'we've got one 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 your enthusiasm, was implied) 'to show she's a helper? subscribes?' 'i expect she'll subscribe, too. she takes such an interest. plenty of courage, too.' 'how do you know?' 'well'--the voice dropped--'she's _all right_, but she belongs to rather stodgy people. bothers about respectability, and that sort of thing. but she came along with me this afternoon distributing handbills all over the 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 her enthusiasm--'when we got to finsbury circus she said'--ernestine paused as if struck afresh by the merits of the new recruit--'she said, "_give me 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 getting shy, and pretending she hadn't anything to do with me, she took the chalk and wrote, "votes for women!" all over the pavement of finsbury circus.' ernestine paused a moment that miss levering might applaud the new 'helper.' 'i thought that a very good sign in such a respectable person.' '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'll have to let her speak if you won't,' she said, a trifle anxiously. 'mrs. thomas, by all means,' murmured borrodaile, as ernestine, seeing her 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's why we have to break in new people. oh, she sent me some notes, that girl did. i must give them back to her.' ernestine stooped and opened the portfolio on miss levering's lap. she rummaged through the bulging pockets. 'i thought,' said miss levering, with obvious misgiving, 'i thought i hadn't seen that affected-looking creature before.' 'oh, she'll get over all that,' ernestine whispered. 'you haven't much opinion 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 a policeman in the offing. she summoned her allies. 'it's nearly time for those army and navy workers to come out. the men will come first,' she said, 'and five minutes after, they let the women out. 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 to face 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 the wrong 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 own emotions, and drew the ample mauve matron into the official group close to where miss levering sat nursing the handbills. 'it's easy enough talking to these little meetings. they're quite good and quiet--not a bit like hyde park.' (one of the young men poked the other. they exchanged looks.) 'but there are three things we all agree it's just as well to keep in mind: not to talk about ourselves'--she measured off the tit-bits of wisdom with a slim forefinger--'not to say anything against the press, and, if possible, remember to praise the police.' 'praise the police!' ejaculated the mauve matron. 'sh!' said ernestine, softly. but not so easily was the tide of indignation stemmed. 'i saw with my own eyes----' began the woman. 'yes, yes, but----' she lowered her voice, borrodaile had to strain to catch what she said, 'you see it's no use beating our heads against a stone wall. a movement that means to be popular must have the police on its 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's not a bit of good to antagonize the police or the press. if they aren't our friends, we've got to make them our friends. they're both _much_ better than they were. they must be encouraged!' said the wise young daniel, with a little nod. then as she saw or felt that the big matron might elude her vigilance and break out into indiscretion, 'why, we had a reporter in from the _morning magnifier_ only to-day. he said, "the public seems to have got tired of reading that you spit and scratch and prod policemen with your hatpins. now, do you mind saying what is it you really do?" i told him to come here this afternoon. now, when i've opened the meeting, _you'll_ tell him!' 'oh, _dear_!' the young woman patted her fringe, 'do you suppose we'll be in the _magnifier_ to-morrow? how dreadful!' during this little interchange a procession of men streaming homeward in their hundreds came walking down the embankment in twos and threes or singly, shambling past the loosely gathered assemblage about the bench. the child on the riverward side still clutching its penny was unceremoniously ousted. as soon as ernestine had mounted the seat the slackly held gathering showed signs of cohesion. the waiting units drew closer. the dingy procession slowed--the workmen, looking up at the young face with the fluttering sycamore shadows printed on its pink and white, grinned or frowned, but many halted and listened. through the early part of the speech miss levering kept looking out of the corner of her eye to see what effect it had on borrodaile. but borrodaile gave no sign. 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 catch and hold the attention of those tired workmen. they hadn't stopped there to 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. lord borrodaile had privately asked for enlightenment on the same score. vida had only smiled. one man varied the monotony by demanding why, if it would be a good thing for the working class to have women voting, why didn't the labour party take up the question. 'some of the labour party have,' ernestine told them, 'but the others are afraid. they've been told that women are such slaves to convention--such timid creatures! they know their own women aren't, but they're doubtful about the rest. the labour party, you know'--she spoke with a condescending forbearance--'the labour party is young yet, and knows what it's like to feel timid. some of the labour men have the wild notion that women would all vote conservative.' 'so they would!' but ernestine shook her head. 'while we are trying to show the people who say that, that even if they were right, it would be no excuse whatever for denying our claim to vote whichever way we thought best. while we are going to the root of the principle of the thing, another lot of logical gentlemen are sure to say, "oh, it would never do to have women 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 who think we'd all turn tory and the men who are sure we'd all be socialists, we don't seem likely to get very far, unless we do something to show them we mean to have it for no better reason than just that we're human beings!' 'isn't she delightfully--direct!' whispered miss levering, eager to cull some modest flower of praise. 'oh, direct enough!' his tone so little satisfied the half-maternal pride of the other woman that she was almost prepared for the slighting accent in which he presently asked, 'is this the sort of thing that's supposed to convert people to a great constitutional change?' 'it isn't our women would get the vote,' a workman called out. 'it's the rich women.' 'is it only the rich men who have the vote?' demanded ernestine. 'you know it isn't. we are fighting to get the franchise on precisely the same 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 the lodger 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 think she's an abomination, but----?' she paused for a handsome disavowal. borrodaile looked at the eager face--vida's, for miss blunt's was calm as a may morning. as he did not instantly speak, 'but you can't deny she's got extremely good wits.' he seemed to relent before such persuasiveness. 'she's got a delicious little 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 most out-and-out socialist among us would welcome the enfranchisement of six duchesses or all the women born with red hair; we don't care on what plea the entering wedge gets in. but let me tell you there aren't any people on earth so blind to their own interests as just you working men when you oppose or when you are indifferent to women's having votes. all women 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 the working 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 the homeward-streaming women who had just been let out. 'we know, and you men know----' the speaker nailed her advantage, 'that even the government that's being forced to become a model employer where men are concerned, the very _government_ is responsible for sweating thousands of women in state employments! we know and you know that in those work-rooms over yonder these very women have been sitting weighed down by the rumour of a reduction in their wages already so much below the 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, 'women everywhere 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 we must work to uphold it! this system that crushes us. we must swell the budget, we must help to pay the bill! what _fools_ we've all been! what fools 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 some respect for you if you'd carried a bomb into the house of commons, but a miserable little scuffle with the police!' 'here's a gentleman who is inciting us to carry bombs. now, that shocks me.' the crowd recovered its spirits at the notion of the champion-shocker shocked. 'we've been dreadfully browbeaten about our tactics, but that gentleman with his bad advice makes our tactics sound as innocent and reasonable as they actually are. when you talk in that wild way about bombs--you--i may be a hooligan'--she held up the delicate pink-and-white face with excellent effect--'but you do shock me.' it wore well this exquisitely humorous jest about shocking a suffragette. the whole crowd was one grin. 'i'm specially shocked when i hear a _man_ advocating such a thing! you men have other and more civilized ways of getting the government to pay attention to abuses. now listen to what i'm saying: for it's the justification 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 no right to resort to violence; you have a better way. we have _no_ way but agitation. 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 we outlive!'--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, like you, they think that if a woman wants justice for other women she must have a grievance of her own. i've heard them ask ernestine in battersea--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 to listen to _me_!' vida caught herself up. 'this is about the deputation of 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 suffrage that 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 most friendly spirit in the world. 'two nice pieces,' ernestine held up each hand very much like a school child rejoicing over slices of cake. 'one we are taking'--she drew in a hand--'the other we aren't'--she let it fall. 'he said we must win people to our way of thinking. we're doing it; at a rate that must astonish, if it doesn't even embarrass him. the other piece of distinguished advice he gave us was of a more doubtful character.' her small hands took it up gingerly. again she seemed to weigh it there in the face of the multitude. 'the prime minister said we "must have patience." she threw the worthless counsel into the air and tossed 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 this same numbing slavish patience we wouldn't be standing before the world to-day, political outcasts--catalogued with felons and lunatics----' 'and peers!' called a voice. 'we are _done_ with patience!' said ernestine, hotly; 'and for that reason there is at last some hope for the women's cause. now miss scammell will speak to you.' a strange thing happened when miss scammell got up. she seemed to leave her attractiveness, such as it was, behind when she climbed up on the bench. standing mute, on a level with the rest, her head deprecatingly on 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 of herself, and so they 'went for her'--the very same young men who had got up and given her a choice of the seats they had been at the pains to come early to secure. to be sure, when, with a smile, she had sat down only 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 too compromising to remain alongside the charmer. but when miss scammell stood up on that same bench, she was assumed to have left the realm of smiles and meaning looks where she was mistress and at home. she had ventured out into the open, not only without the sword of pointed speech--that falls to few--but this young lady had not even the armour of absolute earnestness. when she found that smiling piteously wouldn't do, she proceeded, looking more and more like a scared white rabbit, to tell about the horrible cases of lead-poisoning among the girls in certain china and earthenware works. all that she had to say was true and significant enough. but it was no use. they jeered and howled her down for pure pleasure in her misery. she trembled and lost her thread. she very nearly cried. vida wondered that the little chairwoman didn't fly 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 weathers this, 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 among women was on the increase and read out from her poor crumpled, shaking notes, the statistics of infant and still-birth mortality, the unhappy new 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 the crowd 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't believe in giving a fair hearing. i would like to ask that man who thinks himself so superior, _that_ one in the grey cap, whether he is capable 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 seeking refuge on the outskirts. 'bad as miss scammell was, she made me rather ashamed of myself,' vida confided to borrodaile. 'yes,' he said sympathetically, 'it always makes one rather ashamed--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 a type of all the idle women the world over. leaving it to the poor and the 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 change he had thought he knew so well. what was the new thing in it? not admiration merely, not affection alone--something almost fierce behind the half-protecting tenderness with which she watched the chairman's duel with the mob. borrodaile lifted a hand--people were far too engrossed, he knew, to notice--and he laid it on vida's, which had tightened 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 everybody else!' vida smiled. it was so plain whom he meant by 'everybody.' lord borrodaile gave a faint laugh. he probably knew that would 'bring her round.' it did. it brought her quick eyes to his face; it brought low words. '_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 that backfisch as if she were demosthenes.' 'we don't think she's a demosthenes. we know she is something much more significant--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. 'look at all the other women. some of them are very intelligent. our interest in our fellow-woman seems queer and unnatural to you because you don't realize 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 finds interesting in _that_ way at _that_ minute. other women bore him. but other women have always been mightily interesting to us! now, sh! let's listen.' 'i can understand those callow youths,' unwarily he persisted; 'she's pink and pert and all the rest, but _you_----' 'oh, will you _never_ understand? don't you know women are more civilized than men?' 'woman! she'll be the last animal domesticated.' it seemed as if he preferred to have her angry rather than oblivious of him. but not for nothing did she belong to a world which dares to say whatever it wants to say. 'we are civilized enough, at all events'--there was an ominous sparkle in her eye--'to listen to men speakers clever or dull--we listen quietly enough. but men!--a person must be of your own sex for you to be able to regard him without distraction. if the woman is beautiful enough, you are intoxicated. if she's plain enough, you are impatient. all you see in 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 much this girl can teach me.' 'i'm sorry for you that any of miss scammell's interesting speech was lost,' the chairman was saying. 'she was telling you just the kind of thing that you men ought to know, the kind of thing you get little chance of knowing about from men. yet those wretched girls who die young of lead-poisoning, or live long enough to bring sickly babies into the world, those poor working women look to you working men for help. are they wrong to look to you, or are they right? you working men represent the majority of the electorate. _you_ can change things if you will. if you don't, don't think the woman will suffer alone. we shall all suffer together. more and more the masters are saying, "we'll get rid of these men--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, or else they don't care what sort of world they leave to their children. if you men weren't so blind, you'd see the women will be in politics what they are in the home--your best friends.' 'haw! haw! listen at 'er!' '_with_ the women you would be strong. without them you are--what you are!' the ringing contempt in her tone was more than one gentleman could put up 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 have insisted on governing alone. what's the result? misery and degradation to the masses, and to the few--the rich and high-placed--for them corruption 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. but it's nonsense. nobody knows better than we that the best interests of men and women are identical--they _can't be separated_. it's trying to separate them that's made the whole trouble.' 'oh, you know it all!' 'well, you see'--she put on her most friendly and reasonable air--'men have never been obliged to study women's point of view. but we've been obliged to study the men's point of view. it's natural we should understand you a great deal better than you understand us. and though you 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 this agitation, then you'll help us to get what we want. we believe the day will come when the old ideal of men standing by the women--when that ideal 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 to you. 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 the seat. she nodded, and repeated, 'don't wait.' his answer to that was to turn not only a bored but a slightly injured face towards the woman who had, not without difficulty, balanced her rotund form on the bench at the far end. she might have been the comfortable wife of a rural grocer. she spoke the good english you may not infrequently hear among that class, but it became clear, as she went on, that she was a person of a wider cultivation. 'you'd better go. she'll be stodgy and dull.' vida spoke with a real sympathy 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's aspect 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 little lane their going left was not yet closed, for the whole general attention was obviously slackened. this woman wasn't interesting enough even to boo at. the people who didn't go home began to talk to one another. but in vida's face--what had brought to it that still intensity? borrodaile moved so that he could follow the fixed look. one of the infrequently passing hansoms had stopped. was she looking at that? two laughing people leaning out, straining to catch what the mauve orator was saying. suddenly borrodaile pulled his slack figure together. 'sophia!' he ejaculated softly, 'and stonor!--by the beard of the prophet!' he half rose, whether more annoyed or amazed it would be hard to tell. 'we're discovered!' he said, in a laughing whisper. as he turned to add 'the murder's out,' he saw that vida had quietly averted her face. she was leaning her head on her hand, so that it masked her features. even if the woman who was speaking had not been the object of such interest as the people in the hansom had to bestow, even had either of them looked towards vida's corner, only a hat and a gauze ruffle would have been seen. borrodaile took the hint. his waning sense of the humour of the situation revived. 'perhaps, after all, if we lay low,' he said, smiling more broadly. 'it would be nuts for stonor to catch us sitting at the feet of mrs. thomas.' he positively chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. he had slipped back into his corner, but he couldn't help craning his neck to watch those two leaning over the door of the hansom, while they discussed some point with animation. several times the man raised his hand as if to give an order through the trap door. each time sophia laughingly 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 the women! i'm rather relieved on the whole.' he turned round and spoke into vida's ear. 'i've been a little sorry for sophia. she's never had the smallest interest in any man but that cousin of hers--and, of course, it's quite hopeless.' vida sat perfectly motionless, back to the speaker, back to the disappearing hansom, staring at the parapet. 'you can turn round now--quite safe. sophia's out of range. poor sophia!' 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 hold of--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 to bishopsmead. '_i_ wasn't deceived,' he said, with his look of smiling malice. 'you didn't care two pins about your cousin mary and her influenza.' vida moved her expressionless face a little to the right. 'i can see sophia. but she's listening to the speech;' and vida herself, with something of an effort, seemed now to be following the sordid experiences of a girl that the speaker had befriended some years before. it was through this girl, the mauve matron said, that she herself had come into touch with the abject poor. she took a big barrack of a house in a poverty-stricken neighbourhood, and it became known that there she received and helped both men and women. 'i sympathized with the men, but it was the things the women told me that appalled me. they were too bad to be entirely believed, but i wrote them down. they haunted me. i investigated. 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-poisoning was new, to _them_--something they could take hold of.' 'well, i stick to it, you've got a good ally in this woman. let her stand 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--'the subject's too prickly.' 'too prickly for you!' the girl nodded with an anxious eye on the speaker. 'we sometimes make a passing reference--just to set men thinking, and there leave it. but it always makes them furious, of course. it does no good. either people know and just accept it, or else they won't believe, and it only gets them 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 so young,' said vida, wondering. 'it must be because for you it isn't real.' 'no, it's because i see no decent woman can think much about it and keep sane. that's why i say this one won't be any good to us. she'll never be able to see anything clearly but that one thing. she'll always be forgetting 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 the speaker's sleeve and interjected a word into the middle of a piece of depressing narrative. mrs. thomas stopped, faltered, and pulled herself up with, 'well, as i say, with my own verifications these experiences form a body of testimony 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 examine it. i went to a lady who is well known to be concerned about public questions; her husband is a member of parliament, and a person of influence. you don't know, perhaps, but she did, that there's a parliamentary commission going to sit here in london in a few weeks for the purpose of inquiring into certain police regulations which greatly concern women. who do you think are invited to serve on that commission? men. all men. not a woman in england is being consulted. the husband of the lady i went to see--he was one of the commissioners. i said 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 the commission.' '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 my records--not the worst, the average, sifted and verified. she could hardly be persuaded to glance at what i had been at so much pains to collect. you see'--she spoke as though in apology for the lady--'you see i had no official or recognized position.' 'hear, hear,' said ernestine. 'i was simply a woman whose standing in the community was all right, but i had nothing to recommend me to serious attention. i had nothing but the courage to look wrong in the face, and the conscience to report it honestly. when i told her certain things--things that are so stinging a disgrace that no decent person can hear them unmoved--when i told her of the degrading discomforts, the cruelties, that are practised against homeless women even in some of the rate-supported casual wards and the mixed lodging-houses, that lady said--sitting there in her pleasant drawing-room--she said it could not be true! my reports were exaggerated--women were sentimental--the authorities managed these places with great wisdom. they are so horrible, i said, they drive women to the streets. she assured me i was mistaken. i asked her if she had ever been inside a mixed lodging-house. she never had. but the casual wards she knew about. they were so well managed she herself wouldn't mind at all spending a night in one of these municipal provisions for the homeless. then i said, "you are the woman i am looking for! come with me one night and try it. what night shall it be?" she said she was engaged in writing a book. she could not interrupt her work. but i said, if those rate-supported places are so comfortable, it won't interfere with your work. she _turned the conversation_. she talked about the commission. the commission was going to make a thorough scientific investigation. nothing amateur about the commission. the lady was sincere'--mrs. thomas vouched for it--'she had a comfortable faith in the commission. but, i say'--the woman leaned forward in her earnestness--'i say that commission will waste its time! i don't deny it will investigate and discuss the position of the outcast women of this country. their plight, which is the work of men, will once more be inquired into by men. i say there should be women on that commission. if the middle and upper class women have the dignity and influence men pretend they have, why aren't they represented there? nobody pretends the matter doesn't concern the mothers of the nation. it concerns them horribly. 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 have had to think about these things. we believe this evil can be met--if men will let us try. it may be that only women comprehend it, since men through the ages have been helpless before it. why, then, once again, this commission of _men_? the mockery of it! setting men to make their report upon this matter to men! i am not a public speaker, but i am a wife and a mother. do you wonder that hearing about that commission gave me courage to take the first opportunity to join these brave sisters of mine who are fighting for political liberty?' she seemed for the first time to notice that a little group of sniggerers were becoming more obstreperous. 'we knew, of course, that whatever we say some of you will laugh and jeer; but, speaking for myself, no mockery that you are able to fling at us, 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't use it!--do you wonder that women come out of their homes--young, and old, and middle-aged--that we stand up here in the public places and give you scorn for scorn?' as the unheroic figure trembling stepped off the bench, she found vida levering'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 calling for new members, and giving out notices. vida bent over the shapeless mauve bundle. 'you asked that woman to go with you. i wish you'd take me.' 'ah, my dear, _i_ don't need to go again. i thought to have that lady see 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 they looked 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 first experience 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, and following the people i wanted to help into the public-houses, selling the _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 _coup de 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 powder from 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 woman in 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's face. '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 withdrawing was said in the group that had sniggered through mrs. thomas's speech. another one of that choice circle gave a great guffaw. there were still more who were amused, but less indiscreetly. three men, looking like gentlemen, 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 going to let the meeting break up on that note. 'don't you think it a little strange, considering the well-known chivalry among men--don't you think it strange that against no reform the world has ever seen----?' 'reform! wot rot!' 'if you don't admit it's reform, call it revolt!' she threw the red-hot word out among the people as if its fire scorched her. 'against no revolt has there ever been such a torrent of ridicule let loose as against the women's movement. it almost seems as if--in spite of men's well-known protecting tenderness towards woman--it almost seems as if there'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 read how every struggle towards freedom has met with opposition and abuse. we expected to have our share of those things. but we find that no movement before ours has ever had so much laughter to face.' through the renewed merriment she went on: 'yes, you wonder i admit that. we don't deny anything that's true. and i'll tell you another thing! we aren't made any prouder of our men-folk by the discovery that behind their old theory 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 how ridiculous _they_ can be. you see'--she leaned over and spoke confidentially--'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 our sleeves had to be made--like balloons!' she pulled out the loose alpaca of her own while the workmen chuckled with appreciation. 'i bet on ernestine any'ow', said a young man, with an air of admitting himself a bold original fellow. 'well, open laughter is less dangerous laughter. it's even a guide; it helps us to find out things some of us wouldn't know otherwise. lots of women used to be taken in by that talk about feminine influence and about men's immense respect for them! but any number of women have come to see that underneath that old mask of chivalry was a broad grin.--we are reminded of that every time the house of commons talks about us.' she flung it at the three supercilious strangers. 'the dullest gentleman there can raise a laugh if he speaks of the "fair sex." such jokes!--even when they are clean such poor little feeble efforts that even a member of parliament couldn't laugh at them unless he had grown up with the idea that woman was somehow essentially funny--and that _he_, oh, no! there was nothing whatever to laugh at in man. those members of parliament don't have the enlightenment that you men have--of hearing what women _really_ think when we hear men laugh as you did just now about our going to prison. they don't know that we find it just a little strange'--she bent over the scattering rabble and gathered it into a sudden fellowship--'doesn't it strike you, too, as strange that when a strong man goes to prison for his convictions it is thought to be something rather fine (i don't say it is myself--though it's the general impression). but when a weak woman goes for _her_ convictions, men find it very humorous indeed. our prisoners have to bear not only the hardships of holloway gaol, but they have to bear the worse pains and penalties inflicted by the general public. you, too, you laugh! and yet i say'--she lifted her arms and spread them out above the people--'i say it was not until women were found ready to go to prison--not till then was the success of the cause assured.' her bright eyes were shining brighter 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 to that is, i did go.' she tossed the information down among the cheers and groans as lightly as though it had no more personal significance for her than a dropped leaflet 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!' it was as if she couldn't grasp it. 'of course one person's going isn't of much consequence,' ernestine was winding up with equal spirit and _sang-froid_. 'but the fact that dozens and scores--all sorts and conditions--are ready to go--_that_ matters! and that's the place our reprehensible tactics have brought the movement to. the meeting is closed.' * * * * * they dropped sophia at her own door, but lord borrodaile said he would take vida home. they drove along in silence. when they stopped before the tall house in queen anne's gate, vida held out 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 in town. 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 midnight sun,' 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 in norway.' when she explained, he broke out: 'it's the very wildest nonsense that ever---- it would kill you.' the intensity of his opposition made him incoherent. 'you, of all women in the 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 never seen 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. when a man like you--as good a man as you'--she repeated with slow wonder--'when you and all the other good men that the world is full of--when you all know everything that that woman knows--and more! and yet 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 this new road, it's you i shall have to thank.' 'i?' he shrugged drearily at the absurd charge, making no motion to take the offered hand, but sat there in the corner of the hansom looking rather old 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 long while ago. and a long while ago--he went.' borrodaile looked at her. 'but this---- who is the gentleman who shares with 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 on the green cover, 'in the days of the comet.' 'oh, that fellow! well, he's not my novelist, but it's the keenest intelligence we have applied to fiction.' 'he _is_ my novelist. so i've a right to be sorry he knows nothing about women. see here! even in his most rationalized vision of the new time, he can't help betraying his old-fashioned prejudice in favour of the "dolly" view of women. his hero says, "i prayed that night, let me confess it, to an image i had set up in my heart, an image that still serves with me as a symbol for things inconceivable, to a master artificer, the unseen captain of all who go about the building of the world, the making of mankind----"' vida's finger skipped, lifting to fall on the heroine's name. '"nettie... she never came into the temple of that worshipping with me."' swiftly she turned the pages back. 'where's that other place? here! the man says to the heroine--to his ideal woman he says, "behind you and above you rises the coming city of the world, and i am in that building. dear heart! you are only happiness!" that's the whole view of man in a nutshell. even the highest type of woman such an imagination as this can conjure up----' she shook her head. '"you are only happiness, dear"--a minister of pleasure, negligible in all the nobler moods, all the times of wider vision or exalted effort! tell me'--she bent her head and looked into her companion's face with a new passion dawning in her eyes--'in the building 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 her companion 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 never yet been more than dreams. that this man should think foundations can be well and truly laid when the best of one half the race are "only happiness, dear!"' she turned on the threshold. '_whose_ happiness?' chapter xiv the fall of the liberal ministry was said by the simple-minded to have come as a bolt from the blue. certainly into the subsequent general election were entering elements but little foreseen. nevertheless, the last two bye-elections before the crash had resulted in the defeat of the liberal candidate not by the tory antagonist, but in one case by the nominee of the labour party, in the other by an independent socialist. both these men had publicly thanked the suffragettes for their notable share in piling up those triumphant and highly significant majorities. now the country was facing an election where, for the first time in the history of any great nation, women were playing a part that even their political enemies could hardly with easy minds call subordinate. only faint echoes of the din penetrated the spacious quiet of ulland house. although the frequent week-end party was there, the great hall on this particular morning presented a deserted appearance as the tall clock by the staircase chimed the hour of noon. the insistence of the ancient timepiece seemed to have set up a rival in destruction of the sunday peace, for no sooner had the twelfth stroke died than a bell began to ring. the little door in the wainscot beyond the clock was opened. an elderly butler put his head round the huge screen of spanish leather that masked the very existence of the modest means of communication with the quarters of the ulland domestics. so little was a ring at the front door expected at this hour that sutton was still slowly getting into the left sleeve of his coat when his mistress appeared from the garden by way of the french window. the old butler withdrew a discreet instant behind the screen to put the last touches to his 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 retirement and approaching the wide staircase on his way to answer the front-door bell. 'never mind'--his mistress went briskly over to a wide-winged writing-table and seated herself before a litter of papers--'i won't have her disturbed if she's resting,' lady john said, adding half to herself, 'she certainly needs it.' 'yes, m'lady,' said sutton, adjusting the maroon collar of his livery which had insisted upon riding up at the back. 'but i want her to know'--lady john spoke while glancing through a letter before consigning it to the wastepaper basket--'the moment she comes down she must be told that the new plans arrived by the morning post.' 'plans, m'la----' 'she'll understand. there they are.' the lady held up a packet about which she had just snapped an elastic band. 'i'll put them here. it's very important she should have them in time to look over before she goes.' 'yes, m'lady.' sutton opened a door and disappeared. a footstep sounded on the marble floor 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 man whipped off his dust coat and flung it to the servant with as much precipitation as though what he had meant to say was 'scandalously late.' 'i motored up from dutfield. it didn't take me nearly so long as lord john said.' the lady had given the young man her hand without rising. 'i'm afraid my husband is no authority on motoring--and he's not home yet from church.' 'it's the greatest luck finding _you_.' farnborough sat himself down in the easy-chair on the other side of the wide writing-table undaunted by its business-like air or the preoccupied look of the woman before it. 'i thought miss levering was the only person under this roof who was ever allowed 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 then suddenly '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 to me 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 charming things i'd been saying, but there was only one way to prove it, and that was to marry some one young enough to be her son. she'd noticed, she said, that was what the _most_ attractive women did--and she named names.' lady john laughed. '_you_ were too old!' he nodded. 'her future husband, she said, was probably just entering eton.' 'exactly like her.' 'no, no.' dick farnborough waived the subject away. 'i wanted to see you about 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 about stonor? well, it's a habit people have got into.' 'i forget, do you know mr. stonor personally, or'--she smiled her good-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'd realize he can't be sure of winning his election without my valuable services.' 'geoffrey stonor's re-election is always a foregone conclusion.' farnborough banged his hand on the arm of the chair. 'that the great man shares that opinion is precisely his weak point'--then breaking into a pleasant 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 liberals swept the country the last time, there's danger of their----' 'how can we be sure _any_ conservative seat is safe, after----' as lady john smiled and turned to her papers again. 'forgive me,' said the young man, 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 his having 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 a few days with just her family in the secret, before the flood of congratulation broke loose.' 'oh, _that's_ all right,' he said soothingly. 'i always hear things before other people.' 'well, i must ask you to be good enough to be very circumspect.' lady john spoke gravely. 'i wouldn't have my niece or mr. stonor think that any of us----' 'oh, of course not.' 'she'll suspect something if you so much as mention stonor; and you can'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 an hour.' he jumped up delighted. 'what? to-day. the future mrs. stonor!' 'yes,' said his hostess, with a harassed air. 'unfortunately we had one or two people already asked for the week and----' 'and i go and invite myself to luncheon! lady john.' he pushed back the armchair like one who clears the field for action. he stood before her with his legs wide apart, and a look of enterprise on his face. 'you can buy me off! i'll promise to remove myself in five minutes if you'll put in a word for me.' 'ah!' lady john shook her head. 'mr. stonor inspires a similar enthusiasm in so many young----' 'they haven't studied the situation as i have.' he sat down to explain his own excellence. 'they don't know what's at stake. they don't go to that 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 too content just to criticize, just to make his delicate pungent fun of the men who are grappling--very inadequately of course--still _grappling_ with the big questions. there's a carrying power'--he jumped to his feet again and faced an imaginary audience--'some of stonor's friends ought to point it out--there's a driving power in the poorest constructive policy 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's coming into the family, lord john or somebody really ought to point out--stonor's overdoing his rôle of magnificent security.' the lady sat very straight. 'i don't see even lord john offering to instruct 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 public imagination and bring the tories back into power----' 'so he will.' 'not if he disappoints meetings,' said farnborough, hotly; 'not if he goes 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 and down before the divan. 'and now he's got this other preoccupation----' 'you mean----?' 'yes, your niece--the spoilt child of fortune.' farnborough stopped suddenly and smacked his forehead. 'of _course_!'--he wheeled round upon lady john with accusing face--'i understand it now. _she_ kept him from the meeting last night! _well!_'--he collapsed in the nearest chair--'if that'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 his hair.' she had risen. 'how do you know?' she asked more gravely. 'he told me so himself, yesterday. i scraped acquaintance with the agent, just to see if--if----' 'i see,' she smiled. 'it's not only here that you manoeuvre for that secretaryship!' 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 election chap's promised to keep me posted. why, i've even taken the trouble to arrange with the people at the station to receive any message that might come over from dutfield.' 'for you?' she smiled at his self-importance. breathlessly he hurried on: 'immense unexpected pressure of work, you know--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 of gladness in her eyes only partially dimmed by the horrid spectacle of an interloper in the person of a strange young man. 'my darling jean!' lady john went forward and kissed her at the moment that the master of the 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 the house, interrupting only for an instant the babel of cross-purpose explanation about carriages and trains. lord john had shaken hands with dick farnborough and walked him towards the window, saying through the torrent-- 'now they'll tell each other for the next ten minutes that she's an hour earlier than we expected.' although young farnborough had looked upon the blooming addition to the party with an undisguised interest, he readily fell in with lord john's diplomatic move to get him out of the way. he even helped towards his own 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 his opinion-- '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 supporter about something.' 'you let him go off like that!' lord john reproached her. 'without ever----' lady john interrupted herself to take jean's two hands 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 a chicken?' '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 other hand, 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 air of challenge. 'but i'm not the only girl who's been left "what's vulgarly called" money.' 'you're the only one of our immediate circle who's been left so beautifully much.' 'ah! but remember, geoffrey could--everybody _knows_ he could have married 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 know my best-beloved relations better.' she stopped to bestow another embrace on lady john. 'an orphan has so few belongings, she has to make the most of 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. 'you mean to say mr. geoffrey stonor isn't just a tiny bit "superior" about dissenters.' 'not half as much so as uncle john, and all the rest of you! my grandfather's been ill again, you know, and rather difficult--bless him! but geoffrey----' she clasped her hands to fill out her wordless content with him. 'geoffrey _must_ have powers of persuasion, to get that old covenanter to let you come in an abhorred motor-car, on sunday, too!' jean pursed her red lips and put up a cautionary finger with a droll little 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 lady john's shoulder. 'i've so looked forward to having you to myself the whole 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 it dreffly dull to hear me talk about geoffrey the whole blessed day!' 'well, till luncheon, my dear----' lady john had risen with a glance at the clock. 'you mustn't mind if i----' she broke off and went to the writing-table, saying aside to her husband, 'i'm beginning to feel a little anxious; miss levering wasn't only tired last night, she was ill.' '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 so silly----' 'it's all right, my child,' said her uncle, kindly. 'we naturally expect now that you'll begin to think like geoffrey stonor, and to feel like geoffrey stonor, and to talk like geoffrey stonor. and quite proper, too!' 'well,'--jean quickly recovered her smiles--'if i _do_ think with my husband, and feel with him--as of course i shall--it will surprise me if i ever find myself talking a tenth as well!' in her enthusiasm she followed her uncle to the french window. 'you should have heard him at dutfield.' 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, to find her making a discreet motion of 'i couldn't help it!' as the party from the garden came in. the greetings of the freddys were cut short by mrs. heriot, who embraced her 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 who had 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 met her 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 she doesn'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 been amusing herself in norway?' 'since she came back she's been helping my sister and me with a scheme of 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 to build 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 a woman'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 indulgent air. 'philanthropy,' he said, 'in a woman like miss levering, is a form of restlessness. 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 flying back 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 went questing up the great staircase. lady john had met the chorus of disapproval with-- 'she must be in london by three, she says.' lord john stared. '_to-day?_ why she only came late last night! what must she go back for, in the name of----' 'well, _that_ i didn't ask her. but it must be something important, or she would stay and talk over the plans for the new shelter.' farnborough had pulled out his cigarette case and stepped out through the window into the garden. but he went not as one who means to take a stroll and enjoy a smoke, rather as a man on a mission. a few minutes after, the desultory conversation in the hall was arrested by the sound of voices near the windows. they were in full view now--vida levering, hatless, a cool figure in pearl-grey with a red umbrella; st. john greatorex, wearing a panama hat, talking and gesticulating with a small book, in which his fingers still 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 discuss anything so revolting.' as lord john moved towards the window the vermilion disk of the umbrella closed and dropped like a poppy before it blooms. as the owner of it entered 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 scattering good-mornings. 'i should think so indeed!' he breathed a sigh of relief and recovered his waggishness. 'it's all this fellow farnborough's wicked jealousy--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 miss levering's unpopular and mysterious programme for the afternoon. but the lady quietly confirmed it, and looked over her hostess's shoulder at the plan-sheet that lady john was silently holding out between two extended hands. 'haled indoors on a day like this'--greatorex affected a mighty scorn of the document--'to talk about--public sanitation, forsooth! why, god bless my soul, do you realize that's _drains_!' 'i'm dreadfully afraid it is,' said miss levering, smiling down at the architectural drawing. 'and we in the act of discussing italian literature!' greatorex held out the little book with an air of comic despair. 'perhaps you'll tell me that isn't a more savoury topic for a lady.' 'but for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness--don't you think--than baths?' she took the book from him, shutting her handkerchief in the place where his finger had been. 'no, no'--greatorex, panama in hand, was shaking his piebald head--'i can't understand this morbid interest in vagrants. you're too--much too---- leave it to others!' 'what others?' 'oh, the sort of woman who smells of india-rubber,' he said, with smiling impertinence. 'the typical english spinster. you've seen her. italy's full of her. she never goes anywhere without a mackintosh and a collapsible bath--_rubber_. when you look at her it's borne in upon you that 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 a few minutes to talk over the terms of the late mr. barlow's munificence before the carriage comes for miss levering.' in the midst of the general movement to the garden, mrs. freddy asked farnborough did he know she'd got that old horror to give lady john £ 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 she brought him round.' 'bah-ee jove!' said freddy. 'i expect so.' 'yes.' mrs. freddy beamed in turn at her lord and at farnborough as she strolled with them through the window. '_isn't_ she wonderful?' 'too wonderful,' said greatorex to the lady in question, lowering his voice, 'to waste your time on the wrong people.' 'i shall waste less of my time after this.' miss levering spoke thoughtfully. 'i'm relieved to hear it. i can't see you wheedling money for shelters and rot of that sort out of retired grocers.' 'you see, you call it rot. we couldn't have got £ 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 give me?' 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. 'you two still talking barlow? how flattered the old beggar'd be! did you hear'--he turned back and linked his arm in greatorex's--'did you hear what 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 in heaven!"' the two men went out chuckling. jean stood hesitating a moment, glancing through the window at the laughing men, and back at the group of women, mrs. heriot seated magisterially at the head of the writing-table, looking with inimical eyes at miss levering, who stood in the middle of the hall with head bent over the plan. 'sit here, my dear,' lady john called to her. then with a glance at her niece, 'you needn't stay, jean; this won't interest you.' miss levering glanced over her shoulder as she moved to the chair opposite lady john, and in the tone of one agreeing with the dictum just uttered, '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 arm about her shoulder. 'i know, darling, you can think of nothing but "him," so just go----' 'indeed, indeed,' interrupted the girl, brightly, 'i can think of everything better than i ever did before. he has lit up everything for me--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 about other 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 levering smiled 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 conducted lodging-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. you can 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 have spent a great deal of my life in works of charity.' 'ah, then,'--miss levering lifted her eyes from the map to mrs. heriot's face--'you'll be interested in the girl i saw dying in a tramp ward a little while ago. _glad_ her cough was worse, only she mustn't die before her father. two reasons. nobody but her to keep the old man out of the workhouse, and "father is so proud." if she died first, he would starve--worst of all, he might hear what had happened up in london to his 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 one sunday night, and was too terrified of her employer to dare to ring him up 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 one for twenty years----' 'twenty years!' echoed miss levering. 'always arriving "after the train's gone,"--after the girl and the wrong person have got to the journey'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 she shouldn'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 pennies silvered over to look like half-crowns.' 'i don't believe that story!' mrs. heriot announced. 'it's just the sort of 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 a new 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 her hostess. 'you'll never know how many things are hidden from a woman in good clothes. the bold free look of a man at a woman he believes to be destitute--you must _feel_ that look on you before you can understand--a good half of history.' mrs. heriot rose as her niece sat down on the footstool just below the writing-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 i couldn'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 work aren't _all_ serving-maids.' 'we know,' said mrs. heriot, with an involuntary flash, 'that all the women who make mistakes aren't.' 'that is why _every_ woman ought to take an interest in this,' said miss levering, 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 such sources 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 it aside--'it will all come in convenient.' she tapped the plan. miss levering took no notice. 'it once happened to me to take offence at an 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 i couldn't explain.' 'not to your mother?' the girl asked. 'my mother was dead. i went to london to a small hotel, and tried to find employment. i wandered about all day and every day from agency to agency. i was supposed to be educated. i'd been brought up partly in paris, i could play several instruments and sing little songs in four different tongues.' in the pause jean asked, 'did nobody want you to teach french or sing the little songs?' 'the heads of schools thought me too young. there were people ready to listen to my singing. but the terms, they were too hard. soon my money was 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 to earn 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 things been 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 wanted to 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 over myself? i belonged to the little class of armed women. my body wasn't born 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 the possible fate of homeless girls. what was true a dozen years ago is true to-day. there are pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our great rich london, and not one single place where destitute women can be sure of 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 stands spreading out wide arms.' 'no, no,' said the girl, jumping up. 'even when it's built,'--mrs. heriot was angrily gathering up her gloves, her fan and her prayer-book--'you'll see! many of those creatures will prefer the life they lead. they _like_ it. a woman told me--one of the sort that knows--told me many of them like it so much that they are indifferent to the risk of being sent to prison. "_it gives them a rest_,"' she said. 'a rest!' breathed lady john, horror-struck. miss levering glanced at the clock as she rose to go upstairs, while lady john and mrs. heriot bent their heads over the plan covertly talking. jean ran forward and caught the tall grey figure on the lower step. 'i want to begin to understand something of----,' she began in a beseeching tone. 'i'm horribly ignorant.' miss levering looked down upon her searchingly. 'i'm a rather busy person,' she said. 'i have a quite special reason for wanting _not_ to be ignorant. i'll go to town to-morrow,' said jean, impulsively, 'if you'll come and lunch with 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 the stair. mrs. heriot bent towards her sister and half whispered, 'how little she minds 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 of keeping 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 for your sympathy.' 'she doesn't look----' protested the girl. lady john, glancing at her niece, seemed in some intangible way to take alarm. 'i'm not sure but what she does. her mouth--always like this--as if she were holding back something by main force.' 'well, so she is,' slipped out from between aunt lydia's thin lips as lady 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't know 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 a very good marriage. but this one--i didn't bargain for you and hermione getting mixed up with her.' 'i don't see that we're either of us---- but miss levering seems to go everywhere. why shouldn't she?' with sudden emphasis, 'you mustn't ask her to eaton square,' said aunt lydia. 'i have.' mrs. heriot half rose from her seat. 'then you'll have to get out of it!' 'why?' 'i am sure your grandfather would agree with me. i warn you i won't stand 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 never satisfied till she has everybody in the pitiful state your aunt ellen's in about her. richard farnborough, too, just on the very verge of asking hermione 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 am sure, if mr. stonor knew what i do, he would agree with me that you must not ask her to the house.' 'of course i'd do anything he asked me to. but he would give me a reason. 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 as of a person who has a cold in the head. 'i'll give you the reason!' she said. 'it's not a thing i should have preferred to tell you, but i know how difficult you are to guide--so i suppose 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 lonely welsh farmhouse.' 'miss levering?' mrs. heriot nodded. 'we had taken the manor for that august. the farmer's wife was frightened, and begged me to go and see what i thought. 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 no letters. 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. the farmer and his wife, highly respectable people, were incensed. they were for turning the girl out.' '_oh_! but----' 'yes. pitiless some of these people are! although she had forfeited all claim--still she was a daughter of sir hervey levering. i insisted they should treat the girl humanely, and we became friends--that is, "sort of." 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 i knew.' '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 was responsible.' 'oh, aunt lydia.' 'all she ever said was that she was ashamed'--mrs. heriot was fast losing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor--'ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not the original temptation, but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she said.' with a shrinking look the girl wrinkled her brows. 'you are being so delicate--i'm not sure i understand.' 'the only thing you need understand,' said her aunt, irritably, 'is that she'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 all places--the bishop's!' 'they're relations of hers.' 'yes. it was while you were in scotland. they'd got her to help with some of their work. now she's taken hold of ours. your aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and i'm debarred from taking any steps, at least till the shelter is out of hand.' the girl's face was shadowed--even a little frightened. it was evident she was struggling not to give way altogether to alarm and repulsion. 'i do rather wonder that after that, she can bring herself to talk about--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 the sentence 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 about her, 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'--she spoke slowly, moving a little away. but she stopped on the final sentence: '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 or thereabouts.' 'five years younger than i!' jean sat down on the divan and stared at the 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 all days.' 'it is a terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. i feel very sorry to-day for women who aren't happy.' she started as a motor-horn was faintly 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 the sudden 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't engaged 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 was afraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented.' lord john was laughing as he went towards the lobby. 'you felt we couldn'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 of the great hall, the centre of a little buzz of welcome, stonor's tall figure appeared between host and hostess. 'what luck!' farnborough said under his breath. he hurried back and faced the rest of the party who were clustered outside 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 their backs, pretending to be talking among themselves. but, as though the girl standing there expectant in the middle of the hall were well aware of the enormous sensation the new arrival had created, she herself contributed nothing to it. stonor came forward, and she met him with a soft, 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 for being so enterprising all of a sudden. 'fancy your motoring out of town to see a supporter on sunday!' 'i don't know how we ever covered the ground in the old days,' he answered. '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 after the thing we want.' he smiled at jean. 'sh!' she glanced over her shoulder and spoke low. 'all sorts of irrelevant people here.' one of them, unable any longer to resist the temptation, was making a second foray into the hall. 'how do you do, mr. stonor?' farnborough stood there holding out his hand. 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 of locomotion except his own legs or those of a horse. it took a great deal to disconcert farnborough. 'some of us were arguing in the smoking-room last night,' he said, 'whether it didn't hurt a candidate's chances going about in a motor.' as mr. stonor, not deigning to reply to this, paused the merest instant in what he was saying to his hostess, lord john came to the rescue of the audacious young gentleman. 'yes, we've been hearing a great many stories about the unpopularity of motor-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 to reach so many more of your constituents than we used----' 'well, i don't know,' said stonor. 'i've sometimes wondered whether the charm of our presence wasn't counterbalanced by the way we tear about smothering our fellow-beings in dust and running down their pigs and chickens,--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 answered gravely. farnborough let slip an 'ah, i said so!' meant for lady john, and then before stonor's raised eyes, the over-zealous young politician retreated towards 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 john let drop one or two good-natured phrases--what he had done, his hero-worship, his mother had been a betham--yes, he was one of the farnboroughs of moore abbey. though stonor made no comment beyond a dry, 'the staple product of this country, young men like that!'--it appeared later that lady john's good offices in favour of a probable nephew-in-law had not been invoked in vain. despite the menace of 'the irrelevant' dotting the lawn immediately outside the windows, the little group on the farther side of the hall still stood there talking in low tones with the sense of intimacy which belongs 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 his chances,' she said, half aside. 'isn't it angelic of him?' 'angelic?' laughed the great man. 'macchiavellian. i pin all my hopes on your being able to counteract the pernicious influence of my opponent's glib 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 again hovering on the outskirts. he even made conversation to mrs. heriot, as an excuse to remain inside the window. 'but you don't mean seriously,' lord john asked his guest, 'you don't mean, 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 his pocket. 'there's this agitation about the woman question. oddly enough, it seems as if it might--there's just the off-chance--it _might_ affect the issue.' 'affect it? how? god bless my soul!' lord john's transparent skin flushed up to his white hair. 'don't tell me any responsible person is going even to consider the lunacy of tampering with the british constitution----' 'we _have_ heard that suggested, though for better reasons,' stonor laughed, but not lord john. 'turn over the destinies of the empire,' he said hotly, 'to a lot of ignorant women just because a few of 'em have odious manners and violent tongues!' the sight of stonor's cool impassivity calmed him somewhat. he went on more temperately. 'every sane person sees that the only trouble with england to-day is that too many ignorant people have votes already.' '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 hundred have done.' 'easily! but the mere fact that four hundred and twenty members have been worried into promising support--and then, once in the house, have let 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 rather incongruously on his honest english face, 'still, if they think they're getting 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. he leaned his elbow on the end of the wide mantelpiece and gave his attention exclusively to lord john, seeming to ignore even the pretty girl 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 the last labour member, and that colne valley socialist--those men got in largely 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 snubbing the 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, had seen stonor crush the cocksure and the unwary with an awful effectualness. but farnborough, with the courage of enthusiasm--enthusiasm for himself and his own future--went stoutly on. 'there are liberals and even unionists among 'em. and they do manage to hold the balance pretty even. i go and hear them, you see!' 'and speaking from the height of your advantage,' although stonor was slightly satirical, he was exercising an exceptional forbearance, 'do you mean to tell me they are not more in sympathy with the labour party than 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 suffrage in the forefront of its programme.' stonor took his elbow off the mantel. 'whatever the reason,' he said airily, 'the result is momentarily inconvenient. though i am one of those 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 to face with vida levering. she had come down the great staircase unobserved and unobserving; her head bent, and she in the act of forcing a recalcitrant hatpin through her hat--doing it under certain disadvantages, 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 his own, there was to the most acute eye nothing in the remotest degree dramatic about the encounter--hardly more than a cool surprise, and yet there 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 garden seemed not to be able to support the prospect of miss levering's threatened monopoly of the lion. they swarmed in--hermione heriot and paul filey appearing for the first time since church--they overflowed into the hall, while jean dunbarton, with artless enthusiasm, was demanding of miss levering if the reason she knew mr. stonor was that she had been hearing him speak. 'yes,' the lady met his eyes, 'i was visiting some relations near dutfield. 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 cynical anticipation. it was a mark of how far the women's cause had travelled that, although there was no man there (except the ineffectual farnborough)--no one to speak of it even with tolerance, there was also no one, not even greatorex, who any longer felt the matter to be much of a joke. here again in this gathering was happening what the unprejudiced observer was seeing in similar circumstances all over england. the mere mention of women's suffrage in general society (rarest of happenings now)--that topic which had been the prolific mother of so much merriment, bred in these days but silence and constraint. the quickest-witted changed the topic amid a general sense of grateful relief. the thing couldn't be laughed 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 at stonor. '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 and change 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 have luncheon in less than an hour, somebody was going to insist (out of pure mistaken philanthropy) in taking me for a walk. i've told freddy that when 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. we appear at breakfast dressed for church. that's a long skirt. we are usually shooed upstairs directly we get back, to put on a short one, so that we can go and look at the kennels or the prize bull. we come back muddy and smelling of stables. we get into something fresh for luncheon. after luncheon some one says, "walk!" another short skirt. we come back draggled 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 lower part of his face. 'your concern for personal appearance reminds me that a little soap and water after my dusty drive----' little as had fallen from him since his entrance, as he followed lord john upstairs, he left behind that sense of blankness so curiously independent of either words or deeds. greatorex, in his patent leather shoes and immaculate white gaiters, pattered over to miss levering, but she unkindly presented her back, and sat down at the writing-table to make a note on the abhorred shelter plan. he showed his disapproval by marching off with mr. freddy, and there was a general trickling back into the garden in that aimless, before-luncheon mood. but mrs. heriot and lady john sat with their heads close together on the sofa, discussing in undertones the absorbing subject of the prospective new member of the family. mrs. freddy perched on the edge of the writing-table between miss levering, who sat in front of it, and jean, whose chair was on the other side. she was nearest jean, but it was to her children's sworn friend that she turned to say enthusiastically-- 'delightful his coming in like that!' and no one needed to be told whose coming brought delight. 'we must tell sara and cecil.' as miss levering seemed to be still absorbed in making notes on that boring plan, the lively mrs. freddy turned to her other neighbour. 'penny for your thoughts,' she demanded with such suddenness that jean dunbarton started and reddened. 'something very weighty, to judge from----' 'i believe i was thinking it was rather odd to hear two men like my uncle and mr. stonor talking about the influence of the suffrage women really quite seriously. _oh!_'--she clutched mrs. freddy's arm, laughing apologetically--'i beg your pardon. i forgot. besides, i wasn't thinking of your kind; i was thinking of the suffragettes.' 'as the only conceivable ones to be exercising any influence. thank you.' 'oh, no, no. indeed, i didn't mean----' 'yes, you did. you're like the rest. you don't realize how we prepared the ground. all the same,' she went on, with her unfailing good humour, 'it's frightfully exciting seeing the question come into practical politics at last. i only hope those women won't go and upset the apple-cart again.' 'how?' 'oh, by doing something that will alienate all our good friends in both parties. it's queer they can't see our only chance to get what we want is by winning over the men.' there was a low sound of impatience from the person at the writing-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. do you think the result should make us proud of our policy? yes? then go and 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 time you've forgotten.' 'what i forgot was the magistrate's ruling. he said no decent woman had any business to be in london's main thoroughfares at night "_unless she has a man with her_." you can hear that in soho, too. "you're obliged to take up with a chap!" is what the women say.' in a highly significant silence, mrs. heriot withdrew with her niece and mrs. freddy to where hermione sat contentedly between two young men on the window-step. lady john, naturally somewhat ruffled, but still quite kind, bent over her indiscreet guest to say-- 'what an odd mood you are in to-day, my dear. i think lydia heriot's right. we oughtn't to do anything, or _say_ anything to encourage this ferment of feminism--and i'll tell you why: it's likely to bring a very terrible 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 and hermione she would have had a moment's pleasure in her handiwork--that half-shamed scrutiny in jean dunbarton's face. but as the young girl studied the quiet figure, looked into the tender eyes that gazed so steadily into some grey country far away, the effect of mrs. heriot's revelation was either weakened or transmuted subtly to something stronger 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 answered questions 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. 'no woman begins that way. every woman is in a state of natural subjection'--she looked up, and seeing jean's face, smiled--'no, i'd rather say "allegiance" to her idea of romance and her hope of motherhood; they're embodied for her in man. they're the strongest things in life till man kills them. let's be fair. if that allegiance dies, 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 she went to meet them, stonor stopped halfway down to say something. the two men halted there deep in discussion. but scarcely deeper than those other 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 jean relented enough to say in an undertone, almost confidentially, 'i should think you'd guess.' 'guess what?' said the other, absent-mindedly, but again lifting her eyes. '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 the world.' 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 the girl. 'something i heard at a suffrage meeting.' 'well, do you know, ever since that sunday at the freddys', when you told 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 the spur 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 thought about 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't as if the man i'm going to marry wasn't very broad-minded. he wants me to be intelligent about politics. are those women holding meetings in london now as well as in the constituencies?' they both became aware at the same moment that lord john was coming slowly down the last steps, with stonor still more slowly following, talking land tenure. as miss levering rose and hurriedly turned over the things on the table to look for her veil, the handkerchief she had shut in her little italian book dropped out. a further shifting of plans and papers sent it unobserved to the floor. jean put once more the question that had remained unanswered. 'they collect too great crowds,' miss levering answered her. 'the authorities won't let them meet in trafalgar square after to-day. they have their last meeting there at three o'clock.' 'to-day! that's no use to people out of town--unless i could invent some excuse----' '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 talking over 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 caught up hers. 'the invincible frivolity of women!' said lord john, with immense geniality. 'oh, they're coming for you,' jean said. 'don't forget your book. when shall i see you again, i wonder?' but instead of announcing the carriage the servant held out a salver. on it 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 it down, and let you have it as soon as possible.' 'i knew how it would be if i gave in about that telephone!' lord john arraigned his wife. even mr. stonor had to sympathize. 'they won't leave people in peace even one day in the week.' 'i've got your book,' jean said, looking at miss levering over the top of the telegraph form, and then glancing at the title as she restored the volume to its owner. 'dante! whereabouts are you?' she opened it without waiting to hear. 'oh, the inferno.' 'no, i'm in a worse place,' said the other, smiling vaguely as she drew on 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. he said there was no place in heaven nor in purgatory--not even a corner in hell, for the souls who had stood aloof from strife.' the smile faded as she stood there looking steadily into the girl's eyes. 'he called them "wretches who never lived," dante did, because they'd never felt the pangs of partisanship. and so they wander homeless on the skirts of limbo, 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 the window. 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 lady john-- '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, all the 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 leave directly after luncheon. and anyhow--all these people--please have us another time.' 'i'll just see miss levering off,' said lady john, 'and then i'll come back 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 if there 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, and the paper fluttered to the floor. 'but i must be there by three,' she said. he had picked up the telegraph form as well as the handkerchief lying near. '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 you to 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 in trafalgar square--the suffragettes.' he stared at her more than half incredulous, but smiling still. 'how perfectly absurd! besides,'--he looked across the room at lady john--'besides, i expect she wouldn't like my carrying you off like that.' '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 well in 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?' lord john 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 her husband. the little group trailed across the great room, escorting the guest to the front door, lady john leading the way. as they passed, geoffrey stonor was obviously not listening very attentively to jean's enthusiastic explanation of her plan for the afternoon. he kept his eyes lowered. they rested on the handkerchief he had picked up, but hardly as if, after all, they saw it, though he turned the filmy square from corner to corner with an air partly of nervousness, partly of abstraction. 'is it mine?' asked jean. he paused an instant. 'no. yours,' he said, mechanically, and held out the 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 handkerchief and went running forward with it. suddenly she stopped, glancing down at the 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 great chocolate-coloured motor, containing three persons besides the chauffeur, slowed up on the west side of the square. neither of the two ladies in their all-enveloping veils was easily recognizable, still less the be-goggled countenance of the hon. geoffrey stonor. when he took off his motor glasses, he did not turn down his dust collar. he even pulled farther over his eyes the peak of his linen cap. by coming at all on this expedition, he had given jean a signal proof of his desire to please her--but it was plain that he had no mind to see in the papers that he had been assisting at such a spectacle. while he gave instructions as to where the car should wait, jean was staring at the vast crowd massed on the north side of the column. it extended back among the fountains, and even escaped on each side beyond the vigilance of the guardian lions. there were scores listening there who could not see the speakers even as well as could the occupants of the car. in front of the little row of women on the plinth a gaunt figure in brown serge was waving her arms. what she was saying was blurred in the general 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 a thing no man could do. for some minutes the motor-party had only occasional glimpses of the speakers, and heard little more than fragments. '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 sleeve from behind, and was following him closely through the press. 'the artless chairman, i take it, is scolding the people for not giving the woman a hearing!' they laughed together at the young man's foolishness. even had an open-air meeting been more of a commonplace to stonor, it would have had for him that effect of newness that an old thing wears when seen by an act of sympathy through new eyes. 'you must be sure and explain _everything_ to me, geoffrey,' said the girl. 'this is to be an important chapter in my education.' merrily and without a shadow of misgiving she spoke in jest a truer word than she dreamed. 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 that unwillingly he wormed his way on. suddenly he stood still and stared about. 'what's the matter?' said lady john. 'i can't have you ladies pushed about in this crowd,' he said under his breath. 'i must get hold of a policeman. you wait just here. i'll find one.' the adoring eyes of the girl watched the tall figure disappear. 'look at her face!' lady john, with her eyeglass up, was staring in the opposite 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 the fighting-line, and the figure of the working-woman stood alone. with her lean brown finger pointing straight at the more outrageous of the young hooligans, 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 to be'yve as you're doin' to-d'y.' when they had duly hooted that sentiment, they were quieter for a moment. 'people 'ave been sayin' this is a middle-class woman's movement. it's a 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 law guardian----' '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's when you would do your doorstep. i do mine in the mornin', before you men 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 think we women 'ave no business servin' on boards and thinking about politics.' in a tone of exquisite contempt, 'but wot's politics!' she demanded. 'it's just 'ousekeepin' on a big scyle.' somebody applauded. 'oo among you workin' men 'as the most comfortable 'omes? those of you that 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 wus only to use fur _our_ comfort, d'ye think many o' you workin' men would be found turnin' over their wyges to their wives? no! wot's the reason thousands do--and the best and the soberest? because the workin' man knows that wot's a pound to _'im_ is twenty shillins to 'is wife, and she'll myke every penny in every one o' them shillins _tell_. she gets more 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 poor laws 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-off women wot's wantin' the vote. i can tell you wot plenty o' the poor women think about it. i'm one o' them! and i can tell you we see there's reforms needed. _we ought to 'ave the vote_; and we know 'ow to appreciate the other women 'oo go to prison for tryin' to get it for us!' with a little final bob of emphasis, and a glance over her shoulder at the old woman and the young one behind her, she was about to retire. but she paused as the murmur in the crowd grew into distinct phrases. ''inderin' policemen!'--'mykin' rows in the street;' and a voice called out so near jean that the girl jumped, 'it's the w'y yer goes on as mykes '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,' he said, 'what had to be done by _men_ before the extension of suffrage in ' . if it hadn't been for demonstrations----' but the rest was drowned. the brown-serge woman stood there waiting, wavering a moment; and suddenly 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 the women 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 got even 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 rest don't matter. we women----' but they overwhelmed her. she stood there with her gaunt arms folded--waiting. you felt that she had met other crises of her life with just that same smouldering patience. when the wave of noise subsided again, 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, in one room.' 'i suppose life is like that for a good many people,' jean dunbarton turned round to say. 'oh, yes,' said her aunt. 'i come from a plyce where many fam'lies, if they're to go on livin' _at all_, 'ave to live like that. if you don't believe me, come and let me show you!' she spread out her lean arms. 'come with me to canning town--come with me to bromley--come to poplar and to bow. no, you won't even think about the over-worked women and the underfed children, and the 'ovels they live in. and you want that _we_ shouldn't think neither----' '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'raps your children never goes 'ungry, and maybe you're satisfied--though i must 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 for our own children; we want better things for all. _every_ child is our child. we know in our 'earts we oughtn't to rest till we've mothered 'em every 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 any woman tyke less wyges than a man for the same work? only because we can'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 you think, now, we tyke those low wyges because we got a likin' fur low wyges? 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 the children to think about. and w'en we get our rights, a woman's flesh and blood won't be so much cheaper than a man's that employers can get rich on keepin' you out o' work and sweatin' us. if you men only could see it, 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 some applause. 'well, now,' said a man patronizingly, 'that wusn't so bad--fur a woman.' 'n--naw. not fur a woman.' jean had been standing on tip-toe making signals. ah, at last geoffrey saw 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, which is just in front of the place you've rather unwisely chosen.' indeed it was possible to see, further on, half a dozen helmets among the hats. what was happening on the plinth seemed to have a lessened interest for jean dunbarton. she kept glancing sideways up under the cap brim at the eyes 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 to the accompaniment of cheers and a general moving closer to the monument. lady john, after studying ernestine an instant through her glass, turned to 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 with deliberation he said-- 'the one that's doing the talking now--she's the disturbingest o' the lot.' '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 at her. '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 i left you.' she smiled, with recovered spirits. she could attend now to the thing she had come to see. 'i'm sorry you missed the inspired charwoman. it's rather upsetting to think--do you suppose any of our servants have--views?' stonor laughed. 'oh, no! our servants are all too superior.' he moved forward and touched a policeman on the shoulder. what was said was not audible--the policeman at first shook his head, then suddenly he turned round, looked sharply into the gentleman's face, and his whole manner changed. obliging, genial, almost obsequious. 'oh, he's recognized geoffrey!' jean said to her aunt. 'they _have_ to do what a member tells them! they'll stop the traffic any time to let geoffrey go by!' she exulted. stonor beckoned to his ladies. the policeman was forging a way in which they followed. 'this will do,' stonor said at last, and he whispered again to the policeman. the man replied, grinning. 'oh, really,' stonor smiled, too. 'this is the redoubtable miss ernestine blunt,' he explained over his shoulder, 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 need were, by a barrier made of his arms. 'now can you see?' he asked. she looked round and nodded. her face was without cloud again. she leaned lightly against his arm. miss ernestine had meanwhile been catapulting into election issues with all the fervour of a hot-gospeller. 'what outrageous things she says about important people--people she ought to respect and be rather afraid of,' objected jean, rather scandalized. 'impudent little baggage!' said stonor. reasons, a plenty, the baggage had why the party which had so recently refused to enfranchise women should not be returned to power. 'you're in too big a hurry,' some one shouted. 'all the liberals want is a little time.' 'time! you seem not to know that the first petition in favour of giving us the franchise was signed in .' 'how do _you_ know?' she paused a moment, taken off her guard by the suddenness of the attack. '_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 the liberals time!' she echoed. 'thirty-three years ago memorials in favour of the suffrage were presented to mr. gladstone and mr. disraeli. in , , women of these british isles signed an appeal to the members 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 if we went on in the same way, any girl born into the world in our time would ever be able to exercise the rights of citizenship though she lived 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, we asked ourselves. well, we turned up the records--and we _saw_. we don't want to follow such a violent example. we would much rather not--but if that's the only way we can make the country see we're in earnest--we are prepared 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 of fifty or so, from whom stonor's arm was shielding jean, turned to the pal 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 go for 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't understand yet--they _will_ before we've done!' she wagged her head in a sort 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' of us!' '--and partly that the bravest man is afraid of ridicule. oh, yes, we've heard a great deal all our lives about the timidity and the sensitiveness of women. and it's true--we _are_ sensitive. but i tell you, ridicule crumples a man up. it steels a woman. we've come to know the value of ridicule. we've educated ourselves so that we welcome ridicule. we owe our sincerest thanks to the comic writers. the cartoonist is our unconscious friend. who cartoons people who are of no importance? what advertisement is so sure of being remembered? if we didn't know it by any other sign, the comic papers would tell us--_we've arrived_!' she stood there for one triumphant moment in an attitude of such audacious self-confidence, that jean turned excitedly to her lover with-- '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 nerves quivering. he felt in his bones it was the younger generation coming to upset 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 female hooligans!' that tickled the crowd, too; she was such a charming little pink-cheeked specimen 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. if everybody 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 they know what's womanly? it's for women to decide that. let them attend to being 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, because then we'd be pitted against men in the economic struggle. but it's too late to guard against that. it's fact. but facts, we've discovered, are just what men find it so hard to recognize. men are so dreadfully sentimental.' she smiled with the crowd at that, but she proceeded to hammer in her pet nail. 'they won't recognize those eighty-two women out of every hundred who are wage-earners. we used to believe men when they told us that it was unfeminine--hardly respectable--for women to be students and to aspire to the arts that bring fame and fortune. but men have never told us it was unfeminine for women to do the heavy drudgery that's badly paid. that kind of work had to be done by somebody, and men didn'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 they want to try their hand at the better-rewarded work of the liberal professions--oh, very unfeminine indeed.' as ernestine proceeded to show how all this obsolete unfairness had its roots in political inequality, lady john dropped her glass with a sigh. 'you are right,' she said to jean. 'this is hilda, harnessed to a purpose. a portent to shake middle-aged nerves.' with jean blooming there before him, stonor had no wish to prove his own nerves middle-aged. 'i think she's rather fun, myself. though she ought to be taken home and well smacked.' somebody had interrupted to ask, 'if the house of commons won't give you justice, why don't you go to the house of lords?' 'what?' she hadn't heard, but the question was answered by some one who had. 'she'd 'ave to 'urry up. case of early closin'!' 'you'll be allowed to ask any question you like,' she said, 'at the end of the meeting.' 'wot's that? oh, is it question time? i s'y, miss, 'oo killed cock robin?' '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 full citizenship, 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 is that we _do_ fight. but it's only hard necessity makes us do that. we don't want to fight--as men seem to--just for fighting's sake. women are for peace.' 'hear! hear!' 'and when we have a share in public affairs there'll be less likelihood of war. wasn't it a woman, the baroness von suttner, whose book about peace was the corner-stone of the peace congress? wasn't it that book that converted the millionaire maker of armaments of war? wasn't it the baroness von suttner's book that made nobel offer those great international prizes for the arts of peace? i'm not saying women can't fight. but we women know all war is evil, and we're for peace. our part--we're proud to remember it--our part has been to go about after you 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 we come along and put them together again. if you know anything about military nursing, you know a good deal of our work has been done in the face 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 their keep.' 'you complain that more and more we're taking away from you men the work that's always been yours. you can't any longer keep woman out of the industries. the only question is, on what terms shall she continue to be in? 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 competing with you, we're willing to leave you your trade in war. let the men take life! we _give_ life!' her voice was once more moved and proud. 'no one will pretend ours isn't one of the dangerous trades either. i won't say any more to you now, because we've got others to speak to you, and a new woman helper that i want you to hear.' with an accompaniment of clapping she retired to hold a hurried consultation 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 to heart as all that.' 'i can't help it. i can't indeed, geoffrey. i shall _never_ be able to make 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----' as he 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 you said----' '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 of applause--'we're forgetting all about----' a big sandy man, not hitherto seen, was rolling his loose-knit body up and down the platform, smiling at the people and mopping a great bony skull, on which, low down, a few scanty wisps of colourless hair were growing. 'if you can't afford a bottle of tatcho,' a boy called out, 'w'y don't you get yer 'air cut?' he just shot out one hand and wagged it in grotesque greeting, not in the least discomposed. 'i've been addressin' a big meetin' at 'ammersmith this morning, and w'en i told 'em i wus comin' 'ere this awfternoon to speak fur the women--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 had struck 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 a corner w'ere you can curl up fur a few hours till you go out to work again. 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 fur you to go on jawin' at those o' the women 'oo want to myke the 'omes a little more deservin' o' the name.' 'if the vote ain't done us any good,' a man bawled up at him, ''ow'll it do the women any good?' 'look 'ere! see 'ere!' he rolled his shapeless body up and down the stone platform, taking in great draughts of cheer from some invisible fountain. 'any men here belongin' to the labour party?' he inquired. to an accompaniment of shouts and applause he went on, smiling and rubbing 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 use the power you got in your 'and.' 'power!' grumbled an old fellow. 'it's those fellows at the bottom of the street'--he hitched his head toward st. stephen's--'it's them that's got the power.' the speaker pounced on him. 'it's you and men like you that give it to them. wot did you do last election? you carried the liberals into parliament street on your own shoulders. you believed all their fine words. you never asked yerselves, "wot's a liberal, anyway?"' in the chorus of cheers and booing some one sang out, 'he's a jolly good fellow!' 'no 'e ain't,' said the labour man, with another wheel about and a pounce. 'no 'e ain't, or, if 'e's jolly, it's only because 'e thinks you'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 you lookin' on, proud and 'appy, while you see liberal leaders desertin' liberal principles.' through the roar of protest and argument, he held out those grotesque great 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 the workin' man, and round on the other side 'e's tippin' the wink to the great landowners. yuss. that's to let 'em know 'e's standin' between them and socialists. ha! the socialists!' puffing and flushed and perspiring he hurled it out again and again over the heads of the people. 'the socialists! yuss. _socialists!_ ha! ha!' when he and the audience had a little calmed down, 'the liberal,' he said, with that look of sly humour, ''e's the judicial sort o' chap that sits in the middle.' 'on the fence.' he nodded. 'tories one side, socialists the other. well, it ain't always so comfortable in the middle. no. yer like to get squeezed. now, i says to 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 with tremendous 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 whole o' nothin'.' there were roars of approval. liberal stock had sunk rather low in trafalgar 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. only they 'aven't got a fair chawnce even to agitate fur their rights. as i wus 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'y so?" well, i'll tell you w'y. it's because they've 'ad to get the dinner fur 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 us once or twice per'aps we'd understand a little more about the woman question. i know w'y _my_ wife isn't here. it's because she _knows_ i can't cook, and she's 'opin' i can talk to some purpose. yuss,'--he acknowledged 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? you can't even talk grammar.' his broad smile faltered a little. 'oh, what shame!' said jean, full of sympathy. 'he's a dear--that funny cockney.' but he had been dashed for the merest moment. 'i'm not 'ere to talk grammar, but to talk reform. i ain't defendin' my grammar,' he said, on second thoughts, 'but i'll say in pawssing that if my 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 clear that many of his friends couldn't stomach the sight of him up there demeaning himself by espousing the cause of the suffragettes. he kept on about woman and justice, but his performance was little more than vigorous 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. she listened with lowered eyes and happy face. the discreet little interchange went on for several minutes, while the crowd booed at the bald-headed labourite for his mistaken enthusiasm. geoffrey stonor and his bride-to-be were more alone now in the midst of this shouting mob than they had been since the ulland house luncheon-gong had broken in upon and banished momentary wonderment about the name--that name beginning with v. plain to see in the flushed and happy face that jean dunbarton was not 'asking questions.' she was listening absorbed to the oldest of all the stories. and now the champion of the suffragettes had come to the surface again with 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 who doesn'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 top of the great wave of sound with-- 'p'raps the gentleman who thinks they oughtn't to 'ave a vote, p'raps 'e don'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' a demonstrytion in trafalgar square, and i'll 'ave a little peace and quiet at 'ome for one sunday in me life."' the crowd liked that, and found themselves jeering at the interrupter as well as at the speaker. 'why, you'--he pointed at some one in the crowd--'_you_'re like the man at 'ammersmith this morning. 'e wus awskin' me, "'ow would you like men to st'y at 'ome and do the fam'ly washin'?" i told 'im i wouldn't advise it. i 'ave too much respect fur'--they waited while slyly he brought out--'me clo'es.' 'it's their place,' said some one in a rage; 'the women _ought_ to do the washin'.' 'i'm not sure you aren't right. for a good many o' you fellas from the look o' you, you cawn't even wash yourselves.' this was outrageous. it was resented in an incipient riot. the helmets of 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 and down with that funny rolling gait, poking out his head at intervals in a turtle-esque fashion highly provocative, holding his huge paws kangaroo fashion, only with fingers stiffly pointed, and shooting them out at intervals 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 the monument. 'which of us d'you mean?' demanded a threatening voice. 'well,' said the socialist, coolly looking down, 'it takes about ten of your 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. miss ernestine blunt, who had been watching the fray with serious face, turned suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end of the platform. she jumped up, saying audibly to the speaker as she passed him, 'here she is,' and proceeded to offer her hand to help some one to get up the improvised steps behind the lion. the socialist had seized with fervour upon his last chance, and was flinging out showers of caustic advice among his foes, stirring them up to frenzy. stonor, with contracted brows, had stared one dazed instant as the head of the new-comer came up behind the lion on the left. jean, her eyes wide, incredulous, as though unable to accept their testimony, pressed a shade nearer the monument. stonor made a sharp move forward, 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, like one struggling to wake from a dream. stonor was saying with decision to lady john, 'i'm going to take jean out of this mob. will you come?' 'what? oh, yes, if you think'--she had disengaged the chain of her eyeglass at last. 'but isn't that, surely it's----' 'geoffrey----!' jean began. 'lady john's tired,' he interrupted. 'we've had enough of this idiotic----' 'but you don't see who it is, geoffrey. that last one is----' suddenly jean bent forward as he was trying to extricate her from the crowd, and she looked in his face. something that she found there made her tighten her hold on his arm. 'we can't run away and leave aunt ellen,' was all she said; but her voice sounded scared. stonor repressed a gesture of anger, and came to a standstill just behind two big policemen. the last-comer to that strange platform, after standing for some seconds with her back to the people and talking to ernestine blunt, the tall figure in a long sage-green dust coat and familiar hat, had turned and glanced apprehensively at the crowd. it was vida levering. the girl down in the crowd locked her hands together and stood motionless. the socialist had left the platform with the threat that he was 'coming down 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, more harassed 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'd like you to listen to it--that a clause shall be inserted in the next suffrage bill that shall expressly give to each cabinet minister, and to any respectable man, the power to prevent a vote being given to the female members of his family, on his public declaration of their lack of 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 not accustomed to speaking--a--in trafalgar square, or--a--as a matter of fact, at all.' 'a dumb lady!' 'hooray!' 'three cheers for the dumb lady!' the chairman was dreadfully flustered at the unfortunate turn his speech had taken. 'a lady who, as i've said, will tell you, if you'll behave yourselves----' 'oh! oh!' 'will tell you something of her impression of police-court justice in this country.' jean stole a wondering look at stonor's sphinx-like face as vida levering came forward. there she stood, obviously very much frightened, with the unaccustomed colour coming and going in her white face--farther back than any of the practised speakers--there she stood like one who too much values the space 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 key a little. 'i just wanted to tell you that i was--i was present in the police court when 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. he seemed not ill-pleased when he had drawn a certain number of eyes to his long 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. he whispered 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 the govermint keep ye from gettin' yer rights.' the chairman had lost his temper. 'it's the way _you_ go on,' he screamed; but the din was now so great, not even he could be heard. he stood there waving his arms and moving his lips while his dark eyes glittered. 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 ear of the frantic chairman. when he stopped gyrating, and nodded, miss blunt came to the edge of the platform, and held up her hand as if determined to stem this tide of unfavourable comment upon the dreadful women who were complicating the election difficulties of both parties. 'listen,' says ernestine; 'i've got something to propose.' they waited an instant to hear what this precious proposal might be. 'if the government withholds the vote because they don't like the way some of us ask for it, let them give it to the quiet ones. do they want to punish all women because they don't like the manners of a handful? perhaps that's men's notion of justice. it isn't ours.' 'haw! haw!' 'yes'--miss levering plucked up courage, seeing her friend sailing along so 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 turned briskly, with forefinger uplifted punctuating her count--'there are two, three, four women on this platform. now, we all want the vote, as you know.' 'lord, yes, we know _that_.' 'well, we'd agree to be disfranchised all our lives if they'd give the vote 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 i wanted you to say!' and she retired. miss levering came forward again. but the call to 'go on' had come a little 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 sarcastic voice. it steadied her. 'thank you for that,' she said, smiling. 'we couldn't have a better motto. how _are_ you to know if we can't somehow manage to tell you?' with a visible effort she went on, 'well, _i_ certainly didn't know before that the sergeants and policemen are instructed to deceive the people as to the time such cases are heard.' 'it's just as hard,' said a bystander to his companion, '_just_ as hard for learned counsel in the august quiet of the chancery division to find out when their cases are really coming on.' 'you ask, and you're sent to marlborough police court,' said miss levering, '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 called for eleven. well, i took a great deal of trouble, and i didn't believe what i was told.' she was warming a little to her task. 'yes, that's almost the first thing we have to learn--to get over our touching faith that because a man tells us something, it's true. i got to the right court, 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. i saw 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 a burglar being brought along between the two big policemen, or will it be a murderer? what sort of felon is to stand in the dock before the people, whose crime is, they ask for the vote?" but try as i would, i couldn't see the prisoner. my heart misgave me. is it some poor woman, i wondered?' 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--'a little thin, half-starved boy. what do you think he was charged with?' 'travellin' first with a third-class ticket.' a boy offered a page out of personal history. 'stealing. what had he been stealing, that small criminal? _milk._ it seemed to me, as i sat there looking on, that the men who had had the affairs of the world in their hands from the beginning, and who've made so 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 the unemployed in the condition they're in to-day, whose only remedy for a starving child is to hale him off to the police court, because he had managed to get a little milk, well, i did wonder that the men refuse to be helped with a problem they've so notoriously failed at. i began to say 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 michael angelo? they study music by thousands: where's their beethoven? where's their 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 her presence of mind again. by the time the chairman could make himself heard with, 'now, men, it's one of our british characteristics that we're always ready to give the people we differ from a hearing,' miss levering, 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. 'they are often asked elsewhere; and i would like to ask in return: since when was human society held to exist for its handful of geniuses? how many platos 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 the register. how many shakespeares are there in all england to-day? not one. yet the state doesn't tumble to pieces. railroads and ships are built, homes are kept going, and babies are born. the world goes on'--she bent over the crowd with lit eyes--'the world goes on _by virtue of its common people_.' there was a subdued 'hear! hear!' 'i am not concerned that you should think we women could paint great pictures, or compose immortal music, or write good books. i am content'--and it was strange to see the pride with which she said it, a pride that might have humbled vere de vere--'i am content that we should be classed with the common people, who keep the world going. but'--her face grew softer, there was even a kind of camaraderie where before there 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 of lodging the poorest class of homeless women can get in this town of london. i find that only the men of that class are provided for. some measure to establish rowton houses for women has been before the london county council. they looked into the question very carefully--so their apologists say. and what did they decide? they decided that they could do 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 the streets would make use of them. you'll think i'm not in earnest, but that was actually the decision, and the reason given for it. women that the bitter struggle for existence had forced into a life of horror might take advantage of the shelter these decent, cheap places offered. but the _men_, i said! are the men who avail themselves of lord rowton's hostels, 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 front of mr. stonor in readiness to serve him, seeming to feel there was no further need of them in this quarter, shouldered their way to the left, leaving exposed the hitherto masked figure of the tall gentleman in the motor cap. he moved uneasily, and, looking round, he met jean's eyes fixed on him. as each looked away again, each saw that for the first time vida levering had become aware of his presence. a change passed over her face, and her figure swayed as if some species of mountain-sickness had assailed her, looking down from that perilous high perch of hers upon the things of the plain. while the people were asking one another, 'what is it? is she going to faint?' she lifted one hand to her eyes, and her fingers trembled an instant against the lowered lids. but as suddenly as she had faltered, she was forging on again, repeating like an echo of a thing heard in a dream-- 'justice and chivalry! justice and chivalry remind me of the story that those of you who read the police-court news--i have begun only lately to do that--but _you_'ve seen the accounts of the girl who's been tried in manchester lately for the murder of her child.' people here and there in the crowd regaled one another with choice details of the horror. 'not pleasant reading. even if we'd noticed it, we wouldn't speak of it in my world. a few months ago i should have turned away my eyes and forgotten even the headline as quickly as i could.' 'my opinion,' said a shrewd-looking young man, 'is that she's forgot what she meant to say, and just clutched at this to keep her from drying up.' 'since that morning in the police-court i read these things. this, as you know, was the story of a working girl--an orphan of seventeen--who crawled with the dead body of her new-born child to her master's back door and left the baby there. she dragged herself a little way off and fainted. a few days later she found herself in court being tried for the murder of her child. her master, a married man, had of course reported the "find" at his back door to the police, and he had been summoned to give evidence. the girl cried out to him in the open court, "you are the father!" he couldn't deny it. the coroner, at the jury's request, censured the man, and regretted that the law didn't make him responsible. but'--she leaned down from the plinth with eyes blazing--'he went scot free. and that girl is at this moment serving her sentence in strangeways gaol.' through the moved and murmuring crowd, jean forced her way, coming in between lady john and stonor, who stood there immovable. the girl strained 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 she added, 'as you do.' 'men make boast'--the voice came clear from the monument--'that an english 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 who looked 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 strong feeling that had seized her as she put the question was sweeping the crowd along with her. 'a woman is arrested by a man, brought before a man judge, tried by a jury of men, condemned by men, taken to prison by a man, and by a man she's hanged! where in all this were _her_ "peers"? why did men, when british justice was born--why did they so long ago insist on trial by "a jury of their peers"? so that justice shouldn't miscarry--wasn't it? a man's peers would best understand his circumstances, his temptation, the degree of his guilt. yet there's no such unlikeness between different classes of men as exists between man and woman. what man has the knowledge that makes him a fit judge of woman's deeds at that time of anguish--that hour that some woman struggled through to put each man here into the world. i noticed when a previous speaker quoted the labour party, you applauded. some of you here, i gather, call yourselves labour men. every woman who has borne a child is a labour woman. no man among 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 the recital. but she whispered his name. he seemed not to hear. the speaker up there had caught her fluttering breath, and went on so low that people strained to follow. 'in that great agony, even under the best conditions that money and devotion can buy, many a woman falls into temporary mania, and not a few go down to death. in the case of this poor little abandoned working girl, what man can be the fit judge of her deeds in that awful moment of half-crazed temptation? women know of these things as those know burning who have walked through fire.' stonor looked down at the girl at his side. he saw her hands go up to her throat as though she were suffocating. the young face, where some harsh knowledge was struggling for birth, was in pity turned away from the man she loved. the woman leaned down from the platform, and spoke her last words with a low and thrilling earnestness. 'i would say in conclusion to the women here, it's not enough to be sorry for these, our unfortunate sisters. we must get the conditions of life made fairer. we women must organize. we must learn to work together. we have all (rich and poor, happy and unhappy) worked so long and 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't pennies to give, even those people are not so poor but what they can give some part of their labour--some share of their sympathy and support. 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 a thousand pounds a week for thirteen weeks to get them and their children bread, and help them to stand firm. the masters were amazed. week after week went by, and still the people weren't starved into submission. where did this mysterious stream of help come from? the employers couldn't discover, and they gave in. the women got back their old wages, and i am glad to say many of them began to put by pennies to help a 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 were helping others. i hope you'll all join the union. come up after the meeting is over and give us your names.' as she turned away, 'you won't get any men!' a taunting voice called after 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 i appeal_!' she stood so an instant, stilling the murmur, and holding the people by that sudden concentration of passion in her face. 'i don't mean to say it wouldn't be better if men and women did this work together, shoulder to shoulder. but the mass of men won't have it so. i only hope they'll realize in time the good they've renounced and the spirit they've aroused. for i know as well as any man could tell me, it would be a bad day for england if all women felt about all men _as i do_.' 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 and dissolving crowd. jean made a blind forward movement towards the monument. stonor called out, 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 opened the communicating door between her own little sitting-room and the big bare drawing-room of her grandfather's house in eaton square. she stood a moment on the threshold, looking back over her shoulder, and then crossed the drawing-room, treading softly on the parquet spaces between the rugs. she went straight to the window, and was in the act of parting the lace curtains to look out, when she heard the folding doors open. with raised finger she turned to say 'sh!' the servant stood silently waiting, while she went back to the door she had left open and with an air 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 time to get a word out--'speak low, please,' the girl said. he was obviously too much annoyed to pay much heed to her request, which if he thought about it at all, he must have interpreted as consideration for the ailing grandfather. 'i waited a full half-hour for you to come back,' he said in a tone no lower than usual. the girl had led the way to the side of the room furthest from the communicating door. 'i am sorry,' she said dully. 'if you didn't mind leaving me like that,' he followed her up with his arraignment, '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, '_miss lev_----!' before he got the name out, the folding doors had opened again, and the butler was saying, 'mr. farnborough.' that young gentleman was far too anxious and flurried himself, to have sufficient detachment of mind to consider the moods of other people. 'at last!' he said, stopping short as soon as he caught sight of stonor. 'don't speak loud, please,' said miss dunbarton; 'some one is resting in the next room.' 'oh, did you find your grandfather worse?'--but he never waited to learn. 'you'll forgive the incursion when you hear'--he turned abruptly to stonor again. 'they've been telegraphing you all over london,' he said, putting his hat down in the nearest chair. 'in sheer despair they set me on your track.' 'who did?' farnborough was fumbling agitatedly in his breast-pocket. 'there was the devil to pay at dutfield last night. the liberal chap tore down from london, 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 the beggar 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 went mad.' it was all very well for a mere girl to be staring indifferently out of the window, while a great historic party was steering straight for shipwreck; but it really was too much to see this man who ought to be taking the situation with the seriousness it deserved, strolling about the room with that abstracted air, looking superciliously at mr. dunbarton's examples of the glasgow school. farnborough balanced himself on wide-apart legs and thrust one hand in his trousers' pocket. the other hand held a telegram. 'the liberal platform as defined at dutfield is 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-brown envelope, threw it and the reply-paid form on the table, and held the message under the eyes of the obviously surprised gentleman in front of him. 'my agent!' stonor had echoed with faint incredulity. he took the telegram. '"try find stonor,"' he read. 'h'm! h'm!' his eyes ran on. farnborough looked first at the expressionless face, and then at the message. 'you see!'--he glanced over stonor's shoulder--'"tremendous effect of last night's liberal manifesto ought to be counteracted in to-morrow's papers."' 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 the table. 'well,' said farnborough, distinctly dashed, 'they've been saying we have 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're obliged (i should _think_), to consider----' in his baulked and snubbed condition he turned to miss dunbarton for countenance. 'i hope you'll forgive my bursting in like this, but'--he gathered courage as he caught a glimpse of her averted face--'i can see you realize the gravity of the situation.' he found her in the embrasure of the window, and went on with an air of speaking for her ear alone. 'my excuse for being so officious--you see it isn't as if he were going to be a mere private member. 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 last night. why, even your brother----' he brought up short. 'but i'm afraid i'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 met lord 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 any of his words had been. as though in the silence, stonor had asked a question, farnborough produced 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 political dynamite within the next few hours. those were his words.' as stonor resumed his walk he raised his head and caught sight of jean's face. 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, offering farnborough his hand with the air of civilly dismissing him. 'i'll see what can be done.' farnborough caught up the reply-paid form from the table. 'if you'd like to wire i'll take it.' faintly amused at this summary view of large complexities, 'you don't understand, my young friend,' he said, not unkindly. 'moves of this sort are not rushed at by responsible politicians. i must have time for consideration.' farnborough's face fell. 'oh. well, i only hope some one else won't jump into the breach before you.' with his watch in one hand, he held out the other to miss dunbarton. 'good-bye. i'll just go and find out what time the newspapers go to press on sunday. i'll be at the club,' he threw over 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 a vast electoral disaster," and the liberals----' 'if i decide on a counter-blast, i shall simply telegraph to headquarters. good-bye.' 'oh! a--a--good-bye.' with a gesture of 'the country's going to the dogs,' farnborough opened the doors and closed them behind him. jean had rung the bell. she came back with her eyes on the ground, and paused near the table where the crumpled envelope made a dash of yellow-brown on the polished satinwood. stonor stood studying the carpet, more concern in his face now that there was only jean to see it. '"political dynamite," eh?' he repeated, walking a few paces away. he returned 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 only motion, an occasional locking and unlocking of her fingers. but no words came. he glanced at her, as if for the first time conscious of her silence. 'you see now'--he threw himself into a chair--'one reason why i've encouraged you to take an interest in public questions. because people like us don't go screaming about it, is no sign we don't--some of us--see what's on the way. however little they may want to, women of our class will have to come into line. all the best things in the world, everything civilization has won, will be in danger if--when this change comes--the only women who have practical political training are the women of the lower classes. women of the lower classes,' he repeated, '_and_'--the line between his eyebrows deepening--'women inoculated by the 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 on the 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, with face more and more intent, bent over the paper, writing. the girl opened her lips more than once to speak, and each time fell back 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 of shrewd 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 misery went 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's backward 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 at aunt ellen's--miss levering's saying you didn't know her--then your letting 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 his self-possession. 'your ingenuity is undeniable,' he said coldly, rising to his feet. but he paused as the girl went on-- 'and then when she said that at the meeting about "the dark hour," and i looked 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 chill anger. 'i _didn't_ desert her,' he said. 'ah-h!' her hands went fluttering up to her eyes, and hid the quivering face. something in the action touched him, his face changed, and he made a sudden passionate movement toward the trembling figure standing there with 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 stood bewildered, 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. in its stead the look of aloofness that few dared brave, the warning 'thus far 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 courage has 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 to have the bare 'yes,' but she was a child. he would soften a little the truth'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 catechizing me? it's a matter that concerns another woman.' 'if you say it doesn't concern me, you're saying'--her lip trembled--'saying that you don't concern me.' with more difficulty than the girl dreamed, he compelled himself to answer 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 terribly hard----' sounding the depth of sympathy in the gentle voice, he turned towards her to meet a check in the phrase-- '----terribly hard for you both.' he stood there stonily, but looking rather handsome in his big, sulky way. the sort of person who dictates terms rather than one to accept meekly the thing that might befall. something of that overbearing look of his must have penetrated the clouded consciousness of the girl, for she was saying-- 'you! a man like _you_ not to have had the freedom, that even the lowest seem 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, for any one who loved him. 'the truth is, it didn't weigh upon her as it seems 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 meant to 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,' she said. he went over to the window, seeming to wait there for something that did not come. he turned round at last. 'i still hoped, at _that_ time, to win my father over. she blamed me because'--again he faced the window and looked blindly out--'if the child had lived it wouldn't have been possible to get my father to--to overlook it.' 'you--wanted--it _overlooked_?' the girl said faintly. 'i don't underst----' he came back to her on a wave of passion. 'of course you don't understand. if you did you wouldn't be the beautiful, tender, innocent child 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 it was, so tragically eloquent, that fear for the first time caught hold of him. 'i am glad you didn't mean to desert her, geoffrey. it wasn't your fault, 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 as forgotten----' he did not see the horror-struck glance at the door, but he heard the whisper-- '_forgotten!_' 'no, no'--he caught himself up--'i don't mean exactly forgotten. but you're torturing me so that i don't know what i'm saying.' he went closer. 'you aren't going to let this old thing come between you and me?' 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, at least, that you didn't mean to desert her in her trouble. you'll remind her 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 door on 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 if what i think matters to you now, but i hope it does. you can still'--her voice was faint with tears--'still make me think of you without shrinking--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 who summons all her resolution--'i'm not so innocent but what i know you must 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 hours and go back to something that ten years ago was ended forever!' as he saw how unmoved her face was, 'why,' he burst out, 'it's stark, staring madness!' '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 man would himself have done it. stonor caught her two hands in his, and drew her 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 sudden conversions. you think they're hysterical--worse--vulgar. but people must get their revelation how they can. and, geoffrey, if i can't make you see this one of mine, i shall know your love could never mean strength to me--only weakness. and i shall be afraid,' she whispered. her dilated eyes might have seen a ghost lurking there in the commonplace room. 'so afraid i should never dare give you the chance of making me loathe myself.' there was a pause, and out of the silence fell words 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 and think it any good ever to come back. even if i came to feel different, i couldn't _do_ anything different. i should _know_ all this couldn't be forgotten. i should know that it would poison my life in the end--yours too.' 'she has made good use of her time!' he said bitterly. then, upon a sudden thought, 'what has changed _her_? has she been seeing visions too?' 'what do you mean?' 'why is she intriguing to get hold of a man that ten years ago she flatly 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 you ask?' 'there can't be any doubt about that,' said the girl, firmly. with all his tenderness for her, so little still did he understand what she was going through, that he plainly thought all her pain had come of knowing that this other page was in his life--he had no glimpse of the girl's passionate need to think of that same long-turned-over page as unmarred by the darker blot. 'you absurd, ridiculous child!' with immense relief he dropped into the nearest 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, and at 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 you before i understood.' her own eyes were brimming as she lifted them in a passion of gratitude to his face. 'oh! is that true? loving you has made things clear to me i didn't dream of before. if i could think that because of me you were able to do this----' 'you go back to that?' he seized her by the shoulders, and said hoarsely, 'look here! do you seriously ask me to give up the girl i love--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. she is beautiful and brilliant--_every_thing. i've heard she could win any man----' he pushed the girl from him. 'she's bewitched you!' he was halfway to the door. 'geoffrey, geoffrey, you aren't going away like that? this isn't _the end_?' the face he turned back upon her was dark and hesitating. 'i suppose if she 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 the arm. 'stop!' he said, glancing about like one hunting desperately for a means of gaining a few minutes. 'lady john is waiting all this time at my house for the car to go back with a message.' '_that's_ not a matter of life and death!' she said, with all the impatience of the young at that tyranny of little things which seems to hold its unrelenting sway, though the battlements of righteousness are rocking, and the tall towers of love are shaken to the nethermost foundation-stones. 'no, it's not a matter of life and death,' stonor said quietly. 'all the same, i'll go down and give the order.' 'very well.' of her own accord this time she stopped on her way to that other door, behind which was the past and the future incarnate in one woman. 'i'll wait,' said jean. she went to the table. sitting there with her face turned from him, she said, quite low, 'you'll come back, if you're the man i pray you are.' her self-control seemed all at once to fail. she leaned her elbows on the table and broke into a flood of silent tears, with face hidden in her 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 softly opened. vida levering stood on the threshold. chapter xviii she drew back as soon as she saw him, but stonor had looked round. his face darkened as he stood there an instant, silently challenging her. not a word spoken by either of them, no sound but the faint, muffled sobbing of the girl, who sat with hidden face. with a look of speechless anger, the man went out and shut the doors behind him. not seeing, only hearing that he had gone, jean threw her arms out across the table in an abandonment of grief. the other woman laid on a chair the hat and cloak that she was carrying. then she went slowly across the room and stood silent a moment at jean's side. 'what is the matter?' the girl started. impossible for her to speak in that first moment. but when 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 an attempt at lightness. 'you see, i know now,' jean explained, with the brave directness that was characteristic. the more sophisticated woman presented an aspect totally unenlightened. 'i know how he'--jean dropped her eyes--'how he spoiled some one else's life.' '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 girl rose to her feet. 'what's the use--what's the use of your going on denying it?' as she saw vida was about to break in, she silenced her with two words, '_geoffrey doesn'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. when jean had mastered herself, she came slowly back. not till she was close to the motionless figure did the girl lift her eyes. 'oh, don't look like that,' the girl prayed. 'i shall bring him back to you.' she was on her knees by vida's chair. the fixed abstraction went out of the older face, but it was very cold as she began-- 'you would be impertinent--if--you weren't a romantic child. you can't bring him back.' 'yes, yes, he----' 'no. but'--vida looked deep into the candid eyes--'there is something you _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 can ever be paid back. 'yes,' she insisted, out of the faith she still had in him, ready to be his surety. 'yes, he can. he will.' the other shook her head. 'no, he can't repay the dead. but there are the living. there are the thousands with hope still in their hearts and youth in their blood. let him help _them_. let him be a friend to women.' 'i understand!' jean rose up, wide-eyed. 'yes, _that_ too.' the door had opened, and lady john was coming in with stonor towering beside her. when he saw the girl rising from her knees, he turned to lady john with a little gesture of, 'what did i tell you?' the moment jean caught sight of him, 'thank you!' she said, while her aunt was briskly advancing, filling all the room with a pleasant silken rustling, and a something nameless, that was like clear noonday after storm-cloud or haunted twilight. 'well,' she said in a cheerful commonplace tone to jean; 'you rather gave us the slip! vida, i believe mr. stonor wants to see you for a few minutes, but'--she glanced at her watch--'i'd like a word with you first, as i must get back. do you think the car'--she turned to stonor--'your man said something about recharging----' 'oh, did he? i'll see about it.' as he went out he brushed past the butler. 'mr. trent has called, miss, to take the lady to the meeting,' said that functionary. 'bring mr. trent into my sitting-room,' said jean hastily, and then to miss levering, 'i'll tell him you can't go to-night.' lady john stood watching the girl with critical eyes till she had disappeared into the adjoining room and shut the door behind her. then-- 'i know, my dear'--she spoke almost apologetically--'you're not aware of what that impulsive child wants to insist on. i feel it an embarrassment even to tell you.' 'i know.' 'you know?' lady john waited for condemnation of jean's idea. she waited in vain. 'it isn't with your sanction, surely, that she makes this extraordinary demand?' 'i didn't sanction it at first,' said the other slowly; 'but i've been thinking it over.' lady john's suavity stiffened perceptibly. 'then all i can say is, i am greatly disappointed in you. you threw this man over years ago, for reasons, whatever they were, that seemed to you good and sufficient. and now 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 give his 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 the grave closes over her. you and i _know_ it isn't true.' 'well, but----' her ladyship blinked, suddenly seeing daylight. 'oh! it was just the unexpected sight of him bringing it all back! _that_ was what fired you this afternoon. of course'--she made an honest attempt at sympathetic understanding--'the memory of a thing like that can never die--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 anything else to think about, comes to the end of ten years still absorbed in a memory 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 there was 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 a chain of evidence. it's certain i think a hundred times of other women's present unhappiness to once that i remember that old unhappiness of mine that's past. i think of the nail and chain makers of cradley heath, the sweated girls of the slums; i think,' her voice fell, 'of the army of ill-used women, whose very existence i mustn't mention----' lady john interrupted her hurriedly. 'then why in heaven's name do you let poor jean imagine----' vida suddenly bent forward. 'look--i'll trust you, lady john. i don't suffer from that old wrong as jean thinks i do, but i shall coin her sympathy 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 as about a person. but if my old half-forgotten pain can turn her generosity 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, shall serve hundreds of thousands well. geoffrey stonor shall make it harder for his son, harder still for his grandson, to treat any woman as he treated 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, with some irony. 'power? yes,' answered the other, 'men have too much over penniless and frightened women.' 'what nonsense! you talk as though the women hadn't their share of human nature. _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,' she said. '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, but she found herself stimulated to show in this moment of privacy that even she had not travelled her sheltered way through the world altogether in blinkers. 'they talk of our lack of self-control, but,' she admitted, 'it's the last thing men _want_ women to have.' 'oh, we know what they want us to have! so we make shift to have it. if we 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's largely a question of economics.' 'you _never_ loved him, then!' 'yes, i loved him--once. it was my helplessness that turned the best thing 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 no illusions. when people come to know that i've joined the women's union----' 'but you won't' '----who is there who will resist the temptation to say "poor vida levering! what a pity she hasn't got a husband and a baby to keep her quiet"? the few who know about me, they'll be equally sure that, not the larger view of life i've gained, but my own poor little story, is responsible for my new departure.' she leaned forward and looked into lady john's face. 'my best friend, she will be surest of all, that it's a private sense of loss, or lower yet, a grudge, that's responsible for my attitude. i tell you the only difference between me and thousands of women 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, why pursue 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. 'i think 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 had divined 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 the fact of her realization that lady john had come there in the character of scout. with an openness not wholly free from scorn, the younger woman had laid her own cards on the table. she made no scruple at turning her back on lady john's somewhat incoherent evasion. ignoring it she crossed the room and opened the door for her. jean was in the corridor saying good-bye to the chairman of the afternoon. 'well, mr. trent,' said miss levering in even tones, 'i didn't expect to see 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 good enough to squire me through the rabble from time to time.' 'well,' said lady john, advancing quite graciously, 'i think it's very handsome of you after what she said to-day about men.' 'i've no great opinion of most men myself,' said the young gentleman. 'i might add, or of most women.' 'oh!' lady john laughed. 'at any rate i shall go away relieved to think that miss levering's plain speaking hasn't alienated _all_ masculine regard.' 'why should it?' he said. 'that's right.' lady john metaphorically patted him on the back. 'don't believe 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_ sex who 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't a man-hater on your side prove equally open to reason?' 'that aspect of the question has become irrelevant so far as i'm personally concerned,' said vida, exasperated by lady john's look of pleased significance. 'i've got to a place where i realize that the first battles of this new campaign must be fought by women alone. the only 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 face criticism in publicly championing you----' 'yes, but it's an illusion that i, as an individual, need a champion. i am quite safe in the crowd. please don't wait for me and don't come for me again.' the sensitive dark face flushed. 'of course if you'd rather----' 'and that reminds me,' she went on, unfairly punishing poor mr. trent for lady john's meaning looks, 'i was asked to thank you, and to tell you, 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 men ready--better known men----' 'it isn't that. it's simply that we find a man can't keep a rowdy meeting 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 our worst 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 taken downstairs by kind little miss dunbarton, who had stood without a word waiting 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 to that nice boy.' 'do you?' 'yes; for then i would be more sure of your telling geoffrey stonor that intelligent women don't nurse their wrongs indefinitely, and lie in wait to 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 glanced nervously at her watch, and, with a gesture of perturbation, hurriedly left 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 of those hurried glimpses at the tunbridges' months before, and twice to-day when other eyes were watching. it was as if now, for the first time since they parted, he stood forth clearly. this man with the changed face, coming in at the door and carefully shutting it--he had once 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 that was the same and yet so different. not even anger there. where a less complex man would have brought in, if not the menace of a storm, at least an intimation of masterfulness that should advertise the uselessness of opposition, stonor brought a subtler ally in what, for lack of better words, must be called an air of heightened fastidiousness--mainly physical. man has no shrewder weapon against the woman 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 is something in that cool, sure assumption of unapproachableness on the part of one who once had been so near--something that lames advance and hypnotizes vision. geoffrey stonor's aloofness was not in the 'high look' alone; it was as much as anything in the very way he walked, as if the ground were hardly good enough, in the way he laid his shapely hand on the carved back of the sofa, the way his eyes rested on inanimate things in the room, reducing whoever was responsible for them to the need of justifying their presence and defending their value. as the woman in the chair, leaning cheek on hand, sat silently watching him, it may have been that obscure things in those headlong hours of the past grew plainer. however ludicrous the result may look in the last analysis, it is clear that a faculty such as stonor's for overrating the value of the individual in the scheme of things, does seem more effectually than any mere patent of nobility to confer upon a man the 'divine right' to dictate to his fellows and to look down upon them. the thing is founded on illusion, but it is founded as firm as many another figment that has governed men and seen the generations come to heel and go crouching to their graves. but the shining superiority of the man seemed to be a little dimmed for the woman sitting there. the old face and the new face, she saw them both 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 your lesson--by heart at last?' he looked at her from immeasurable distance. 'i am not sure that i understand you,' he said. he waited an instant, then, seeing no explanation vouchsafed, 'however unpropitious your mood may be,' he went on 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 a formality that smacked of insolence, 'to offer you what i believe is called "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 me something?' 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 said that, if you exact it, i will.' 'ah! if i insist, you'll "make it all good"! then, don't you know, you must 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, with shaking voice. 'give me that.' 'oh, if you mean to make phrases----' he half turned away, but the swift words 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 her again. 'give me back the power to think fairly of my brothers--not as mockers--thieves.' 'i have not mocked you. and i have asked you----' 'something you knew i should refuse. or'--her eyes blazed--'or did you dare to be afraid i wouldn't?' 'oh, i suppose'--he buttressed his good faith with bitterness--'i suppose if we set our teeth we could----' 'i couldn't--not even if i set my teeth. and you wouldn't dream of asking me if you thought there was the smallest chance.' ever so faintly he raised his heavy shoulders. 'i can do no more than make you an offer of such reparation as is in my power. if you don't accept it----' he turned away with an air of '_that's_ done.' but her emotion had swept her out of her course. she found herself at his side. 'accept it? no! go away and live in debt. pay and pay and pay--and find yourself still in debt--for a thing you'll never be able to give me back. and when you come to die'--her voice fell--'say to yourself, "i paid all my creditors but one."' he stopped on his way to the door and faced her again. 'i'm rather tired, 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 her momentary lack of that boasted self-control. she forestalled him at the door. 'what resolution?' she asked. he looked down at her an instant, clothed from head to foot in that indefinable armour of unapproachableness. this was a man who asked other people questions, himself ill-accustomed to be catechised. if he replied it was a grace. 'i came here,' he said, 'under considerable pressure, to speak of the future. 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. men suffer as well as we by the woman's starting wrong. we are taught to think 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 of those days that lay behind. 'make no mistake,' he said. 'not the woman alone. _they go down together._' 'yes, they go down together. but the man comes up alone. as a rule. it is 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--that most men in my position wouldn't have troubled themselves. i gave myself endless trouble.' she looked at him with wondering eyes. 'so you've gone about all these years feeling that you'd discharged every obligation?' 'not only that. i stood by you with a fidelity that was nothing short of quixotic. if, woman-like, you _must_ recall the past, i insist on your recalling 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!' the gathering volume of his righteous wrath swept the cool precision out of his voice. 'it's a curious enough charge,' he said, 'when you stop to consider----' again he checked himself, and, with a gesture of impatience, was for sweeping the whole thing out of his way, including that figure at the door. but she stood there. 'well, when we do just for five minutes out of ten years--when we do stop to consider----' 'we remember it was _you_ who did the deserting. and since you had to rake 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 you wouldn'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 was about 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 the palm of the other hand--'do you deny that you returned my letters unopened?' 'no,' she said. 'do you deny that you refused to see me, and that when i persisted you vanished?' 'i don't deny any of those things.' 'why'--he stood up straight again, and his shoulders grew more square with 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 my father 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 on the word--'the barrier was your invention.' 'the only barrier i knew of was no "invention." if you had ever known my father----' 'oh, the echoes! the echoes!' she lay back in the chair. 'how often you used to say, if i "knew your father." but you said, too'--her voice sank--'you called the greatest "barrier" by another name.' 'what name?' so low that even he could hardly hear she answered, 'the child that was to come.' 'that was before my father died,' stonor returned hastily, 'while i still hoped to get his consent.' she nodded, and her eyes were set like wide doors for memory to enter in. 'how the thought of that all-powerful personage used to terrorize me! what chance had a little unborn child against "the last of the great feudal 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 kill love.' neither spoke for some seconds. fearing and putting from him fuller comprehension, 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 crooning note 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 so impassable as the one a little child can raise.' it was as if lightning had flashed across the old picture. he drew back from 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 was between 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 wake thinking i heard it cry. it was my own crying i heard, but i seemed to have it in my arms. i suppose i was mad. i used to lie there in that lonely 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. your autocratic father, your brilliant political future----' 'be fair. our future--as i saw it then.' 'yes, everything hung on concealment. it must have looked quite simple to you. you didn't know the ghost of a child that had never seen the light, the frail thing you meant to sweep aside and forget'--she was on her feet--'_have_ swept aside and forgotten!--you didn't know it was strong enough to push you out of my life.' with an added intensity, 'it can 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 herself she 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, given to 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 her head. 'even if i could trust you to pay the price,' she said, 'i'm not sure but what a young and ardent soul as faithful and as pure as hers--i'm not sure but i should make a poor bargain for my sex to give that up for anything you could do.' he found his feet like a man roused out of an evil dream to some reality darker than the dream. 'in spite of your assumption, she may not be your tool,' he said. 'you are horribly afraid she is! but you are wrong. she's an instrument in stronger hands than mine. soon my little personal influence over her will be merged in something infinitely greater. oh, don't think it's merely 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 idea for a wild absurdity, sentinel-like he began to pace up and down a few yards from jean's door. 'how else,' said the woman, 'should that inexperienced girl have felt the 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 lit up the world. it had been there since the world began--waiting to do away with the dark. _so has the thing you're fighting._' 'the thing i'm fighting'--and the violence with which he spoke was only in his face and air; he held his voice down to its lowest register--'the thing i'm fighting is nothing more than one person's hold upon a highly sensitive imagination. i consented to this interview with the hope'--he made 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 grown haggard. 'if you were fighting for that girl only against me, you'd win,' she said. 'it isn't so--and you will fail. the influence that has hold of her is in the very air. no soul knows where it comes from, except that it 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 other mysterious forces of mother earth. no warning given--no sign. a night wind passes over the brown land, and in the morning the fields are green.' his look was the look of one who sees happiness slipping away. 'or it passes 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 through fear that your enlightenment will come. the strangest things make you men afraid! that's why i see a value in jean dunbarton far beyond her fortune.' 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-superstitious fear----' 'fear! are you mad?' 'mad!' she echoed. 'unsexed'--those are the words to-day. in the middle ages men cried out 'witch!' and burnt her--the woman who served no man's bed 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 a value in women apart from the value men see in them. you teach us not to look to you for some of the things we need most. if women must be freed by women, we have need of such as----' her eyes went to the door that stonor still had an air of guarding. 'who knows--she may be the new joan of arc.' he paused, and for that moment he seemed as bankrupt in denunciation as he was in hope. this personal application of the new heresy found him merely aghast, with no words but 'that _she_ should be the sacrifice!' 'you have taught us to look very calmly on the sacrifice of women,' was the ruthless answer. 'men tell us in every tongue, it's "a necessary evil."' he stood still a moment, staring at the ground. 'one girl's happiness--against a thing nobler than happiness for thousands--who can hesitate? _not jean._' 'good god! can't you see that this crazed campaign you'd start her on--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 the goal?' '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 morbid self-sacrifice.' 'you say i want to punish you only because, like other men, you won't take the trouble to understand what we do want--or how determined we are to have it. you can't kill this new spirit among women.' she went nearer. 'and you couldn't make a greater mistake than to think it finds a home only in the exceptional or the unhappy. it is so strange to see a man like you as much deluded as the hyde park loafers, who say to ernestine blunt, "who's hurt _your_ feelings?" why not realize'--she came still closer, if she had put out her hand she would have touched him--'this is a thing that goes deeper than personal experience? and yet,' she said in a voice so hushed that it was full of a sense of the girl on the other side of the door, 'if you take only the narrowest personal view, a good deal depends on what you and i agree upon in the next five minutes.' 'you recommend my realizing the larger issues. but in your ambition to attach that poor girl to the chariot-wheels of progress'--his voice put the drag of ironic pomposity upon the phrase--'you quite ignore the fact that 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--'to give the thing a chance.' 'men are ready! what men?' his eyes evaded hers. he picked his words. 'women have themselves to blame that the question has grown so delicate that responsible people shrink 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 antagonism seems to have blinded you to the small fact that i for one am not an opponent.' 'the phrase has a familiar ring. we have heard it four hundred and twenty times.' his eyes were shining with anger. 'i spoke, if i may say so, of some one who would count. some one who can carry his party along with him--or risk 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 be driven. ten minutes before you came into the room i was ready to say i would throw in my political lot with this reform.' 'and now?' 'now you block my way by an attempt at coercion. by forcing my hand you give my adherence an air of bargain-driving for a personal end. exactly the mistake of the ignorant agitators in trafalgar square. you have a great deal to learn. this movement will go forward, not because of the agitation outside, but in spite of it. there are men in parliament who would have been actively serving the reform to-day--as actively as so vast 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 and defiance of the law!' she looked at him with an attempt to appear to accept this version. what did it matter what reasons were given for past failure, if only the future might be assured? he had taken a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket 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 only one 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 a pleasure that had been strangled at the birth along with something greater. did he see before him again the girl's tear-filled, hopeless eyes, that had not so much as read the wonderful message, too intent upon the death-warrant of their common happiness? he threw himself heavily into a chair, staring at the closed door. behind it, in a prison of 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 now to 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. if love and ambition both urge you on, perhaps----' she looked up a little defiantly, seeming to expect to meet triumph in his face. instead, her eye took in the profound hopelessness of the bent head, the slackness of the big frame, that so suddenly had assumed a look of age. she went over to him silently, and stood by his side. 'after all,' she said, 'life hasn't been quite fair to you.' at the new thing in her voice he raised his heavy eyes. 'you fall out of one ardent woman's dreams into another'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 it was empty? she was looking at the other. mere instinct made him close his left hand more firmly on the message. it was as if something finer than her slim fingers, the woman's invisible antennæ, felt the force that would need be overcome if trial of strength should be precipitated then. upon his 'what can i do?' she shook her head. 'for the real you,' he said. 'not the reformer, or the would-be politician--for the woman i so unwillingly hurt.' as she only turned away, he stood up, detaining her with a hold upon her arm. 'you may not believe it, but now that i understand, there is almost nothing i wouldn't do to right that old wrong.' 'there's nothing to be done,' she said; and then, shrinking under that look of almost cheerful benevolence, 'you can never give me back my child.' 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 taught something to? why not give even a man credit for a willingness to learn something of life, and for being sorry--profoundly sorry--for the pain his instruction has cost others? you seem to think i've taken it all quite 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 know you--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 john couldn't!' he ignored the interpretation. 'you're one of the people the years have not taken from, but given more to. 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. but the time has come when a woman may look about her and say, what general significance has my secret pain? does it "join on" to anything? and i find it _does_. i'm no longer simply a woman who has stumbled on the way.' with difficulty she controlled the shake in her voice. 'i'm one who has got up bruised and bleeding, wiped the dust from her hands and the tears from her face--and said to herself not merely: here's one luckless woman! but--here is a stone of stumbling to many. let's see if it can't be moved out of other women's way. and she calls people to come and help. no mortal man, let alone a woman, _by herself_, can move that rock of offence. but,' she ended with a sudden sombre flare of enthusiasm, '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 for himself. it was as if she could not turn her back on him this last time without leaving him comforted. 'shall i tell you a secret? jean's ardent dreams needn't frighten you, if she has a child. _that_--from the beginning 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 been begging pity, or it might have been bestowing it. even then she did not take it, but a great gentleness was in her face as she said-- 'you will have other children, geoffrey; for me there was to be only one. well, well,' she brushed the tears away, 'since men have tried, and failed to make a decent world for the little children to live in, it's as well some of us are childless. yes,' she said quietly, taking up the hat and cloak, '_we_ are the ones who have no excuse for standing aloof from 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. * * * * * the following pages are advertisements of the macmillan standard library the macmillan fiction library the macmillan juvenile library the macmillan standard library this series has taken its place as one of the most important popular-priced editions. the "library" includes only those books which have been put to the test of public opinion and have not been found wanting,--books, in other words, which have come to be regarded as standards in the fields of knowledge--literature, religion, biography, history, politics, art, economics, sports, sociology, and belles lettres. together they make the most complete and authoritative works on the several subjects. each volume, cloth, mo, cents net; postage, cents extra addams--the spirit of youth and the city streets by jane addams "shows such sanity, such breadth and tolerance of mind, and such penetration into the inner meanings of outward phenomena as to make it a book 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 in its generalization and in the perspectives it opens."--_philadelphia press._ 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, and which are most capable of application on the farm."--_los angeles express._ campbell--the new theology by r. j. campbell "a fine contribution to the better thought of our times written in the spirit 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 this book, 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 and woman, care of needy families, and the discussions of the problems of child labor." coolidge--the united states as a world power by archibald cary coolidge "a work of real distinction... which moves the reader to thought."--_the nation._ croly--the promise of american life by herbert croly "the most profound and illuminating study of our national conditions which 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, so logical, 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, municipal ownership, 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 business life."--_baltimore sun._ french--how to grow vegetables by allen french "particularly valuable to a beginner in vegetable gardening, giving not only a convenient and reliable planting-table, but giving particular attention 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 mild philosophy 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 of the rarely precious volumes which opens the door to an intimate acquaintance with the wonderful people who command the attention of the world to-day."--_boston herald._ hillis--the quest of happiness by rev. newell dwight hillis "its whole tone and spirit is of a sane, healthy optimism."--_philadelphia telegraph._ hillquit--socialism in theory and practice by morris hillquit "an interesting historical sketch of the movement."--_newark evening news._ hodges--everyman's religion by george hodges "religion to-day is preëminently ethical and social, and such is the religion so ably and attractively set forth in these pages."--_boston herald._ horne--david livingstone by silvester c. horne the centenary edition of this popular work. a clear, simple, narrative biography of the great missionary, explorer, and scientist. hunter--poverty by robert hunter "mr. hunter's book is at once sympathetic and scientific. he brings to the task a store of practical experience in settlement work gathered in many parts of the country."--_boston transcript._ hunter--socialists at work by robert hunter "a vivid, running characterization of the foremost personalities in the socialist 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, so careful, 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 from the 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 is very different from that of the closest theorist."--_springfield republican._ 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 for it."--_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 means of assistance in the ordinary problems of farming."--_national nurseryman._ 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 prove a 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.... a notable book and one that every christian may read with profit."--_the living church._ mathews--the gospel and the modern man by shailer mathews "a succinct statement of the essentials of the new testament."--_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 sagacious contribution to the subject."--_louisville courier-journal._ pierce--the tariff and the trusts by franklin pierce "an excellent campaign document for a non-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."--_new york times._ riis--the making of an american by jacob riis "its romance and vivid incident make it as varied and delightful as any romance."--_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 the general 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 one month--in the vegetable garden, among the small fruits, with the fowls, guineas, rabbits, and in every branch of husbandry to be met with on the small farm."--_louisville courier-journal._ sherman--what is shakespeare? by l. a. sherman "emphatically a work without which the library of the shakespeare student 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 produced which deals so searchingly with american political institutions and their history."--_new york evening telegram._ spargo--socialism by john spargo "one of the ablest expositions of socialism that has ever been written."--_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 of value."--_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 all times."--_boston courier._ van dyke--the spirit of america by henry van dyke "undoubtedly the most notable interpretation in years of the real america. it compares favorably with bryce's 'american commonwealth.'"--_philadelphia press._ veblen--the theory of the leisure class by thorstein b. veblen "the most valuable recent contribution to the elucidation of this subject."--_london times._ wells--new worlds for old by h. g. wells "as a presentation of socialistic thought as it is working to-day, this is the most judicious and balanced discussion at the disposal of the general reader."--_world to-day._ white--the old order changeth by william allen white "the present status of society in america. an excellent antidote to the pessimism 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 have been published in recent years. these successful books are now made available at a popular price in response to the insistent demand for cheaper editions. each volume, cloth, mo, cents net; postage, cents extra allen--a kentucky cardinal by james lane allen "a narrative, told with naïve simplicity, of how a man who was devoted to his fruits and flowers and birds came to fall in love with a fair neighbor."--_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 as hawthorne's.... and rich in the qualities that are lacking in so many novels 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 the profoundest respect and admiration. jim is a real man, sound and fine."--_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 its people, and warm with the red blood of romance and melodrama."--_boston transcript._ davis--a friend of cÆsar by william stearns davis "there are many incidents so vivid, so brilliant, that they fix themselves 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, the adventures, but most for the sake of the boy who served love and the king."--_chicago record-herald._ elizabeth and her german garden "it is full of nature in many phases--of breeze and sunshine, of the glory 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 the fountain of youth."--_outlook._ herrick--the common lot by robert herrick "a story of present-day life, intensely real in its picture of a young architect whose ideals in the beginning were, at their highest, æsthetic rather 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 with romantic and dramatic incident."--_los angeles tribune._ london--burning daylight by jack london "jack london has outdone himself in 'burning daylight.'"--_the springfield union._ loti--disenchanted by pierre loti "it gives a more graphic picture of the life of the rich turkish women of to-day than anything that has ever been written."--_brooklyn daily eagle._ lucas--mr. ingleside by e. v. lucas "he displays himself as an intellectual and amusing observer of life's foibles with a hero characterized by inimitable kindness and humor."--_the independent._ mason--the four feathers by a. e. w. mason "'the four feathers' is a first-rate story, with more legitimate thrills than 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 political and 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 satisfying end." remington--ermine of the yellowstone by john remington "a very original and remarkable novel wonderful in its vigor and freshness." roberts--kings in exile by charles g. d. roberts "the author catches the spirit of forest and sea life, and the reader comes to have a personal love and knowledge of our animal friends."--_boston globe._ robins--the convert by elizabeth robins "'the convert' devotes itself to the exploitation of the recent suffragist movement in england. it is a book not easily forgotten, by any thoughtful reader."--_chicago evening post._ robins--a dark lantern by elizabeth robins a powerful and striking novel, english in scene, which takes an essentially 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 extraordinary success at character analysis." wells--the wheels of chance by h. g. wells "mr. wells is beyond question the most plausible romancer of the time."--_the new york tribune._ * * * * * the macmillan juvenile library this collection of juvenile books contains works of standard quality, on a variety of subjects--history, biography, fiction, science, and poetry--carefully chosen to meet the needs and interests of both boys and girls. _each volume, cloth, mo, cents net; postage, 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 healthy american boy."--_new york sun._ bacon--while caroline was growing by josephine daskam bacon "only a genuine lover of children, and a keenly sympathetic observer of human 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 like it."--_washington times._ greene--pickett's gap by homer greene "the story presents a picture of truth and honor that cannot fail to have 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 great old-fashioned wagon. a charming narrative, as quaint and original as its name."--_booknews monthly._ mabie--book of christmas by h. w. mabie "a beautiful collection of christmas verse and prose in which all the old favorites will be found in an artistic setting."--_the st. louis mirror._ 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 hidden treasures."--_cleveland leader._ nesbit--the railway children by e. nesbit "a delightful story revealing the author's intimate knowledge of juvenile ways."--_the nation._ whyte--the story book girls by christina g. whyte "a book that all girls will read with delight--a sweet, wholesome story of girl life." wright--dream fox story book by mabel osgood wright "the whole book is delicious with its wise and kindly humor, its just perspective of the true value of things." wright--aunt jimmy's will by mabel osgood wright "barbara has written no more delightful book than this." * * * * * [beginning of moved advertising] the best new books at the least prices each volume in the macmillan libraries sells for cents, never more, wherever books are sold. the macmillan standard library 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. the macmillan company new york · boston · chicago atlanta · san francisco macmillan & co., limited london · bombay · calcutta melbourne the macmillan co. of canada, ltd. toronto [end of moved advertising] * * * * * transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. obvious typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have been corrected. corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted below: page : 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 : typographical error corrected refusal to let attenion[attention] go was mitigated by something in the quietness, page : hyphen removed 'why?' said mr. freddy, sticking in his eye-glass.[hyphen removed] page : hyphen added kept watching with a kind of half-absent-[hyphen added]minded scorn page : quotation typographical error corrected dr. pankhurst and mr. jacob bright passed a second reading."['] page : quotation typographical error corrected next monster petition to parliament asking for woman's suffrage."['] page : typographical error corrected the vivid scarlet lips; almost spleepy[sleepy] the heavy-lidded eyes. page : quotation typographical error corrected those of you who want to see women free, hold up your hands."['] page : typographical error corrected 'we got a gryte deal to do with our wgyes[wyges], we women has. page : quotation typographical error corrected 'why didn't you stay where i left you?"['] he answered, without page : added single quotation mark a rich chuckle. 'she's a educatin' of us!['] page : 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 : typographical error corrected in a turtle-esque fashion highty[highly] provocative, page : quotation typographical error corrected whose crime is, they ask for the vote?'["] but try as i would, page : typographical error corrected stonor as he came in seemed to take no acccount[account] of those page : typographical error corrected for that moment he semed[seemed] as bankrupt in denunciation the sturdy oak a composite novel of american politics by fourteen american authors by samuel merwin, et al. [illustration] the sturdy oak other authors: samuel merwin harry leon wilson fannie hurst dorothy canfield kathleen norris henry kitchell webster anne o'hagan mary heaton vorse alice duer miller ethel watts mumford marjorie benton cooke william allen white mary austin leroy scott theme by mary austin the chapters collected and (very cautiously) edited by elizabeth jordan new york henry holt and company [blank-copyright info] preface at a certain committee meeting held in the spring of , it was agreed that fourteen leading american authors, known to be extremely generous as well as gifted, should be asked to write a composite novel. as i was not present at this particular meeting, it was unanimously and joyously decided by those who were present that i should attend to the trivial details of getting this novel together. it appeared that all i had to do was: first, to persuade each of the busy authors on the list to write a chapter of the novel. second, to keep steadily on their trails from the moment they promised their chapters until they turned them in. third, to have the novel finished and published serially during the autumn campaign of . the carrying out of these requirements has not been the childish diversion it may have seemed. splendid team work, however, has made success possible. every author represented, every worker on the team, has gratuitously contributed his or her services; and every dollar realized by the serial and book publication of "the sturdy oak" will be devoted to the suffrage cause. but the novel itself is first of all a very human story of american life today. it neither unduly nor unfairly emphasizes the question of equal suffrage, and it should appeal to all lovers of good fiction. therefore, pausing only to wipe the beads of perspiration from our brows, we urge every one to buy this book! elizabeth jordan. new york. _november_, . contents chapter i. by samuel merwin ii. by harry leon wilson iii. by fannie hurst iv. by dorothy canfield v. by kathleen norris vi. by henry kitchell webster vii. by anne o'hagan viii. by mary heaton vorse ix. by alice duer miller x. by ethel watts mumford xi. by marjorie benton cook xii. by william allen white xiii. by mary austin xiv. by leroy scott illustrations "nobody ever means that a woman really can't get along without a man's protection, because look at the women who do." it was hard on the darling old boy to come home to miss emelene and the cat and eleanor and alys every night! "you mean because she's a suffragist? you sent her away for _that!_ why, really, that's _tyranny!_" across the way, mrs. herrington, the fighting blood of five generations of patriots roused in her, had reinstated the voiceless speech. principal characters _george remington_... aged twenty-six; newly married. recently returned to his home town, new york state, to take up the practice of law. politically ambitious, a candidate for district attorney. opposed to woman suffrage. _genevieve_... his wife, aged twenty-three, graduate of smith. devoted to george; her ideal being to share his every thought. _betty sheridan_... a friend of genevieve. very pretty; one of the first families, well-to-do but in search of economic independence. working as stenographer in george's office; an ardent suffragist. _penfield evans_... otherwise "penny," george's partner, in love with betty. neutral on the subject of suffrage. _alys brewster-smith_... cousin of george, once removed; thirty-three, a married woman by profession, but temporarily widowed. anti-suffragist. one angel child aged five. _martin jaffry_... uncle to george, bachelor of uncertain age and certain income. the widow's destined prey. _cousin emelene_.... on genevieve's side. between thirty-five and forty, a born spinster but clinging to the hope of marriage as the only career for women. has a small and decreasing income. affectedly feminine and genuinely incompetent. _mrs. harvey herrington_.... president of the woman's club, the municipal league, suffrage society leader, wealthy, cultured and possessing a sense of humor. _percival pauncefoot sheridan_.... betty's brother, fifteen, commonly called pudge. pink, pudgy, sensitive; always imposed upon, always grouchy and too good-natured to assert himself. _e. eliot_.... real estate agent (added in chapter vi by henry kitchell webster). _benjamin doolittle_.... a leader of his party, and somewhat careless where he leads it. (added in anne o'hagan's chapter). _patrick noonan_.... a follower of doolittle. time.... the present. place.... whitewater, n. y. a manufacturing town of from ten to fifteen thousand inhabitants. the sturdy oak chapter i. by samuel merwin genevieve remington had been called beautiful. she was tall, with brown eyes and a fine spun mass of golden-brown hair. she had a gentle smile, that disclosed white, even teeth. her voice was not unmusical. she was twenty-three years old and possessed a husband who, though only twenty-six, had already shown such strength of character and such aptitude at the criminal branch of the law that he was now a candidate for the post of district attorney on the regular republican ticket. the popular impression was that he would be elected hands down. his address on alexander hamilton at the union league club banquet at hamilton city, twenty-five miles from whitewater (with which smaller city we are concerned in this narrative), had been reprinted in full in the hamilton city _tribune_; and mrs. brewster-smith reported that former congressman hancock had compared it, not unfavorably, with certain public utterances of the honorable elihu root. george remington was an inch more than six feet tall, with sturdy shoulders, a chin that gave every indication of stubborn strength, a frank smile, and a warm, strong handclasp. he was connected by blood (as well as by marriage) with five of the eight best families in whitewater. mr. martin jaffry, george's uncle and sole inheritor of the great jaffry estate (and a bachelor), was known to favor his candidacy; was supposed, indeed, to be a large contributor to the remington campaign fund. in fact, george remington was a lucky young man, a coming young man. george and genevieve had been married five weeks; this was their first day as master and mistress of the old remington place on sheridan road. genevieve, that afternoon, was in the long living-room, trying out various arrangements of the flowers that had been sent in. there were a great many flowers. most of them came from admirers of george. the young men's republican club, for one item, had sent eight dozen roses. but genevieve, still a-thrill with the magic of her five-weeks-long honeymoon, tremulously happy in the cumulative proof that her husband was the noblest, strongest, bravest man alive, felt only joy in his popularity. as his wife she shared his triumphs. "for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health..." the ancient phrases repeated themselves so many times in her softly confused thought, as she moved about among the flowers, that they finally took on a rhythm-- _"for better or worse, for richer or poorer, for richer or poorer, for better or worse--"_ * * * * * on this day her life was beginning. she had given herself irrevocably into the hands of this man. she would live only in him. her life would find expression only through his. his strong, trained mind would be her guide, his sturdy courage her strength. he would build for them both, for the twain that were one. she caught up one red rose, winked the moisture from her eyes, and gazed--rapt, lips parted, color high--out at the close-clipped lawn behind the privet hedge. the afternoon would soon be waning--in another hour or so. she must not disturb him now. in an hour, say, she would run up the stairs and tap at his door. and he would come out, clasp her in his big arms, and she would stand on the tips of her toes and kiss away the wrinkles between his brows, and they would walk on the lawn and talk about themselves and the miracle of their love. the clock on the mantel struck three. she pouted; turned and stared at it. "well," she told herself, "i'll wait until half-past four." the doorbell rang. genevieve's color faded. the slim hand that held the rose trembled a very little. her first caller! she decided that it would be best not to talk about george. not one word about george! her feelings were her secret--and his. marie ushered in two ladies. one, who rushed forward with outstretched hand, was a curiously vital-appearing creature in black--plainly a widow--hardly more than thirty-two or thirty-three, fresh of skin, rather prominent as to eyeballs, yet, everything considered, a handsome woman. this was alys brewster-smith. the other, shorter, slighter, several years older, a faded, smiling, tremulously hopeful spinster, was genevieve's own cousin, emelene brand. "it's so nice of you to come--" geneviève began timidly, only to be swept aside by the superior aggressiveness and the stronger voice of mrs. brewster-smith. "my _dear_! isn't it perfectly delightful to see you actually mistress of this wonderful old home. and"--her slightly prominent eyes swiftly took in furniture, pictures, rugs, flowers,--"how wonderfully you have managed to give the old place your own tone!" "nothing has been changed," murmured genevieve, a thought bewildered. "nothing, my dear, but yourself! i am _so_ looking forward to a good talk with you. emelene and i were speaking of that only this noon. and i can't tell you how sorry i am that our first call has to be on a miserable political matter. tell me, dear, is that wonderful husband of yours at home?" "why--yes. but i am not to disturb him." "ah, shut away in his den?" genevieve nodded. "it's a very important paper he has to write. it has to be done now, before he is drawn into the whirl of campaign work." "of course! of course! but i'm afraid the campaign is whirling already. i will tell you what brought us, my dear. you know of course that mrs. harvey herrington has come out for suffrage--thrown in her whole personal weight and, no doubt, her money. i can't understand it--with her home, and her husband--going into the mire of politics. but that is what she has done. and grace hatfield called up not ten minutes ago to say that she has just led a delegation of ladies up to your husband's office. think of it--to his office! the first day!... well, emelene, it is some consolation that they won't find him there." "he isn't going to the office today," said genevieve. "but what can they want of him?" "to get him to declare for suffrage, my dear." "oh--i'm sure he wouldn't do that!" "are you, my dear? are you _sure_?" "well----" "he has told you his views, of course?" genevieve knit her brows. "why, yes--of course, we've talked about things----" "my dear, of course he is _against suffrage_." "oh yes, of course. i'm sure he is. though, you see, i would no more think of intruding in george's business affairs than he would think of intruding in my household duties." "naturally, genevieve. and very sweet and dear of you! but i'm sure you will see how very important this is. here we are, right at the beginning of his campaign. those vulgar women are going to hound him. they've begun already. as our committee wrote him last week, it is vitally important that he should declare himself unequivocally at once." "oh, yes," murmured genevieve, "of course. i can see that." the doors swung open. a thin little man of forty to fifty stood there, a dry but good-humored man, with many wrinkles about his quizzical blue eyes, and sandy hair at the sides and back of an otherwise bald head. he was smartly dressed in a homespun norfolk suit. he waved a cap of homespun in greeting. "afternoon, ladies! genevieve, a bachelor's admiration and respect! i hope that boy george has got sense enough to be proud of you. but they haven't at that age. they're all for themselves." "oh no, uncle martin," cried genevieve, "george is the most generous----" mr. martin jaffry flicked his cap. "all right. all right! he is." and slowly retreated. mrs. brewster-smith, an eager light in her eyes, moved part way across the room. "but we can't let you run away like this, mr. jaffry. do sit down and tell us about the work you are doing at the country club. is it to be bowling alley _and_ swimming pool----" "bowling alley _and_ swimming pool, yes. tell me, chick, might a humble constituent speak to the great man?" genevieve hesitated. "i'm sure he'd love to see you, uncle martin. but he _did_ say----" "not to be disturbed by _any_body, eh?" "yes, uncle martin. it's a very important statement he has to prepare before----" "good day, then. you look fine in the old house, chick!" mr. jaffry donned his cap of homespun, ran down the steps and out the front walk, hopped into his eight-cylinder roadster, and was off down the street in a second. there was a sharp decisiveness about his exit, and about the sudden speed of his machine; all duly noted by mrs. brewster-smith, who had gone so far as to move down the room to the front window and watch the performance with narrowed eyes. the jaffry building stands at the southwest corner of fountain square. it boasts six stories, mosaic flooring in the halls, and the only passenger elevator in whitewater. the ground floor was given over to humphrey's drug store; and most of humphrey's drug store was given over to the immense marble soda fountain and the dozen or more wire-legged tables and the two or three dozen wire chairs that served to accommodate the late afternoon and evening crowd. at the moment the fountain had but one patron--a remarkably fat boy of, perhaps, fifteen, with plump cheeks and drooping mouth.... the row of windows across the second floor front of the building, above humphrey's, bore, each, the legend--_remington and evans, attorneys at law_. the fat boy was percival sheridan, otherwise pudge. his sister, betty sheridan, worked in the law offices directly overhead and possessed a heart of stone. betty was rich, at least in the eyes of pudge. for more than a year (betty was twenty-two) she had enjoyed a private income. pudge definitely knew this. she had money to buy out the soda fountain. but her character, thought pudge, might be summed up in the statement that she worked when she didn't have to (people talked about this; even to him!) and flatly refused to give her brother money for soda. as if a little soda ever hurt anybody. she took it herself, often enough. within five minutes he had laid the matter before her--up in that solemn office, where they made you feel so uncomfortable. she had said: "pudge sheridan, you're killing yourself! not one cent more for wrecking your stomach!" she had called him "pudge." for months he had been reminding her that his name was percival. and he wasn't wrecking his stomach. that was silly talk. he had eaten but two nut sundaes and a chocolate frappé since luncheon. it wasn't soda and candy that made him so fat. some folks just were fat, and some folks were thin. that was all there was _to_ it! pudge himself would have a private income when he was twenty-one. six years off... and billy simmons in his white apron, was waiting now, on the other side of the marble counter, for his order--and grinning as he waited. six years! why, pudge would be a man then--too old for nut sundaes and chocolate frappés, too far gone down the sober slope of life to enjoy anything! pudge wriggled nervously, locked his feet around behind the legs of the high stool, rubbed a fat forefinger on the edge of the counter, and watched the finger intently with gloomy eyes. "well, what'll it be, pudge?" this from billy simmons. "my name ain't pudge." "very good, mister sheridan. what'll it be?" "one of those chocolate marshmallow nut sundaes, i guess, if--if----" "if what, mister sheridan?" "--if, oh well, just charge it." billy simmons paused in the act of reaching for a sundae glass. the smile left his face. pudge, though he did not once look up from that absorbing little operation with the fat forefinger, felt this pause and knew that billy's grin had gone; and his own mouth drooped and drooped. it was a tense moment. "you see, pudge," billy began in some embarrassment, only to conclude rather sharply, "i'll have to ask mr. humphrey. your sister said we weren't----" "oh, well!" sighed pudge. getting down from the stool he waddled slowly out of the store. it was no use going up against old humphrey. he had tried that. he went as far as the fire-plug, close to the corner, and sank down upon it. everybody was against him. he would sit here awhile and think it over. perhaps he could figure out some way of breaking through the conspiracy. then mr. martin jaffry drove up to the curb and he had to move his legs. mr. jaffry said, "hello, pudge," too. it was all deeply annoying. meantime, during the past half-hour, the law offices of remington and evans were not lacking in the sense of life and activity. things began moving when penny evans (christened penfield) came back from lunch. he wore an air--betty sheridan noted, from her typewriter desk within the rail--of determination. his nod toward herself was distinctly brusque; a new quality which gave her a moment's thought. and then when he had hung up his hat and was walking past her to his own private office, he indulged in a faint, fleeting grin. betty considered him. she had known penny evans as long as she could remember knowing anybody; and she had never seen him look quite as he looked this afternoon. the buzzer sounded. it was absurd, of course; nobody else in the office. he could have spoken--you could hear almost every sound over the seven-foot partitions. she rose, waited an instant to insure perfect composure, smoothed down her trim shirtwaist, pushed back a straying wisp of her naturally wavy hair, picked up her notebook and three sharp pencils, and went quietly into his office. he sat there at his flat desk--his blond brows knit, his mouth firm, a light of eager good humor in his blue eyes. "take this," he said... betty seated herself opposite him, and was instantly ready for work. "... memorandum. from rentals--the old evans property on ash street, the two houses on wilson avenue south, and the factory lease in the south extension, a total of slightly over $ . "new paragraph. from investments in bonds, railway and municipal, an average the last four years of $ . "new paragraph. from law practice, last year, over $ . will be considerably more this year. total----" "new paragraph?" "no. continue. total, $ , . this year will be close to $ , . don't you think that's a reasonably good showing for an unencumbered man of twenty-seven?" "dictation--that last?" "no, personal query, penny to betty." "yes, then, it is very good. you want this in memorandum form. any carbons?" "one carbon--in the form of a diamond--gift from penny to betty." miss sheridan settled back in her chair, tapped her pretty mouth with her pencil, and surveyed the blond young man. her eyes were blue--frank, capable eyes. "penny, i like my work here----" "i should hope so----" "and i don't want to give it up." "then don't." "i shall have to, penny, if you don't stop breaking your word. it was a definite agreement, you know. you were not to propose to me, on any working day, before seven p.m. this is a proposal of course----" "yes, of course, but i've just----" "that makes twice this month, then, that you've broken the agreement. now i can go on and put my mind on my work, if you'll let me. otherwise, i shall have to get a job where they _will_ let me." "but, betty, i've just this noon sat down and figured up where i stand. it has frightened me a little. i didn't realize i was taking in more than ten thousand a year. and all of a sudden it struck me that i've been an imbecile to wait, or make any agreement----" "then you broke it deliberately?" "absolutely. betty--no fooling now; i'm in earnest----" studying him, she saw that he was intensely in earnest. "you see, child, i've tried to be patient because i know how you were brought up, what you're used to. why, i wouldn't dream of asking you to be my wife unless i could feel pretty sure of being able to give you the comforts you've always had and ought to have. but hang it, betty, i _can_ do it right! i can give you a home that's worthy of you. any time! this year, even!" "penny, do you think i care what your income is--for one minute?" "why--why----" "when i'm earning twenty dollars a week myself and prouder of it than--" "but that's absurd, betty--for you to be working--as a stenographer, of all things! a girl with your looks and your gifts and all that's back of you." "you mean that i should make marriage my profession?" "well--well----" "probably that's why we keep missing each other, penny. i've pinned my flag to the principle of economic independence. you're looking for a girl who will marry for a living. there are lots of them. pretty, attractive girls, too. your difficulty is, you want that sort. you really believe all girls are that sort at heart, and you think my independence a fad--something i shall get over. don't you, now?" "well, i'll confess i can't see it as the normal thing. yes, i believe--i hope--you will get over it." "well--" miss sheridan slammed her book shut and stood up--"i won't." she stepped to the door. "and the agreement stands. i want to keep on working. and i want to keep on being fond of you. that agreement is necessary to both desires." she opened the door, hesitated and a hint of mischief flashed across her face. "i'll tell you just the person for you, penny. really. marriage is her profession. she's very experienced. temporarily out of a job--alys brewster-smith." he snatched a carnation from the glass on his desk and threw it at her. it struck a closed door. * * * * * the outer door opened just then, and mr. martin jaffry stepped in. he nodded, with his little quizzical smile, to the composed young woman who stood within the railing. "anybody here, betty?" a slight movement of her prettily poised head indicated the door marked "mr. evans." and she said, "penny's there." "is he shut up, too? his partner is too important to be seen today." "oh no," betty replied, inscrutably sober, "he's not important." mr. jaffry wrinkled up his eyes, chuckled softly, then stepped to the door of the unimportant one. before opening it, he turned. "mrs. harvey herrington been in?" "twice with a committee." "any idea what she wanted?" betty was aware that the whimsical and roundabout mr. jaffry knew everything about everybody in whitewater. she was further aware that he had, undoubtedly, reasons of his own for questioning her. he was always asking questions, anyway. worse than a chinaman. and for some reason--perhaps because he was martin jaffry--you always answered his questions. "yes," said betty. "she wants to pledge him to suffrage." "umm! yes, i see! you wouldn't be against that yourself, would you?" "naturally not. i'm secretary of the second ward suffrage club." "umm! yes, yes!" with which illuminating comment, mr. jaffry tapped on penny evans' door, opened it and entered. "spare a minute?" he inquired. "sure," said penny; "two, ten! take a chair." "no," replied mr. jaffry, "i won't take a chair. think better on my feet. i'm in a bit of a quandary. suppose you tell me what this important paper is that george is drawing up. do you know?" "i do." "is he coming out against suffrage?" "flatly." "umm!" mr. jaffry flicked his cap about. "i want to see george. he mustn't do that." "say, mr. jaffry, you haven't swung over----" "not at all. it's tactics. i ought to see him." "why not run out to his house----" "just been there. ran away. some one there i'm afraid of." "telephone?" mr. jaffry shook his head and lowered his voice. "with betty hearing it at this end, and the committee from the antis sitting it out down there--the telephone's on the stair landing----" he pursed his lips, waved his cap slowly to and fro and observed it with a whimsical expression on his sandy face, then glanced out of the window. he stepped closer, looking sharply down. a very fat boy with pink cheeks and a downcast expression was sitting on a fire-plug. mr. jaffry leaned out. "pudge," he called, "come up here a minute." on the remington and evans stationery he penciled a note, which he sealed. then he scribbled another--to mrs. george remington, asking her to hand george the inclosure the moment he appeared from his work. the two he slipped into a large envelope. the very fat boy stood before him. "want to make a quarter, pudge? take this letter, right now, to mrs. george remington. give it to her personally. it's the old remington place, you know." he felt in his change pocket. it was empty. he hesitated, turned to evans, then, reconsidering, produced a dollar bill from another pocket and gave it to the boy. "now run," he said. the boy, speechless, turned and moved out of the office. his sister spoke to him, but he did not turn his head. he rolled down the stairs to the street, stood a moment in front of humphrey's, drew a sudden breath that was almost a gasp, waddled into the store, advanced directly on the soda fountain, and with a blazing red face and angrily triumphant eyes confronted billy simmons. "i'll take a chocolate marshmallow nut sundae," he said. "and you needn't be stingy with the marshmallow, either!" * * * * * at ten minutes past four, the anxious antis in the remington living-room heard the candidate for district attorney running down the stairs, and even mrs. brewster-smith was hushed. the candidate stopped, however, on the landing. they heard him lift the telephone receiver. he called a number. then---- "_sentinel_ office?... mr. ledbetter, please.... hello, ledbetter! remington speaking. i have that statement ready. will you send a man around?... yes, right away. and i wish you'd put it on the wires. display it just as prominently as you can, won't you?... thanks. that's fine! good-by." he ran back upstairs. but shortly he appeared, wearing the distrait, exalted expression of the genius who has just passed through the creative act. he looked very tall and strong as he stood before the mantel, receiving the congratulations of mrs. brewster-smith and the timid admiration of cousin emelene. his few words were well chosen and were uttered with dignity. "and now, dear mr. remington, i'm sure i don't need to ask you if you are taking the right stand on suffrage." this from mrs. brewster-smith. the candidate smiled tolerantly. "if unequivocal opposition is 'right'----" "oh, you dear man! i was sure we could count on you. isn't it splendid, geneviève!" the reporters came. * * * * * it was a busy evening for the young couple. there were relatives for dinner. other relatives and an old friend or two came later. throughout, george wore that quietly exalted expression, and carried himself with the new dignity. to the adoring genevieve his chin had never appeared so long and strong, his thought had never seemed so elevated, his quiet self-respect had never been so commanding. he was no longer merely her george, he was now a public figure. soon he would be district attorney; then, very likely, governor; then--well, senator; and finally--it was possible--some one had to be--president of the united states. he had begun, this day, by making a great decision, by stepping boldly out on principle, on moral principle, and announcing himself a defender of the home, of the right. at midnight, the last guest departed. george and genevieve stepped out into the summer moonlight and strolled arm in arm down the walk. waddling up the street appeared a very fat boy. "why, pudge," cried geneviève, "what on earth are you doing out at this time of night!" "i'm going home, i tell you!" muttered the boy, on the defensive. he carried a large bag of what seemed to be chocolate creams, from which he was eating. as he passed, a twinge of memory disturbed him. he fumbled in his pockets. "i was to give you this," he said then; and leaving a crumpled envelope in genevieve's hand, he walked on as rapidly as he could. a few minutes later, standing under the light in the front hall, george remington read this penciled note: "i stood ready to contribute more than i promised--any amount to put you over. but if you give out a statement against suffrage you're a damn fool and i withdraw every cent. a man with no more political sense and skill than that isn't worth helping. you should have advised me. "m. j." chapter ii. by harry leon wilson it may have been surmised that our sterling young candidate for district attorney had not yet become skilled in dalliance with the equivocal; that he was no adept in ambiguity; that he would confront all issues with a rugged valiance susceptible of no misconstruction; that, in short, george remington was no trimmer. if he opposed an issue, one knew that he opposed it from the heart out. he said so and he meant it. and, being opposed to the dreadful heresy of equal suffrage, no reader of the whitewater _sentinel_ that morning could say, as the shrewd so often say of our older statesmen, that george was "side-stepping." not george's the mellow gift to say, in effect, that of course woman should vote the instant she wishes to, though perhaps that day has not yet come. meantime the speaker boldly defies the world to show a man holding woman in loftier regard than he does, or ready to accord her a higher value in all true functions of the body politic. equal suffrage, thank god, is inevitable at some future time, but until that glorious day when we can be assured that the sex has united in a demand for it, it were perhaps as well not to cloud the issues of the campaign now opening; though let it be understood, and he cannot put this too plainly, that he reveres the memory of his gray-haired mother without whose tender ministrations and wise guidance he could never have reached the height from which he now speaks. and so let us pass on to the voting on these canal bonds, the true inwardness of which, thanks to the venal activities of a corrupt opposition, even an exclusively male constituency has thus far failed to comprehend. and so forth. our hero, then, had yet to acquire this finesse. as we are now privileged to observe him, he is as easy to understand as the multiplication table, as little devious and, alas! as lacking in suavity. yet, let us be fair to george. mere innocence of guile, of verbal trickery, had not alone sufficed for his passionate bluntness in the present crisis. at a later stage in his career as a husband he might have been equally blunt; yet never again, perhaps, would he have been so emotional in his opposition to woman polluting herself with the mire of politics. be it recalled that but five weeks had elapsed since george had solemnly promised to cherish and protect the fairest of the non-voting sex--at least in his state--and he was still taking his mission seriously. as he wrote the words that were now electrifying, in a manner of speaking, the readers of the _sentinel_, and of neighboring journals with enough enterprise to secure them, he had beheld his own genevieve, fine, flawless, tenderly nourished flower that she was, being dragged from her high place with the most distressing results. he saw her rushed from the sacred shelter of her home and made to attend primaries; he saw her compelled to strive tearfully with problems that revolted all her finer instincts; he saw her insulted at polling booths; saw her voting in company with persons of both sexes whom one could never know. he saw her tainted, bruised, beaten down in the struggle, losing little by little all sense of the holy values of wife, mother, home. as he wrote he heard her weakening cries for help as she perished, and more than once his left arm instinctively curved to shield her. was it not for his wife, then; nay, for wifehood itself, that he wrote? and so, was it quite fair for unmarried penfield evans, burning at his breakfast table a cynical cigarette over the printed philippic, to murmur, "gee! old george _has_ spilled the beans!" simple words enough and not devoid of friendly concern. but should he not have divined that george had been appalled to his extremities of speech by the horrendous vision of his fair young bride being hurled into depths where she would be obliged, if not to have opinions of her own, at least to vote with the rabble as he might decide they ought to vote? and should not other critics known to us have divined the racking anguish under which george had labored? for one, should not elizabeth sheridan, amateur spinster, have been all sympathy for one who was palpably more an alarmed bridegroom than a mere candidate? should not her maiden heart have been touched by this plausible aspect of george's dilemma, rather than her mere brain to have been steeled to a humorous disparagement tinged with bitterness? and yet, "what rot!" muttered miss sheridan,--"silly rot, bally rot, tommy rot, and all the other kinds!" hereupon she creased a brow not meant for creases and defaced an admirable nose with grievous wrinkles of disdain. "sacred names of wife and mother!" this seemed regrettably like swearing as she delivered it, though she quoted verbatim. "sacred names of petted imbeciles!" she amended. then, with berserker fury, crumpling her _sentinel_ into a ball, she venomously hurled it to the depths of a waste basket and religiously rubbed the feel of it from her fingers. as she had not even glanced at the column headed "births, deaths, marriages," it will be seen that her agitation was real. and surely a more discerning sympathy might have been looked for from the seasoned martin jaffry. a bachelor full of years and therefore with illusions not only unimpaired but ripened, who more quickly than he should have divined that his nephew for the moment viewed all womankind as but one multiplied genevieve, upon whom it would be heinous to place the shackles of suffrage? perhaps uncle martin did divine this. perhaps he was a mere trimmer, a rank side-stepper, steeped in deceit and ever ready to mouth the abominable phrase "political expediency." it were rash to affirm this, for no analyst has ever fathomed the heart of a man who has come to his late forties a bachelor by choice. one may but guess from the ensuing meager data. uncle martin at a certain corner of maple avenue that morning, fell in with penfield evans, who, clad as the lilies of a florist's window, strode buoyantly toward his office, the vision of his day's toil pinkly suffused by an overlaying vision of a betty or sheridan character. mr. evans bubbled his greeting. "morning! have you seen it? oh, _say_, have you seen it?" the immediate manner of uncle martin not less than his subdued garb of gray, his dark gloves and his somber stick, intimated that he saw nothing to bubble about. "he has burned his bridges behind him." the speaker looked as grim as any bachelor-by-choice ever may. "regular little fire-bug," blithely responded mr. evans, moderating his stride to that of the other. "can't understand it," resumed the gloomy uncle. "i sent him word in time; sent it from your office by messenger. it was plain enough. i told him no money of mine would go into his campaign if he made a fool of himself--or words to that effect." "phew! cast you off, did he? just like that?" "just like that! went out of his way to overdo it, too. needn't have come out half so strong. no chance now to backwater--not a chance on earth to explain what he really did mean--and make it something different." "quixotic! that's how it reads to me." uncle martin here became oracular, his somber stick gesturing to point his words. "trouble with poor george, he's been silly enough to blurt out the truth, what every man of us thinks in his heart--" "eh?" said mr. evans quickly, as one who has been jolted. "no more sense than to come right out and say what every one of us thinks in his secret heart about women. i think it and you think it--" "oh, well, if you put it _that_ way," admitted young mr. evans gracefully. "but of course--" "certainly, of _course!_ we all think it--sacred names of home and mother and all the rest of it; but a man running for office these days is a chump to say so, isn't he? of course he is! what chance does it leave him? answer me that." "darned little, if you ask me," said mr. evans judicially. "poor old george!" "talks as if he were going to be married tomorrow instead of its having come off five weeks ago," pursued uncle martin bitterly. plainly there were depths of understanding in the man, trimmer though he might be. mr. evans made no reply. irrationally he was considering the terms "five weeks" and "married" in relation to a spinster who would have professed to be indignant had she known it. "got to pull the poor devil out," said uncle martin, when in silence they had traversed fifty feet more of the shaded side of maple avenue. "how?" demanded the again practical mr. evans. "make him take it back; make him recant; swing him over the last week before election. make him eat his words with every sign of exquisite relish. simple enough!" "how?" persisted mr. evans. "wiles, tricks, subterfuges, chicanery--understand what i mean?" "sure! i understand what you mean as well as you do, but--come down to brass tacks." "that's an entirely different matter," conceded uncle martin gruffly. "it may take thought." "oh, is that all? very well then; we'll think. i, myself, will think. first, i'll have a talk with the sodden amorist. i'll grill him. i'll find the weak spot in his armor. there must be something we can put over on him." "by fair means or foul," insisted uncle martin as they paused at the parting of their ways. "low-down, underhanded work--do you get what i mean?" "i do, i do!" declared young mr. evans and broke once more into the buoyant stride of an earlier moment. this buoyance was interrupted but once, and briefly, ere he gained the haven of his office. as he stepped quite too buoyantly into fountain square, he was all but run down by the new six-cylinder roadster of mrs. harvey herrington, driven by the enthusiastic owner. he regained the curb in time, with a ready and heartfelt utterance nicely befitting the emergency. the president of the whitewater women's club, the municipal league and the suffrage society, brought her toy to a stop fifteen feet beyond her too agile quarry, with a fine disregard for brakes and tire surfaces. she beckoned eagerly to him she might have slain. she was a large woman with an air of graceful but resolute authority; a woman good to look upon, attired with all deference to the modes of the moment, and exhaling an agreeable sense of good-will to all. "be careful always to look before you start across and you'll never have to say such things," was her greeting to mr. evans, as he halted beside this minor juggernaut. "sorry you heard it," lied the young man readily. "such a flexible little car--picks up before one realizes," conceded whitewater's acknowledged social dictator. "but what i wanted to say is this: that poor daft partner of yours has mortally offended every woman in town except three, with that silly screed of his. i've seen nearly all of them that count this morning, or they've called me by telephone. now, why couldn't he have had the advice of some good, capable woman before committing himself so rabidly?" "who were the three?" queried mr. evans. "oh, poor genevieve, of course; she goes without saying. and you'd guess the other two if you knew them better--his cousin, alys brewster-smith, and poor genevieve's cousin emelene. they both have his horrible school-boy composition committed to memory, i do believe. "cousin emelene recited most of it to me with tears in her weak eyes, and alys tells me his noble words have made the world seem like a different place to her. she said she had been coming to believe that chivalry of the old true brand was dying out, but that dear cousin george has renewed her faith in it. "think of poor genevieve when they both fall on his neck. they're going up for that particular purpose this afternoon. the only two in town, mind you, except poor genevieve. oh, it's too awfully bad, because aside from this medieval view of his, george was probably as acceptable for this office as any man could be." the lady burdened the word "man" with a tiny but distinguishable emphasis. mr. evans chose to ignore this. "george's friends are going to take him in hand," said he. "of course he was foolish to come out the way he has, even if he did say only what every man believes in his secret heart." the president of the whitewater woman's club fixed him with a glittering and suddenly hostile eye. "what! you too?" she flung at him. he caught himself. he essayed explanations, modifications, a better lighting of the thing. but at the expiration of his first blundering sentence mrs. herrington, with her flexible little car, was narrowly missing an aged and careless pedestrian fifty yards down the street. * * * * * "george come in yet?" for the second time mr. evans was demanding this of miss elizabeth sheridan who had also ignored his preliminary "good morning!" now for a moment more she typed viciously. one would have said that the thriving legal business of remington and evans required the very swift completion of the document upon which she wrought. and one would have been grossly deceived. the sheet had been drawn into the machine at the moment mr. evans' buoyant step had been heard in the outer hall, and upon it was merely written a dozen times the bald assertion, "now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party." actually it was but the mechanical explosion of the performer's mood, rather than the wording of a sentiment now or at any happier time entertained by her. at last she paused; she sullenly permitted herself to be interrupted. her hands still hovered above the already well-punished keys of the typewriter. she glanced over a shoulder at mr. evans and allowed him to observe her annoyance at the interruption. "george has not come in yet," she said coldly. "i don't think he will ever come in again. i don't see how he can have the face to. i shouldn't think he could ever show himself on the street again after that--that--" the young woman's emotion overcame her at this point. again her relentless fingers stung the blameless mechanism--"to come to the aid of the party. now is the time for all good--" she here controlled herself to further speech. "and _you!_ of course you applaud him for it. oh, i knew you were all alike!" "now look here, betty, this thing has gone far enough----" "far enough, indeed!" "but you won't give me a chance!" mr. evans here bent above his employee in a threatening manner. "you don't even ask what i think about it. you say i'm guilty and ought to be shot without a trial--not even waiting till sunrise. if you had the least bit of fairness in your heart you'd have asked me what i really thought about this outbreak of george's, and i'd have told you in so many words that i think he's made all kinds of a fool of himself." "no! do you really, pen?" miss sheridan had swiftly become human. she allowed her eyes to meet those of mr. evans' with an easy gladness but little known to him of late. "of course i do, betty. the idea of a candidate for office in this enlightened age breaking loose in that manner! it's suicide. he could be arrested for the attempt in this state. is that strong enough for you? you surely know how i feel now, don't you? come on, betty dear! let's not spar in that foolish way any longer. remember all i said yesterday. it goes double today--really, i see things more clearly." plainly miss sheridan was disarmed. "and i thought you'd approve every word of his silly tirade," she murmured. mr. evans, still above her, was perilously shaken by the softer note in her voice, but he controlled himself in time and sat in one of the chairs reserved for waiting clients. it was near miss sheridan, yet beyond reaching distance. he felt that he must be cool in this moment of impending triumph. "wasn't it the awfullest rot?" demanded the spinster, pounding out a row of periods for emphasis. "and he's got to be made to eat his words," said mr. evans, wisely taking the same by-path away from the one subject in all the world that really mattered. "who could make him?" "i could, if i tried." it came in quiet, masterful tones that almost convinced the speaker himself. "oh, pen, if you could! wouldn't that be a victory, though? if you only could----" "well, if i only could--and if i do?" his intention was too pointed to be ignored. "oh, _that_!" he winced at the belittling "that." "of course i couldn't promise--anyway i don't believe you could ever do it, so what's the use of being silly?" "but you will--will you promise, if i _do_ convert george? answer the question, please!" mr. evans glared as only actual district attorneys have the right to. "oh, what nonsense--but, well, i'll promise--i'll promise to promise to think very seriously about it indeed, if you bring george around." "betty!" it was the voice of an able pleader and he half arose from his chair, his arms eloquent of purpose. "'now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. now is the time for'--" wrote miss sheridan with dazzling fingers, and the pleader resumed his seat. "how will you bring him 'round," she then demanded. "wiles, tricks, stratagems," replied the rising young diplomat moodily, smarting under the moment's defeat. "serve him right for pulling all that old-fashioned nonsense," said miss sheridan, and accorded her employer a glance in which admiration for his prowess was not half concealed. "the words of a fool wise in his own folly," went on the encouraged mr. evans, and then, alas! a victim to the slight oratorical thrill these words brought him,--"honestly uttering what every last man believes and feels about woman in his heart and yet what no sane man running for office can say in public--here, what's the matter?" the latter clause had been evoked by the sight of a blazing miss sheridan, who now stood over him with fists tightly clenched. "oh, oh, oh!" this was low, tense, thrilling. it expressed horror. "so that's what your convictions amount to! then you do applaud him, every word of him, and you were deceiving me. every man in his own heart, indeed. thank heaven i found you out in time!" it may be said that mr. evans now cowered in his chair. the term is not too violent. he ventured to lift a hand in weak protest. "no, no, betty, you are being unjust to me again. i meant that that was what martin jaffry told me this morning. it isn't what i believe at all. i tell you my own deepest sentiments are exactly what yours are in this great cause which--which--" painfully he became aware of his own futility. miss sheridan had ceased to blaze. seated again before the typewriter she grinned at him with amused incredulity. "you nearly had me going, pen." mr. evans summoned the deeper resources of his manhood and achieved an easier manner. he brazenly returned her grin. "i'll have you going again before i'm through--remember that." "by wiles, tricks and stratagems, i suppose." "the same. by those i shall make poor george recant, and by those, assuming you to be a woman with a fine sense of honor who will hold a promise sacred, i shall have you going. and, mark my words, you'll be going good, too!" "silly!" she drew from the waste basket the maltreated _sentinel_, unfurled it to expose the offending matter, and smote the column with the backs of four accusing fingers. "there, my dear, is your answer. now run along like a good boy." "silly!" said mr. evans, striving for a masterly finish to the unequal combat. he arose, dissembling cheerful confidence, straightened the frame of a steel-engraved daniel webster on the wall, and thrice paced the length of the room, falsely appearing to be engaged in deep thought. miss sheridan, apparently for mere exclamatory purposes, now reread the fulmination of the absent partner. she scoffed, she sneered, flouted, derided, and one understood that she was including both members of the firm. then her listener became aware that she had achieved coherence. "indeed, yes! do you know what ought to happen to him? every unprotected female in this county ought to pack her trunk and trudge right up to the remington place and say, 'here we are, noble man! we have read your burning words in which you offer to protect us. save us from the vote! let your home be our sanctuary. that's what you mean if you meant anything but tommy-rot. here and now we throw ourselves upon your boasted chivalry. where are our rooms, and what time is luncheon served.'" "here! just say that again," called mr. evans from across the room. miss sheridan obliged. she elaborated her theme. george should be taken at his word by every weak flower of womanhood. if women were nothing but ministering angels, it was "up to" george to give 'em a chance to minister. so went miss sheridan's improvisation and mr. evans, suffering the throes of a mighty inspiration, suddenly found it sweetest music. when miss sheridan subsided, mr. evans appeared to have forgotten the cause of their late encounter. whistling cheerily he bustled into his own office, mumbling of matters that had to be "gotten off." for some moments he busied himself at his desk, then emerged to dictate three business letters to his late antagonist. he dictated in a formal and distant manner, pausing in the midst of the last letter to spell out the word "analysis," which he must have known would enrage her further. then, quite casually, he wished to be told if she might know the local habitat of mrs. alys brewster-smith and a certain cousin emelene. his manner was arid. miss sheridan chanced to know that the ladies were sheltered in the exclusive boarding-house of one mrs. gallup, out on erie street, and informed him to this effect in the fewest possible words. mr. evans whistled absently a moment, then formally announced that he should be absent from the office for perhaps an hour. hat, gloves and stick in hand, he was about to nod punctiliously to the back of miss sheridan's head when the door opened to admit none other than our hero, george remington. george wore the look of one who is uplifted and who yet has found occasion to be thoughtful about it. penfield evans grasped his hand and shook it warmly. "fine, george, old boy--simply corking! honestly, i didn't believe you had it in you. you covered the ground and you did it in a big way. it took nerve, all right! of course you probably know that every woman in town is speaking of your young wife as 'poor genevieve,' but you've had the courage of your convictions. it's great!" "thanks, old man! i've spoken for the right as i saw it, let come what may. by the way, has uncle martin been in this morning, or telephoned, or sent any word?" miss sheridan coldly signified that none of these things had occurred, whereupon george sighed in an interesting manner and entered his own room. mr. evans had uttered his congratulations in clear, ringing tones and miss sheridan, even as she wrote, contrived with her trained shoulders to exhibit to his lingering eye an overwhelming contempt for his opinions and his double-dealing. in spite of which he went out whistling, and dosed the door in a defiant manner. chapter iii. by fannie hurst destiny, busybody that she is, has her thousand irons in her perpetual fires, turning, testing and wielding them. while miss betty sheridan, for another scornful time, was rereading the well-thumbed copy of the _sentinel_, her fine back arched like a prize cat's, george remington in his small mahogany office adjoining, neck low and heels high, was codifying, over and over again, the small planks of his platform, stuffing the knot holes which afforded peeps to the opposite side of the issue with anti-putty, and planning a bombardment of his pattest phrases for the complete capitulation of his uncle jaffry. while genevieve remington in her snug library, so eager in her wifeliness to clamber up to her husband's small planks, and if need be, spread her prettily flounced skirts over the rotting places, was memorizing, with more pride than understanding, extracts from the controversial article for quotation at the woman's club meeting, mr. penfield evans, with a determination which considerably expanded his considerable chest measurement, ran two at a bound up the white stone steps of mrs. gallup's private boarding-house and pulled out the white china knob of a bell that gave no evidence of having sounded within, and left him uncertain to ring again. a cast-iron deer, with lichen growing along its antlers, stood poised for instant flight in mrs. gallup's front yard. while mr. evans waited he regarded its cast-iron flanks, but not seeingly. his rather the expression of one who stares into the future and smiles at what he sees. erie street, shaded by a double row of showy chestnuts, lay in summer calm. a garden hose with a patent attachment spun spray over an adjoining lawn and sent up a greeny smell. out from under the striped awning of hassebrock's ice cream parlor, cat-a-corner, percival pauncefort sheridan, in rubber-heeled canvas shoes and white trousers, cuffed high, emerged and turned down huron street, making frequent forays into a bulging rear pocket. miss lydia chipley, vice-president of the busy bee sewing and civic club, cool, starchy and unhatted, clicked past on slim, trim heels, all radiated by the reflection from a pink parasol, gay embroidery bag dangling. "hello, lyd!" "hello, pen!" "what's your hurry?" "it's my middle name." "why hurry, when the future is always waiting?" "why aren't you holding your partner's head since he committed political suicide in the _sentinel_?" "i'd rather hold your head, lyd, any day in the week." "gaul," said miss chipley, passing on, her sharply etched little face glowing in the pink reflection of the parasol, "is bounded on the north by mrs. gallup's boarding-house, and on the south by----" "by the frigid zone!" then the door from behind swung open. mr. penfield evans stepped into mrs. gallup's cool, exclusive parlor of better days, and delivering his card to a moist-fingered maid, sat himself among the shrouded furniture to await mrs. alys brewster-smith and miss emelene brand. mrs. gallup's boarding-house was finishing its noonday meal. boiled odors lay upon a parlor that was otherwise redolent of the more opulent days of the gallups. a not too ostentatious clatter of dishes came through the closed folding-doors. almost immediately mrs. alys brewster-smith, her favorite concentrated breath of the lily always in advance, rustled into the darkened parlor, her stride hitting vigorously into her black taffeta skirts. even as she shook hands with mr. evans, she jerked the window shade to its height, so that her smoothness and coloring shone out above her weeds. in the shadow of her and at her life job of bringing up the rear, with a large maltese cat padding beside her, entered miss brand on rubber heels. she was the color of long twilight. mr. evans rose to his six-feet-in-his-stockings and extended them each a hand, miss emelene drawing the left. mrs. smith threw up a dainty gesture, black lace ruffles falling back from arms all the whiter because of them. "well, penny evans!" "none other, mrs. smith, than the villain himself." "be seated, penfield." "thanks, miss emelene." they drew up in a triangle beside the window overlooking the cast-iron deer. the cat sprang up, curling in the crotch of miss emelene's arm. "nice ittie kittie, say how-do to big penny-field-evans. say how-do to big man. say how-do, muvver's ittie kittie." miss emelene extended the somewhat reluctant maltese paw, five hook-shaped claws slightly in evidence. "say how-do to hanna, penfield. hanna, say how-do to big man." "how-do, hanna," said mr. evans, reddening slightly beneath his tan. then hitched his chair closer. "to what," he began, flashing his white smile from one to the other of them, and with a strong veer to the facetious, "are we indebted for the honor of this visit? are those the unspoken words, ladies?" "nothing wrong at home, penfield? nobody ailing or--" "no, no, miss emelene, never better. as a matter of fact, it's a piece of political business that has prompted me to--" at that mrs. smith jangled her bracelets, leaning forward on her knees. "if it's got anything to do with your partner and my cousin george remington having the courage to go in for the district attorneyship without the support of the vote-hunting, vote-eating women of this town, i'm here to tell you that i'm with him heart and soul. he can have my support and--" "mine too. and if i've got anything to say my two nephews will vote for him; and i think i have, with my two heirs." "ladies, it fills my heart with joy to--" "votes! why what would the powder-puffing, short-skirted, bridge-playing women of this town do with the vote if they had it? wear it around their necks on a gold chain?" "well spoken, mrs. smith, if--" "i know the direction you lean, penfield evans, letting--" "but, miss emelene, i--" "letting that shameless betty sheridan, a girl that had as sweet and womanly a mother as whitewater ever boasted, lead you around by the nose on her suffrage string. a girl with her raising and both of her grandmothers women that lived and died genteel, to go traipsing around in her low heels in men's offices and addressing hoi polloi from soap boxes! why, between her and that female chauffeur, mrs. herrington, another woman whose mother was of too fine feelings even to join the delsarte class, the women of this town are being influenced to making disgraceful--dis--oh, what shall i say, alys?" here mrs. smith broke in, thumping a soft fist into a soft palm. "it's the most pernicious movement, mr. evans, that has ever got hold of this community and we need a man like my cousin george remington to--" "but, mrs. smith, that's just what i--" "to stamp it out! stamp it out! it's eating into the homes of whitewater, trying to make breadwinners out of the creatures god intended for the bread-eaters--i mean bread-bakers." "but, mrs. smith, i--" "woman's place has been the home since home was a cave, and it will be the home so long as women will remember that womanliness is their greatest asset. as poor dear mr. smith was so fond of saying, he--i can't bring myself to talk of him, mr. evans, but--but as he used to say, i--i--" "yes, yes, mrs. smith, i understa--" "but as my cousin says in his article, which in my mind should be spread broadcast, what higher mission for woman than--than--just what are his words, emelene?" miss brand leaned forward, her gaze boring into space. "what higher mission," she quoted, as if talking in a chapel, "for woman than that she sit enthroned in the home, wielding her invisible but mighty scepter from that throne, while man, kissing the hand that so lovingly commands him, shall bear her gifts and do her bidding. that is the strongest vote in the world. that is the universal suffrage which chivalry grants to woman. the unpolled vote! long may it reign!" round spots of color had come out on miss emelene's long cheeks. "a man who can think like that has the true--the true--what shall i say, alys?" "but, ladies, i protest that i'm not--" "has the true chivalry of spirit, emelene, that the women are too stark raving mad to appreciate. you can't come here, mr. evans, to two women to whom womanliness and love of home, thank god, are still uppermost and try to convert us to--" here mr. evans executed a triple gyration, to the annoyance of hanna, who withdrew from the gesture, and raised his voice to a shout that was not without a note of command. "convert you! why women alive, what i've been bursting a blood vessel trying to say during the length of this interview is that i'd as soon dip my soul in boiling oil as try to convert you away from the cause. _my_ cause! _our_ cause!" "why--" "i'm here to tell you that i'm with my partner head-over-heels on the plank he has taken." "but we thought--" "we thought you and betty sheridan--why, my cousin genevieve remington told me that--" "yes, yes, miss emelene. but not even the wiles of a pretty woman can hold out indefinitely against truth! a broad-minded man has got to keep the door of his mind open to conviction, or it decays of mildew. i confess that finally i am convinced that if there is one platform more than another upon which george remington deserves his election it is on the brave and chivalrous principles he has so courageously come out with in the current _sentinel_. whatever may have been between betty sheridan and--" "mr. evans, you don't mean to tell me that you and betty sheridan have quarreled! such a desirable match from every point of view, family and all! it goes to show what a rattle-pated bunch of women they are! any really clever girl with an eye to her future, anti or pro, could shift her politics when it came to a question of matri--" "mrs. smith, there comes a time in every modern man's life when he's got to keep his politics and his pretty girls separate, or suffrage will get him if he don't watch out!" "yes, and mr. evans, if what i hear is true, a good-looking woman can talk you out of your safety deposit key!" "that's where you're wrong, mrs. smith, and i'll prove it to you. despite any wavering i may have exhibited, i now stand, as george puts it in his article, 'ready to conserve the threatened flower of womanhood by also endeavoring to conserve her unpolled vote!' if you women want prohibition, it is in your power to sway man's vote to prohibition. if you women want the moon, let man cast your proxy vote for it! in my mind, that is the true chivalry. to quote again, 'woman is man's rarest heritage, his beautiful responsibility, and at all times his co-operation, support and protection are due her. his support and protection.'" miss emelene closed her eyes. the red had spread in her cheeks and she laid her head back against the chair, rocking softly and stroking the thick-napped cat. "the flower of womanhood," she repeated. "'his support and his protection.' if ever a man deserved high office because of high principles, it's my cousin george remington! my cousin genevieve livingston remington is the luckiest girl in the world, and not one of us brands but what is willing to admit it. my two nephews, too, if their aunt emelene has anything to say, and i think she has--" "why, there isn't a stone in the world i wouldn't turn to see that boy in office," mrs. smith interrupted. at that mr. evans rose. "you mean that, mrs. smith?" miss emelene rose with him, the cat pouring from her lap. "of course she means it, penfield. what self-respecting woman wouldn't!" mr. evans sat down again suddenly, miss emelene with him, and leaning violently forward, thrust his eager, sun-tanned face between the two women. "well, then, ladies, here's your chance to prove it! that's what brings me today. as two of the self-respecting, idealistic and womanly women of this community, i have come to urge you both to--" "oh, mr. evans!" "penfield, you are the flatterer!" "to induce two such representative women as yourselves to help my partner to the election he so well deserves." "us?" "it is in your power, ladies, to demonstrate to whitewater that george remington's chivalry is not only on paper, but in his soul." "but--how?" "by throwing yourselves upon his generosity and hospitality, at least during the campaign. you have it in your power, ladies, to strengthen the only uncertain plank upon which george remington stands today." a clock ticked roundly into a silence tinged with eloquence. the maltese leaped back into miss emelene's lap, purring there. "you mean, penfield, for us to go visit george--er--er--" "just that! bag and baggage. as two relatives and two unattached women, it is your privilege, nay, your right." "but--" "he hasn't come out in words with it, but he has intimated that such an act from the representative antis of this town would more than anything strengthen his theories into facts. as unattached women, particularly as women of his own family, his support and protection, as he puts it, are due you, _due_ you!" mrs. smith clasped her plentifully ringed fingers, and regarded him with her prominent eyes widening. "why, i--unprotected widow that i am, mr. evans, am not the one to force myself even upon my cousin if--" "nor i, penfield. it would be a pleasant enough change, heaven knows, from the boarding-house. but you can ask your mother, penfield, if there ever was a prouder girl in all whitewater than emmy brand. i--" "but i tell you, ladies, the obligation is all on george's part. it's just as if you were polling votes for him. what is probably the oldest adage in the language, states that actions speak louder than words. give him his chance to spread broadcast to your sex his protection, his support. that, ladies, is all i--we--ask." "but i--genevieve--the housekeeping, penfield. genevieve isn't much on management when it comes to--" "housekeeping! why, i have it from your fair cousin herself, miss emelene, that her idea of their new little home is the open house." "yes, but--as emelene says, mr. evans, it's an imposition to--" "why do you think, mrs. smith, martin jaffry spends all his evenings up at remingtons' since they're back from their honeymoon? why, he was telling me only last night it's for the joy of seeing that new little niece of his lording it over her well-oiled little household, where a few extra dropping in makes not one whit of difference." at this remark, embedded like a diamond in a rock, a shade of faintest color swam across mrs. smith's face and she swung him her profile and twirled at her rings. "and where genevieve remington's husband's interests are involved, ladies, need i go further in emphasizing your welcome into that little home?" "heaven knows it would be a change from the boarding-house, alys. the lunches here are beginning to go right against me! that sago pudding today--and gallup knowing how i hate starchy desserts!" "for the sake of the cause, miss emelene, too!" "gallup would have to hold our rooms at half rate." "of course, mrs. smith. i'll arrange all that." "i--i can't go over until evening, with three trunks to pack." "just fine, mrs. smith. you'll be there just in time to greet george at dinner." miss emelene fell to stroking the cat, again curled like a sardelle in her lap. "kitti-kitti-kitti--, does muvver's ittsie hanna want to go on visit to tousin george in fine new ittie house? to fine tousin georgie what give ittsie hanna big saucer milk evvy day? big fine george what like ladies and lady kitties!" "emelene, it's out of the question to take hanna. you know how george remington hates cats! you remember at the sunday school bazaar when--" a grimness descended like a mask over miss brand's features. her mouth thinned. "very well, then. without hanna you can count me out, penfield. if--" "no, no! why nonsense, miss emelene! george doesn't--" "this cat has the feelings and sensibilities of a human being." "why of course," cried penfield evans, reaching for his hat. "just you bring hanna right along, miss emelene. that's only a pet pose of george's when he wants to tease his relatives, mrs. smith. i remember from college--why i've seen george _kiss_ a cat!" miss emelene huddled the object of controversy up in her chin, talking down into the warm gray fur. "was 'em tryin' to 'buse muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie? muvver's ittsie bittsie kittsie!" they were in the front hall now, mr. evans tugging at the door. "i'll run around now and arrange to have your trunks called for at five. my congratulations and thanks, ladies, for helping the right man toward the right cause." "you're _sure_, penfield, we'll be welcome?" "welcome as the sun that shines!" "if i thought, penfield, that hanna wouldn't be welcome i wouldn't budge a step." "of course she's welcome, miss emelene. isn't she of the gentler sex? there'll be a cab around for you and mrs. smith and hanna about five. so long, mrs. smith, and many thanks. miss emelene, hanna." on the outer steps they stood for a moment in a dapple of sunshine and shadow from chestnut trees. "good-by, mr. evans, until evening." "good-by, mrs. smith." he paused on the walk, lifting his hat and flashing his smile a third time. "good-by, miss emelene." from the steps miss brand executed a rotary motion with the left paw of the dangling maltese. "tell nice gentleman by-by. tum now, hanna, get washed and new ribbon to go by-by. her go to big cousin george and piddy cousin genevieve. by-by! by-by!" the door swung shut, enclosing them. down the quiet, tree-shaped sidewalk, mr. penfield evans strode into the somnolent afternoon, turning down huron street. at the remote end of the block and before her large frame mansion of a thousand angles and wooden lace work, mrs. harvey herrington's low car sidled to her curb-stone, racy-looking as a hound. that lady herself, large and modish, was in the act of stepping up and in. "well, pen evans! 'tis writ in the book our paths should cross." "who more pleased than i?" "which way are you bound?" "jenkins' transfer and cab service." "jump in." "no sooner said than done." mrs. herrington threw her clutch and let out a cough of steam. they jerked and leaped forward. from the rear of the car an orange and black pennant--_votes for women_--stiffened out like a semaphore against the breeze. chapter iv. by dorothy canfield genevieve remington sat in her pretty drawing-room and watched the hour hand of the clock slowly approach five. five was a sacred hour in her day. at five george left his office, turned off the business-current with a click and turned on, full-voltage, the domestic-affectionate. genevieve often told her girl friends that she only began really to live after five, when george was restored to her. she assured them the psychical connection between george and herself was so close that, sitting alone in her drawing-room, she could feel a tingling thrill all over when the clock struck five and george emerged from his office downtown. on the afternoon in question she received her five o'clock electric thrill promptly on time, although history does not record whether or not george walked out from his office at that moment. with all due respect for the world-shaking importance of mr. remington's movements, it must be stated that history had, on that afternoon, other more important events to chronicle. as the clock struck five, the front doorbell rang. marie, the maid, went to open the door. genevieve adjusted the down-sweeping, golden-brown tress over her right eye, brushed an invisible speck from the piano, straightened a rose in a vase, and after these traditionally bridal preparations, waited with a bride's optimistic smile the advent of a caller. but it was marie who appeared at the door, with a stricken face of horror. "mrs. remington! mrs. remington!" she whispered loudly. "they've come to stay. the men are getting their trunks down from the wagon." "_who_ has come to stay? _where?_" queried the startled bride. "the two ladies who came to call yesterday!" "_oh!_" said the relieved genevieve. "there's some mistake, of course. if it's cousin emelene and mrs.----" she advanced into the hall and was confronted by two burly men with a very large trunk between them. "which room?" said one of them in a bored and insolent voice. "oh, you must have come to the wrong house," genevieve assured them with her pretty, friendly smile. she was so happy and so convinced of the essential rightness of a world which had produced george remington that she had a friendly smile for every one, even for unshaven men who kept their battered derby hats on their heads, had viciously smelling cigars in their mouths, and penetrated to her sacred front hall with trunks which belonged somewhere else. "isn't this g. l. remington's house?" inquired one of the men, dropping his end of the trunk and consulting a dirty slip of paper. "yes, it is," admitted genevieve, thrilling at the thought that it was also hers. "this is the place all right, then," said the man. he heaved up his end of the trunk again, and said once more, "which room?" the repetition fell a little ominously on genevieve's ear. what on earth could be the matter? she heard voices outside and craning her soft white neck, she saw cousin emelene, with her gray kitten under one arm and a large suitcase in her other hand, coming up the steps. there was a beatific expression in her gentle, faded eyes, and her lips were quivering uncertainly. when she caught sight of genevieve's sweet face back of the bored expressmen, she gave a little cry, ran forward, set down her suitcase and clasped her young cousin in her arms. "oh genevieve dear, that noble wonderful husband of yours! what have you done to deserve such a man... out of this age of gold!" this was a sentiment after genevieve's own heart, but she found it rather too vague to meet the present somewhat tense situation. cousin emelene went on, clasping her at intervals, and talking very fast. "i can hardly believe it! now that my time of trial is all over i don't mind telling you that i was growing embittered and cynical. all those phrases my dear mother had brought me to believe, the sanctity of the home, the chivalrous protection of men, the wicked folly of women who leave the home to engage in fierce industrial struggle."... at about this point the expressmen set the trunk down, put their hands on their hips, cocked their hats at a new angle and waited in gloomy ennui for the conversation to stop. cousin emelene flowed on, her voice unsteady with a very real emotion. "see, dear, you must not blame me for my lack of faith... but see how it looked to me. there i was, as womanly a woman as ever breathed, and yet _i_ had no home to be sanctified, _i_ had never had a bit of chivalrous protection from any man. and with the new haven stocks shrinking from one day to the next, the way they do, it looked as though i would either have to starve or engage in the wicked, unwomanly folly of earning my own living. do you know, dear genevieve, i had almost come to the point--you know how the suffragists do keep banging away at their points--i almost wondered if perhaps they were right and if men really mean those things about protection and support in place of the vote.... and then george's splendid, noble-spirited article appeared, and a kind friend interpreted it for me and told what it really meant, for _me_! oh, genevieve."... the tears rose to her mild eyes, her gentle, flat voice faltered, she took out a handkerchief hastily. "it seemed too good to be true," she said brokenly into its folds. "i've longed all my life to be protected, and now i'm going to be!" "which room, please?" said the expressman. "we gotta be goin' on." genevieve pinched herself hard, jumped and said "_ouch_." yes, she was awake, all right! "oh, marie, will you please get hanna a saucer of milk?" said cousin emelene now, seeing the maid's round eyes glaring startled from the dining-room door. "and just warm it a little bit, don't scald it. she won't touch it if there's the least bit of a scum on it. just take that ice-box chill off. here, i'll go with you this time. since we're going to live here now, you'll have to do it a good many times, and i'd better show you just how to do it right." she disappeared, leaving a trail of caressing baby-talk to the effect that she would take good care of muvver's ittie bittie kittie. she left genevieve for all practical purposes turned to stone. she felt as though she were stone, from head to foot, and she could open her mouth no more than any statue when, in answer to the next repetition, very peremptory now, of "which room?" a voice as peremptory called from the open front door, "straight upstairs; turn to your right, first door on the left." as the men started forward, banging the mahogany banisters with the corners of the trunk at every step, mrs. brewster-smith stepped in, immaculate as to sheer collar and cuffs, crisp and tailored as to suit, waved and netted as to hair, and chilled steel and diamond point as to will-power. "oh, genevieve, i didn't see _you_ there! i didn't know why they stood there waiting so long. i know the house so well i knew of course which room you'll have for guests. _dear_ old house! it will be like returning to my childhood to live here again!" she cocked an ear toward the upper regions and frowned, but went on smoothly. "such happy girlhood hours as i have passed here! after all there is nothing like the home feeling, is there, for us women at any rate! we're the natural conservatives, who cling to the simple, elemental satisfactions, and there's a heart-hunger that can only be satisfied by a home and a man's protection! i thought george's description too beautiful ... in his article you know... of the ideal home with the women of the family safe within its walls, protected from the savagery of the economic struggle which only men in their strength can bear without being crushed." she turned quickly and terribly to the expressmen coming down the stairs and said in so fierce a voice that they shrank back visibly, "there's another trunk to take up to the room next to that. and if you let it down with the bang you did this one, you'll get something that will surprise you! do you hear me!" they shrank out, cowed and tiptoeing. mrs. brewster-smith turned back to her young cousin-by-marriage and murmured, "that was such a true and deep saying of george's... wherever does such a young man get his wisdom!... that women are not fitted by nature to cope with hostile forces!" cousin emelene approached from behind the statue of genevieve, still frozen in place with an expression of stupefaction on her white face. the older woman put her arms around the bride's neck and gave her an affectionate hug. "oh, dearest jinny, doesn't it seem like a dream that we're all going to be together, all we women, in a real home, with a real man at the head of it to direct us and give us of his strength! it does seem just like that beautiful old-fashioned home that george drew such an exquisite picture of, in his article, where the home was the center of the world to the women in it. it will be to me, i assure you, dear. i feel as though i had come to a haven, and as though i _never_ would want to leave it!" the expressmen were carrying up another trunk now, and so conscious of the glittering eyes of mastery upon them that they carried it as though it were the ark of the covenant and they its chosen priests. mrs. brewster-smith followed them with a firm tread, throwing over her shoulder to the stone genevieve below, "oh, my dear, little eleanor and her nurse will be in soon. frieda was taking eleanor for her usual afternoon walk. will you just send them upstairs when they come! i suppose frieda will have the room in the third story, that extra room that was finished off when uncle henry lived here. emelene, you'd better come right up, too, if you expect to get unpacked before dinner." she disappeared, and emelene fluttered up after her, drawn along by suction, apparently, like a sheet of paper in the wake of a train. the expressmen came downstairs, still treading softly, and went out. genevieve was alone again in her front hall. to her came tiptoeing marie, with wide eyes of query and alarm. and from marie's questioning face, genevieve fled away like one fleeing from the plague. "don't ask me, marie! don't _speak_ to me. don't you dare ask me what... or i'll..." she was at the front door as she spoke, poised for flight like a terrified doe. "i must see mr. remington! i don't know _what_ to tell you, marie, till i have seen mr. remington! i must see my husband! i don't know what to say, i don't know what to _think_, until i have seen my husband." calling this eminently wifely sentiment over her shoulder she ran down the front walk, hatless, wrapless, just as she was in her pretty flowered and looped-up bride's house dress. she couldn't have run faster if the house had been on fire. the clicking of her high heels on the concrete sidewalk was a rattling tattoo so eloquent of disorganized panic that more than one head was thrust from a neighboring window to investigate, and more than one head was pulled back, nodding to the well-worn and charitable hypothesis, "their first quarrel." the hypothesis would instantly have been withdrawn if any one had continued looking after the fleeing bride long enough to see her, regardless of passers-by, fling herself wildly into her husband's arms as he descended from the trolley-car at the corner. betty sheridan was sitting in the drawing-room of her parents' house, rather moodily reading a book on the _balance of trade_. she had an unconfessed weakness of mind on the subject of tariffs and international trade. although when in college she had written a paper on it which had been read aloud in the economics seminar and favorably commented upon, she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she understood less than nothing about the underlying principles of the subject. this nettled her and gave her occasional nightmare moments of doubt as to the real fitness of women for public affairs. she read feverishly all she could find on the subject, ending by addling her brains to the point of frenzy. she was almost in that condition now although she did not look it in the least as, dressed for dinner in the evening gown which replaced the stark linens and tailored seams of her office-costume, she bent her shining head and earnest face over the pages of the book. penfield evans took a long look at her, as one looks at a rose-bush in bloom, before he spoke through the open door and broke the spell. "oh, betty," he called in a low tone, beckoning her with a gesture redolent of mystery. betty laid down her book and stared. "what you want?" she challenged him, reverting to the phrase she had used when they were children together. "come on out here a minute!" he said, jerking his head over his shoulder. "i want to show you something." "oh, i can't fuss around with you," said betty, turning to her book again. "i've got roberts' _balance of trade_ out of the library and i must finish it by tomorrow." she began to read again. the young man stood silent for a moment. "great scott!" he was saying to himself with a sinking heart. "so _that's_ what they pick up for light reading, when they're waiting for dinner!" he had a particularly gone feeling because, although he had made several successful political speeches on international trade and foreign tariffs, he was intelligent enough to know in his heart of hearts that he had no real understanding of the principles involved. he had come, indeed, to doubt if any one had! now, as he watched the pretty sleek head bent over the book he had supposed of course was a novel, he felt a qualm of real apprehension. maybe there was something in what that guy said, the one who wrote a book to prove (bringing queen elizabeth and catherine the great as examples) that the real genius of women is for political life. maybe they _have_ a special gift for it! maybe, a generation or so from now, it'll be the _men_ who are disfranchised for incompetence.... he put away as fantastic such horrifying ideas, and with a quick action of his resolute will applied himself to the present situation. "oh betty, you don't know what you're missing! it's a sight you'll never forget as long as you live... oh, come on! be a sport. take a chance!" betty was still suspicious of frivolity, but she rose, looked at her wrist-watch and guessed she'd have a few minutes before dinner, to fool away in light-minded society. "there's nothing light-minded about this!" penny assured her gravely, leading her swiftly down the street, around the corner, up another street and finally, motioning her to silence, up on the well-clipped lawn of a handsome, dignified residence, set around with old trees. "look!" he whispered in her ear, dramatically pointing in through the lighted window. "look! what do you see?" betty looked, and looked again and turned on him petulantly: "what foolishness are you up to now, penfield evans!" she whispered energetically. "why under the sun did you drag me out to see emelene and alys brewster-smith dining with the remingtons? isn't it just the combination of reactionary old fogies you might expect to get together... though i didn't know alys ever took her little girl out to dinner-parties, and emelene must be perfectly crazy over that cat to take her here. cats make george's flesh creep. don't you remember, at the sunday school bazaar." he cut her short with a gesture of command, and applying his lips to her ear so that he would not be heard inside the house, he said, "you think all you see is emelene and alys taking dinner _en famille_ with the remingtons. eyes that see not! what you are gazing upon is a reconstruction of the blessed family life that existed in the good old days, before the industrial period and the abominable practice of economic independence for women began! you are seeing woman in her proper place, the home,... if not her own home, somebody's home, anybody's home... the home of the man nearest to her, who owes her protection because she can't vote. you are gazing upon..." his rounded periods were silenced by a tight clutch on his wrist. "penfield evans. don't you dare exaggerate to me! have they come there to stay! _to take him at his word!_" he nodded solemnly. "their trunks are upstairs in the only two spare-rooms in the house, and frieda is installed in the only extra room in the attic. marie gave notice that she was going to quit, just before dinner. george has been telephoning to my aunt harriet to see if she knows of another maid...." "whatever... whatever could have made them _think_ of such a thing!" gasped betty, almost beyond words. "i did!" said penfield evans, tapping himself on the chest. "it was _my_ giant intelligence that propelled them here." he was conscious of a lacy rush upon him, and of a couple of soft arms which gave him an impassioned embrace none the less vigorous because the arms were more used to tennis-racquets and canoe-paddles than impassioned embraces. then he was thrust back... and there was betty, collapsed against a lilac bush, shaking and convulsed, one hand pressed hard on her mouth to keep back the shrieks of merriment which continually escaped in suppressed squeals, the other hand outstretched to ward him off.... "no, don't you touch me, i didn't mean a thing by it! i just couldn't help it! it's too, _too_ rich! oh penny, you duck! oh, i shall die! i shall die! i never saw anything so funny in my life! oh, penny, take me away or i shall perish here and now!" on the whole, in spite of the repulsing hand, he took it that he had advanced his cause. he broke into a laugh, more light-hearted than he had uttered for a long time. they stood for a moment more in the soft darkness, gazing in with rapt eyes at the family scene. then they reeled away up the street, gasping and choking with mirth, festooning themselves about trees for support when their legs gave way under them. "_did_ you see george's face when emelene let the cat eat out of her plate!" cried betty. "and did you see genevieve's when mrs. brewster-smith had the dessert set down in front of her to serve!" "how about little eleanor upsetting the glass of milk on george's trousers!" "oh _poor_ old george! did you ever see such gloom!" thus bubbling, they came again to betty's home with the door still open from which she had lately emerged. there betty fell suddenly silent, all the laughter gone from her face. the man peered in the dusk, apprehensive. what had gone wrong, now, after all? "do you know, penny, we're pigs!" she said suddenly, with energy. "we're hateful, abominable pigs!" he glared at her and clutched his hair. "didn't you see emelene brand's face? i can't get it out of my mind! it makes me sick, it was so happy and peaceful and befooled! poor old dear! she _believes_ all that! and she's the only one who does! and its beastly in us to make a joke of it! she has wanted a home all her life, and she'd have made a lovely one, too, for children! and she's been kept from it by all this fool's talk about womanliness." "help! what under the sun are you..." began penfield. "why, look here, she's not and never was, the kind any man wants to marry. she wouldn't have liked a real husband, either... poor, dear, thin-blooded old child! but she wanted a _home_ just the same. everybody does! and if she had been taught how to earn a decent living, if she hadn't been fooled out of her five senses by that idiotic cant about a man's doing everything for you, or else going without... why she'd be working now, a happy, useful woman, bringing up two or three adopted children in a decent home she'd made for them with her own efforts... instead of making her loving heart ridiculous over a cat...." she dashed her hand over her eyes angrily, and stood silent for a moment, trying to control her quivering chin before she went into the house. the young man touched her shoulder with reverent fingers. "betty," he said in a rather unsteady voice, "its _true_, all that bally-rot about women being better than men. you _are_!" with which very modern compliment, he turned and left her. chapter v. by kathleen norris her first evening with her augmented family genevieve remington never forgot. it is not at all likely that george ever forgot it, either; but to george it was only one in the series of disturbing events that followed his unqualified repudiation of the suffrage cause. to genevieve's tender heart it meant the wreckage, not the preservation of the home; that lovely home to whose occupancy she had so hopefully looked. she was too young a wife to recognize in herself the evanescent emotions of the bride. the blight had fallen upon her for all time. what had been fire was ashes; it was all over. the roseate dream had been followed by a cruel, and a lasting, awakening. some day genevieve would laugh at the memory of this tragic evening, as she laughed at george's stern ultimatums, and at junior's decision to be an engineer, and at jinny's tiny cut thumb. but she had no sense of humor now. as she ran to the corner, and poured the whole distressful story into her husband's ears, she felt the walls of her castle in spain crashing about her ears. george, of course, was wonderful; he had been that all his life. he only smiled, at first, at her news. "you poor little sweetheart!" he said to his wife, as she clung to his arm, and they entered the house together. "it's a shame to distress you so, just as we are getting settled, and marie and lottie are working in! but it's too absurd, and to have you worry your little head is ridiculous, of course! let them stay here to dinner, and then i'll just quietly take it for granted that they are going home--" "but--but their trunks are here, dearest!" husband and wife were in their own room now, and genevieve was rapidly recovering her calm. george turned from his mirror to frown at her in surprise. "their trunks! they didn't lose any time, did they? but do you mean to say there was no telephoning--no notice at all?" "they may have telephoned, george, love. but i was over at grace hatfield's for a while, and i got back just before they came in!" george went on with his dressing, a thoughtful expression on his face. genevieve thought he looked stunning in the loose oriental robe he wore while he shaved. "well, whatever they think, we can't have this, you know," he said presently. "i'll have to be quite frank with alys,--of course emelene has no sense!" "yes, be quite frank!" genevieve urged eagerly. "tell them that of course you were only speaking figuratively. nobody ever means that a woman really can't get along without a man's protection, because look at the women who _do_--" she stopped, a little troubled by the expression on his face. "i said what i truly believe, dear," he said kindly. "you know that!" genevieve was silent. her heart beat furiously, and she felt that she was going to cry. he was angry with her--he was angry with her! oh, what had she said, what _had_ she said! "but for all that," george continued, after a moment, "nobody but two women could have put such an idiotic construction upon my words. i am certainly going to make that point with alys. a sex that can jump headlong to such a perfectly untenable conclusion is very far from ready to assume the responsibilities of citizenship--" "george, dearest!" faltered genevieve. she did not want to make him cross again, but she could not in all loyalty leave him under this misunderstanding, to approach the always articulate alys. "george, it was penny, i'm sure!" she said. "from what they said,--they talked all the time!--i think penny went to see them, and sort of--sort of--suggested this! i'm so sorry, george--" george was sulphurously silent. "and penny will make the most of it, you know!" genevieve went on quickly and nervously. "if you should send them back, tonight, i know he'd tell betty! and betty says she is coming to see you because she has been asked to read an answer to your paper, at the club, and she might--she has such a queer sense of humor--" silence. genevieve wished that she was dead, and that every one was dead. "i don't want to criticize you, dear," george said presently, in his kindest tone. "but the time to _act_, of course, was when they first arrived. i can't do anything now. we'll just have to face it through, for a few days." it was not much of a cloud, but it was their first. genevieve went downstairs with tears in her eyes. she had wanted their home to be so cozy, so dainty, so intimate! and now to have two grown women and a child thrust into her paradise! marie was sulky, rattling the silver-drawer viciously while her mistress talked to her, and lottie had an ugly smile as she submitted respectfully that there wasn't enough asparagus. then george's remoteness was terrifying. he carved with appalling courtesy. "is there another chicken, genevieve?" he asked, as if he had only an impersonal interest in her kitchen. no, there was only the one. and plenty, too, said the guests pleasantly. genevieve hoped there were eggs and bacon for marie and lottie and frieda. "i'm going to ask you for just a mouthful more, it tastes so delicious and homy!" said alys. "and then i want to talk a little business, george. it's about those houses of mine, out in kentwood...." george looked at her blankly, over his drumstick. "darling tom left them," said tom's widow, "and they really have rented well. they're right near the factory, you know. but now, just lately, some man from the agents has been writing and writing me; he says that one of them has been condemned, and that unless i do something or other they'll all be condemned. it's a horrid neighborhood, and i don't like the idea, anyway, of a woman poking about among drains and cellars. yet, if i send the agent, he'll run me into fearful expense; they always do. so i'm going to take them out of his hands tomorrow, and turn it all over to you, and whatever you decide will be best!" "my dear girl, i'm the busiest man in the world!" george said. "leave all that to allen. he's the best agent in town!" "oh, i took them away from allen months ago, george. sampson has them now." "sampson? what the deuce did you change for? i don't know that sampson is solvent. i certainly would go back to allen--" "george, i can't!" the widow looked at her plate, swept him a coquettish glance, and dropped her eyes again. "mr. allen is a dear fellow," she elucidated, "but his wife is dreadful! there's nothing she won't suspect, and nothing she won't say!" "my dear cousin, this isn't a question of social values! it's business!" george said impatiently. "but i'll tell you what to do," he added, after scowling thought. "you put it in miss eliot's hands; she was with allen for some years. now she's gone in for herself, and she's doing well. we've given her several things--" "take it out of a man's hands to put it into a woman's!" alys exclaimed. and emelene added softly: "what can a woman be thinking of, to go into a dreadful business like selling real estate and collecting rents!" "of course, she was trained by men!" genevieve threw in, a little anxiously. alys was so tactless, when george was tired and hungry. she cast about desperately for some neutral topic, but before she could find one the widow spoke again. "i'll tell you what i'll do, george. i'll bring the books and papers to your office tomorrow morning, and then you can do whatever you think best! just send me a check every month, and it will be all right!" "just gather me up what's there, on the plate," emelene said, with her nervous little laugh in the silence. "i declare i don't know when i've eaten such a dinner! but that reminds me that you could help me out wonderfully, too, cousin george--i can't quite call you mr. remington!--with those wretched stocks of mine. i'm sure i don't know what they've been doing, but i know i get less money all the time! it's the new haven, george, that p'pa left me two years ago. i can't understand anything about it, but yesterday i was talking to a young man who advised me to put all my money into some tonic stock. it's a tonic made just of plain earth--he says it makes everything grow. doesn't it sound reasonable? but if i should lose all i have, i'm afraid i'd _really_ wear my welcome out, genevieve, dear. so perhaps you'll advise me?" "i'll do what i can!" george smiled, and genevieve's heart rose. "but upon my word, what you both tell me isn't a strong argument for betty's cause!" he added good-naturedly. "p'pa always said," emelene quoted, "that if a woman looked about for a man to advise her, she'd find him! and as i sit here now, in this lovely home, i think--isn't it sweeter and wiser and better this way? for a while,--because i was a hot-headed, rebellious girl!--i couldn't see that he was right. i had had a disappointment, you know," she went on, her kind, mild eyes watering. genevieve, who had been gazing in some astonishment at the once hot-headed, rebellious girl, sighed sympathetically. every one knew about the reverend mr. totter's death. "and after that i just wanted to be busy," continued emelene. "i wanted to be a trained nurse, or a matron, or something! i look back at it now, and wonder what i was thinking about! and then dear mama went, and i stepped into her place with p'pa. he wasn't exactly an invalid, but he did like to be fussed over, to have his meals cooked by my own hands, even if we were in a hotel. and whist--dear me, how i used to dread those three rubbers every evening! i was only a young woman then, and i suppose i was attractive to other men, but i never forgot mr. totter. and cousin george," she turned to him submissively, "when you were talking about a woman's real sphere, i felt--well, almost guilty. because only that one man ever asked me. do you think, feeling as i did, that i should have deliberately made myself attractive to men?" george cleared his throat. "all women can't marry, i suppose. it's in england, i believe, that there are a million unmarried women. but you have made a contented and a womanly life for yourself, and, as a matter of fact, there always _has_ been a man to stand between you and the struggle!" he said. "i know. first p'pa, and now you!" emelene mused happily. "i wasn't thinking of myself. i was thinking that your father left you a comfortable income!" he said quickly. "and now you have asked me here; one of the dearest old places in town!" emelene added innocently. genevieve listened in a stupefaction. this was married life, then? not since her childhood had genevieve so longed to stamp, to scream, to protest, to tear this twisted scheme apart and start anew! she was not a crying woman, but she wanted to cry now. she was not--she told herself indignantly--quite a fool. but she felt that if george went on being martyred, and mechanically polite, and grim, she would go into hysterics. she had been married less than six weeks; that night she cried herself to sleep. her guests were as agreeable as their natures permitted; but genevieve was reduced, before the third day of their visit, to a condition of continual tears. this was her home, this was the place sacred to george and herself, and their love. nobody in the world,--not his mother, not hers, had their mothers been living!--was welcome here. she had planned to be such a good wife to him, so thoughtful, so helpful, so brave when he must be away. but she could not rise to the height of sharing him with other women, and saying whatever she said to him in the hearing of witnesses. and then she dared not complain too openly! that was an additional hardship, for if george insulted his guests, then that horrid penny-- genevieve had always liked penny, and had danced and flirted with him aeons ago. she had actually told betty that she hoped betty would marry penny. but now she felt that she loathed him. he was secretly laughing at george, at george who had dared to take a stand for old-fashioned virtue and the purity of the home! it was all so unexpected, so hard. women everywhere were talking about george's article, and expected her to defend it! george, she could have defended. but how could she talk about a subject upon which she was not informed, in which, indeed, as she was rather fond of saying, she was absolutely uninterested? george was changed, too. something was worrying him; and it was hard on the darling old boy to come home to miss emelene and the cat and eleanor and alys, every night! emelene adored him, of course, and alys was always interesting and vivacious, but--but it wasn't like coming home to his own little genevieve! the bride wept in secret, and grew nervous and timid in manner. mrs. brewster-smith, however, found this comprehensible enough, and one hot summer afternoon genevieve went into george's office with her lovely head held high, her color quite gone, and her breath coming quickly with indignation. [illustration: it was hard on the darling old boy to come home to miss emelene and the cat and eleanor and alys every night!] "george--i don't care what we do, or where we go! but i can't stand it! she said--she said--she told me--" her husband was alone in his office, and genevieve was now crying in his arms. he patted her shoulder tenderly. "i'm so worried all the time about dinners, and lottie's going, and that child getting downstairs and letting in flies and licking the frosting off the maple cake," sobbed genevieve, "that of _course_ i show it! and if i _have_ given up my gym work, it's just because i was so busy trying to get some one in lottie's place! and now they say--they say--that _they_ know what the matter is, and that i mustn't dance or play golf--the horrible, spying cats! i won't go back, george, i will not! i--" again george was wonderful. he put his arm about her, and she sat down on the edge of his desk, and leaned against that dear protective shoulder and dried her eyes on one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs. he reminded her of a long-standing engagement for this evening with betty and penny, to go out to sea light and have dinner and a swim, and drive home in the moonlight. and when she was quiet again, he said tenderly: "you mustn't let the 'cats' worry you, pussy. what they think isn't true, and i don't blame you for getting cross! but in one way, dear, aren't they right? hasn't my little girl been riding and driving and dancing a little too hard? is it the wisest thing, just now? you have been nervous lately, dear, and excitable. mightn't there be a reason? because i don't have to tell you, sweetheart, nothing would make me prouder, and uncle martin, of course, has made no secret of how _he_ feels! you wouldn't be sorry, dear?" genevieve had always loved children deeply. long before this her happy dreams had peopled the old house in sheridan road with handsome, dark-eyed girls, and bright-eyed boys like their father. but, to her own intense astonishment, she found this speech from her husband distasteful. george would be "proud," and uncle martin pleased. but it suddenly occurred to genevieve that neither george nor uncle martin would be tearful and nervous. neither george nor uncle martin need eschew golf and riding and dancing. to be sick, when she had always been so well! to face death, for which she had always had so healthy a horror! cousin alex had died when her baby came, and lois farwell had never been well after the fourth farwell baby made his appearance. genevieve's tears died as if from flame. she gently put aside the sustaining arm, and went to the little mirror on the wall, to straighten her hat. she remembered buying this hat, a few weeks ago, in the ecstatic last days of the old life. "we needn't talk of that yet, george," she said quietly. she could see george's grieved look, in the mirror. there was a short silence in the office. then betty sheridan, cool in pongee, came briskly in. "hello, jinny!" said she. "had you forgotten our plan tonight? you're chaperoning me, i hope you realize! i'm rather difficile, too. genevieve, pudge is outside; he'll take you out and buy you something cold. i took him to lunch today. it was disgraceful! except for a frightful-looking mess called german pot roast with carrots and noodles sixty, he ate nothing but melon, lemon-meringue pie, and pineapple special. i was absolutely ashamed! george, i would have speech with you." "private business, betty?" he asked pleasantly. "my wife may not have the vote, but i trust her with all my affairs!" "indeed, i'm not in the least interested!" genevieve said saucily. she knew george was pleased with her as she went happily away. "it's just as well jinny went," said betty, when she and the district-attorney-elect were alone. "because it's that old bore colonel jaynes! he's come again, and he says he _will_ see you!" deep red rose in george's handsome face. "he came here last week, and he came yesterday," betty said, sitting down, "and really i think you should see him! you see, george, in that far-famed article of yours, you remarked that 'a veteran of the civil as well as the spanish war' had told you that it was the restless outbreaking of a few northern women that helped to precipitate the national catastrophe, and he wants to know if you meant him!" "i named no names!" george said, with dignity, yet uneasily, too. "i know you didn't. but you see we haven't many veterans of _both_ wars," betty went on, pleasantly. "and of course old mrs. jaynes is a rabid suffragist, and she is simply hopping. he's a mild old man, you know, and evidently he wants to square things with 'mother.' now, george, who _did_ you mean?" "a statement like that may be made in a general sense," george remarked, after scowling thought. "you might have made the statement on your own hook," betty conceded, "but when you mention an anonymous colonel, of course they all sit up! he says that he's going to get a signed statement from you that _he_ never said that, and publish it!" "ridiculous!" said george. "then here are two letters," betty pursued. "one is from the corresponding secretary of the women's non-partisan pacific coast association. she says that they would be glad to hear from you regarding your statement that equal suffrage, in the western states, is an acknowledged failure." "she'll wait!" george predicted grimly. "yes, i suppose so. but she's written to our mrs. herrington here, asking her to follow up the matter. george, dear," asked betty maternally, "_why_ did you do it? why couldn't you let well enough alone!" "what's your other letter?" asked george. "it's just from mr. riker, of the _sentinel_, george. he wants you to drop in. it seems that they want a correction on one of your statistics about the number of workingwomen in the united states who don't want the vote. he says it only wants a signed line from you that you were mistaken--" refusing to see colonel jaynes, or to answer the colonel's letter, george curtly telephoned the editor of the _sentinel_, and walked home at four o'clock, his cheeks still burning, his mind in a whirl. big issues should have been absorbing him: and his mind was pestered instead with these midges of the despised cause. well, it was all in the day's work-- and here was his sweet, devoted wife, fluttering across the hall, as cool as a rose, in her pink and white. and she had packed his things, in case they wanted to spend the night at sea light, and the "cats" had gone off for library books, and he must have some ginger-ale, before it was time to go for betty and penny. the day was perfection. the motor-car purred like a racing tiger under george's gloved hand. betty and penny were waiting, and the three young persons forgot all differences, and laughed and chatted in the old happy way, as they prepared for the start. but betty was carrying a book: _catherine of russia_. "do you know why suffragists should make an especial study of queens, george?" she asked, as she and penny settled themselves on the back seat. "well, i'll be interlocutor," george smiled, glancing up at the house, from which his wife might issue at any moment. "why should suffragists read the lives of queens, miss bones?" "because queens are absolutely the only women in all history who had equal rights!" betty answered impassively. "do you realize that? the only women whose moral and social and political instincts had full sway!" "and a sweet use they made of them, sometimes!" said george. "and who were the great rulers," pursued betty. "whose name in english history is like the names of elizabeth and victoria, or matilda or mary, for the matter of that? who mended and conserved and built up what the kings tore down and wasted? who made russia an intellectual power--" again penny had an odd sense of fear. were women perhaps superior to men, after all! "i don't think catherine of russia is a woman to whom a lady can point with pride," george said conclusively. genevieve, who had appeared, shot betty a triumphant glance as they started. pudge waved to them from the candy store at the corner. "there's a new candy store every week!" said penny, shuddering. "heaven help that poor boy; it must be in the blood!" "women must always have something sweet to nibble," george said, leaning back. "the united states took in two millions last year in gum alone!" "men chew gum!" suggested betty. "but come now, betty, be fair!" george said. "which sex eats more candy?" "well, i suppose women do," she admitted. "you count the candy stores, down main street," george went on, "and ask yourself how it is that these people can pay rents and salaries just on candy,--nothing else. did you ever think of that?" "well, i could vote with a chocolate in my mouth!" betty muttered mutinously, as the car turned into the afternoon peace of the main thoroughfare. "you count them on your side, penny, and i will on mine!" genevieve suggested. "all down the street." "well, wait--we've passed two!" penny said excitedly. "go on; there's three. that grocery store with candy in the window!" "groceries don't count!" objected betty. "oh, they do, too! and drug stores.... every place that sells candy!" "drug stores and groceries and fruit stores only count half a point," betty stipulated. "because they sell other things!" "that's fair enough," george conceded here, with a nod. genevieve and penny almost fell out of the car in their anxiety not to miss a point, and george quite deliberately lingered on the cross-streets, so that the damning total might be increased. laughing and breathless, they came to the bridge that led from the town to the open fields, and took the count. "one hundred and two and a half!" shouted penny and geneviève triumphantly. george smiled over his wheel. "oh, women, women!" he said. "one hundred and sixty-one!" said betty. there was a shout of protest. "oh, betty sheridan! you didn't! why, we didn't miss _one_!" "i wasn't counting candy stores," smiled betty. "just to be different, i counted cigar stores and saloons. but it doesn't signify much either way, does it, george?" chapter vi. by henry kitchell webster of the quartette who, an hour later, emerged from the bath-houses and scampered across the satiny beech into a discreetly playful surf, genevieve was the one real swimmer. she was better even than penny, and she left betty and george nowhere. she had an endless repertory of amphibious stunts which she performed with gusto, and in the intervals she took an equal satisfaction in watching penny's heroic but generally disastrous attempts to imitate them. the other two splashed around aimlessly and now and then remonstrated. now, it's all very well to talk about two hearts beating as one, and in the accepted poetical sense of the words, of course genevieve's and george's did. but as a matter of physiological fact, they didn't. at the end of twenty minutes or so george began turning a delicate blue and a clatter as of distant castanets provided an obligato when he spoke, the same being performed by george's teeth. the person who made these observations was betty. "you'd better go out," she said. "you're freezing." it ought to have been genevieve who said it, of course, though the fact that she was under water more than half the time might be advanced as her excuse for failing to say it. but who could venture to excuse the downright callous way in which she exclaimed, "already? why we've just got in! come along and dive through that wave. that'll warm you up!" it was plain to george that she didn't care whether he was cold or not. and, though the idea wouldn't quite go into words, it was also clear to him that an ideal wife--a really womanly wife--would have turned blue just a little before he began to. "thanks," he said, in a cold blue voice that matched the color of his finger nails. "i think i've had enough." betty came splashing along beside him. "i'm going out, too," she said. "we'll leave these porpoises to their innocent play." this was almost pure amiability, because she wasn't cold, and she'd been having a pretty good time. her other (practically negligible) motive was that penny might be reminded, by her withdrawal, of his forgotten promise to teach her to float--and be sorry. altogether, george would have been showing only a natural and reasonable sense of his obligations if he'd brightened up and flirted with her a little, instead of glooming out to sea the way he did, paying simply no attention to her at all. so at last she pricked him. "isn't it funny," she said, "the really blighting contempt that swimmers feel for people who can't feel at home in the water--people who gasp and shiver and keep their heads dry?" she could see that, in one way, this remark had done george good. it helped warm him up. leaning back on her hands, as she did, she could see the red come up the back of his neck and spread into his ears. but it didn't make him conversationally any more exciting. he merely grunted. so she tried again. "i suppose," she said dreamily, "that the myth about mermaids must be founded in fact. or is it sirens i'm thinking about? perfectly fascinating, irresistible women, who lure men farther and farther out, in the hope of a kiss or something, until they get exhausted and drown. i'll really be glad when penny gets back alive." "and i shall be very glad," said george, trying hard for a tone of condescending indifference appropriate for use with one who has played dolls with one's little sister, "i shall really be very glad when you make up your mind what you are going to do with penny. he's just about a total loss down at the office as it is, and he's getting a worse idiot from day to day. and the worst of it is, i imagine you know all the while what you're going to do about it--whether you're going to take him or not." the girl flushed at that. he was being almost too outrageously rude, even for george. but before she said anything to that effect, she thought of something better. "i shall never marry any man," she said very intensely, "whose heart is not with the cause. you know what cause i mean, george--the suffrage cause. when i see thoughtless girls handing over their whole lives to men who..." it sounded like the beginning of an oration. "good lord!" her victim cried. "isn't there anything else than that to talk about--_ever_?" "but just think how lucky you are, george," she said, "that at home they all think exactly as you do!" he jumped up. evidently this reminder of the purring acquiescences of cousin emelene and mrs. brewster-smith laid no balm upon his harassed spirit. "you may leave my home alone, if you please." he was frightfully annoyed, of course, or he wouldn't have said anything as crude as that. in a last attempt to recover his scattered dignity, he caught at his office manner. "by the way," he said, "you forgot to remind me today to write a letter to that eliot woman about mrs. brewster-smith's cottages." with that he stalked away to dress. genevieve and penny, now shoreward bound, hailed him. but it wasn't quite impossible to pretend he didn't hear, and he did it. the dinner afterward at the sea light inn was a rather gloomy affair. george's lonely grandeur was only made the worse, it seemed, by genevieve's belated concern lest he might have taken cold through not having gone and dressed directly he came out of the water. genevieve then turned very frosty to penny, having decided suddenly that it was all his fault. as for betty, though she was as amiable a little soul as breathed, she didn't see why she should make any particular effort to console penny, just because his little flirtation with genevieve had stopped with a bump. even the ride home in the moonlight didn't help much. genevieve sat beside george on the front seat, and between them there stretched a tense, tragic silence. in the back seat with penfield evans, and in the intervals of frustrating his attempts to hold her hand, betty considered how frightfully silly young married couples could be over microscopic differences. but betty was wrong here and the married pair on the front seat were right. just reflect for a minute what genevieve's george was. he was her knight, her bayard, her thoroughly tennysonian king arthur. the basis of her adoration was that he should remain like that. you can see then what a staggering experience it was to have caught herself, even for a minute, in the act of smiling over him as sulky and absurd. and think of george's genevieve! a saint enshrined, that his soul could profitably bow down before whenever it had leisure to escape from the activities of a wicked world. fancy his horror over the mere suspicion that she could be indifferent to his wishes--his comfort--even his health, because of a mere tomboy flirtation with a man who could swim better than he could! most women were like that, he knew--vain, shallow, inconstant creatures! but was not his pearl an exception? it was horrible to have to doubt it. by three o'clock the next morning, after many tears and much grave discourse, they succeeded in getting these doubts to sleep--killing them, they'd have said, beyond the possibility of resurrection. it was the others who had made all the trouble. if only they could have the world to themselves--no cousin emelene, no alys brewster-smith, no penfield evans and betty sheridan, with their frivolity and low ideals, to complicate things! an arcadian island in some aeonian sea. "well," he said hopefully, "our home can be like that. it shall be like that, when we get rid of alys and her horrible little girl, and cousin emelene and her unspeakable cat. it shall be our world; and no troubles or cares or worries shall ever get in there!" she acquiesced in this prophecy, but even as she did so, cuddling her face against his own, a low-down, unworthy spook, whose existence in her he must never suspect, said audibly in her inner ear, "much he knows about it!" betty did not forget to remind george of the letter he was to write to miss eliot about taking over the agency of mrs. brewster-smith's cottages. in the composition of this letter george washed his hands of responsibility with, you might say, antiseptic care. he had taken pleasure in recommending miss eliot, he explained, and mrs. brewster-smith was acting on his recommendation. any questions arising out of the management of the property should be taken up directly with her client. miss eliot would have no difficulty in understanding that the enormous pressure of work which now beset him precluded him from having anything more to do with the matter. the letter was typed and inclosed in a big linen envelope, with the mess of papers alys had dumped upon his desk a few days previously, and it was despatched forthwith by the office boy. "there," said george on a note of grim satisfaction, "that's done!" the grimness lasted, but the satisfaction did not. or only until the return of the office boy, half an hour later, with the identical envelope and a three-line typewritten note from miss eliot. she was sorry to say, she wrote, that she did not consider it advisable to undertake the agency for the property in question. thanking him, nevertheless, for his courtesy, she was his very truly, e. eliot. george summoned betty by means of the buzzer, and asked her, with icy indignation, what she thought of that. but, as he was visibly bursting with impatience to say what _he_ thought of it, she gave him the opportunity. "i thought you advanced women," he said, "were supposed to stand by each other--stand by all women--try to make things better for them. one for all--all for one. that sort of thing. but it really works the other way. it's just because a woman owns those cottages that miss eliot won't have anything to do with them. she knows that women are unreasonable and hard to get on with in business matters, so she passes the buck! back to a man, if you please, who hasn't any more real responsibility for it than she has." there was, of course, an obvious retort to this; namely, that business was business, and that a business woman had the same privilege a business man had, of declining a job that looked as if it would entail more bother than it was worth. but betty couldn't quite bring herself to take this line. women, if they could ever get the chance (through the vote and in other ways), were going to make the world a better place--run it on a better lot of ideals. it wouldn't do to begin justifying women on the ground that they were only doing what men did. as well abandon the whole crusade right at the beginning. george saw her looking rather thoughtful, and pressed his advantage. suppose betty went and saw miss eliot personally, sometime today, and urged her to reconsider. the business didn't amount to much, it was true, and it no doubt involved the adjustment of some troublesome details. but unless miss eliot would undertake it, he wouldn't know just where to turn. alys had quarreled with allen, and sampson was a skate. and perhaps a little plain talk to alys about the condition of the cottages--"from one of her own sex," george said this darkly and looked away out of the window at the time--might be productive of good. "all right," betty agreed, "i'll see what i can do. it's kind of hard to go to a woman you barely know by sight, and talk to her about her duty, but i guess i'm game. if you can spare me, i'll go now and get it over with." there were no frills about edith eliot's real estate office, though the air of it was comfortably busy and prosperous. the place had once been a store. an architect's presentation of an apartment building, now rather dusty, occupied the show-window. there was desk accommodation for two or three of those bright young men who make a selection of keys and take people about to look at houses; there was a stenographer's desk with a stenographer sitting at it; and back of a table in the corner, in the attitude of one making herself as comfortable as the heat of the day would permit, while she scowled over a voluminous typewritten document, was e. eliot herself. it was almost superfluous to mention that her name was edith. she never signed it, and there was no one, in whitewater anyway, who called her by it. she was a big-boned young woman (that is, if you call the middle thirties young), with an intelligent, homely face, which probably got the attraction some people surprisingly found in it from the fact that she thought nothing about its looks one way or the other. it was rather red when betty came in, and she was making it rapidly redder with the vigorous ministrations of a man's-size handkerchief. she greeted betty with a cordial "how-de-doo," motioned her to the other chair at the table (betty had a fleeting wish that she might have dusted it before she sat down), and asked what she could do for her. "i'm from mr. remington's office," betty said, "remington and evans. he wrote you a note this morning about some cottages that belong to a cousin of his, mrs. brewster-smith." "i answered that note by his own messenger," said e. eliot. "he should have got the reply before this." "oh, he got it," said betty, "and was rather upset about it. what i've come for, is to urge you to reconsider." e. eliot smiled rather grimly at her blotting-pad, looked up at betty, and allowed her smile to change its quality. what she said was not what she had meant to say before she looked up. e. eliot was always upbraiding herself for being sentimental about youth and beauty in her own sex. she'd never been beautiful, and she'd never been young--not young like betty. but the upbraidings never did any good. she said: "i thought i had considered sufficiently when i answered mr. remington's note. but it's possible i hadn't. what is it you think i may have overlooked?" "why," said betty, "george thought the reason you wouldn't take the cottages was because a woman owned them. he used it as a sort of example of how women wouldn't stick together. he said that you probably knew that women were unreasonable and hard to deal with and didn't want the bother." it disconcerted betty a little that e. eliot interposed no denial at this point, though she'd paused to give her the opportunity. "you see," she went on a little breathlessly, "i'm for women suffrage and economic independence and all that. i think it's perfectly wonderful that you should be doing what you are--showing that women can be just as successful in business as men can. of course i know that you've got a perfect _right_ to do just what a man would do--refuse to take a piece of business that wasn't worth while. but--but what we hope is, and what we want to show men is, that when women get into politics and business they'll be better and less selfish." "which do you mean will be better?" e. eliot inquired. "the politics and the business, or the women?" "i mean the politics and the business," betty told her rather frostily. was the woman merely making fun of her? e. eliot caught the note. "i meant my question seriously," she said. "it has a certain importance. but i didn't mean to interrupt you. go ahead." "well," betty said, "that's about all. george--mr. remington--that is--is running for district attorney, and he has come out against suffrage as you know. i thought perhaps this was a chance to convert him a little. it would be a great favor to him, anyway, if you took the cottages; because he doesn't know whom to turn to, if you won't. i didn't come to try to tell you what your duty is, but i thought perhaps you hadn't just looked at it that way." "all right," said e. eliot. "now i'll tell you how i do look at it. in the first place, about doing business for women. it all depends on the woman you're doing business with. if she's had the business training of a man, she's as easy to deal with as a man. if she's never had any business training at all, if business doesn't mean anything to her except some vague hocus-pocus that produces her income, then she's seven kinds of a tartar. "she has no more notion about what she has a right to expect from other people, or what they've a right to expect from her, than a white angora cat. of course, the majority of women who have property to attend to have had it dumped on their hands in middle life, or after, by the wills of loving husbands. those women, i'll say frankly, are the devil and all to deal with. but it's their husbands' and fathers' fault, and not their own. anyhow, that isn't the reason i wouldn't take those cottages. "it was the cottages themselves, and not the woman who owned them, that decided me. that whole kentwood district is a disgrace to civilization. the sanitary conditions are filthy; have been for years. the owners have been resisting condemnation proceedings right along, on the ground that the houses brought in so little rental that it would be practical confiscation to compel them to make any improvements. now, since the war boon struck the mills, and every place with four walls and a roof is full, they're saying they can't afford to make any change because of the frightful loss they'd suffer in potential profits. "well, when you agree to act as a person's agent, you've got to act in that person's interest; and when it's a question of the interest of the owners of those kentwood cottages, whether they're men or women, my idea was that i didn't care for the job." "i think you're perfectly right about it," betty said. "i wouldn't have come to urge you to change your mind, if i had understood what the situation was. but," here she held out her hand, "i'm glad i did come, and i wish we might meet again sometime and get acquainted and talk about things." "no time like the present," said e. eliot. "sit down again, if you've got a minute." she added, as betty dropped back into her chair, "you're elizabeth sheridan, aren't you?--judge sheridan's daughter? and you're working as a stenographer for remington and evans?" betty nodded and stammered out the beginning of an apology for not having introduced herself earlier. but the older woman waved this aside. "what i really want to know," she went on, "if it isn't too outrageous a question, is what on earth you're doing it for--working in that law office, i mean?" it was a question betty was well accustomed to answering. but coming from this source, it surprised her into a speechless stare. "why," she said at last, "i do it because i believe in economic independence for women. don't you? but of course you do." "i don't know," said e. eliot. "i believe in food and clothes, and money to pay the rent, and the only way i have ever found of having those things was to get out and earn them. but if ever i make money enough to give me an independent income half the size of what yours must be, i'll retire from business in short order." "do you know," said betty, "i don't believe you would. i think you're mistaken. i don't believe a woman like you could live without working." "i didn't say i'd quit working," said e. eliot. "i said i'd quit business. that's another thing. there's plenty of real work in the world that won't earn you a living. lord! don't i see it going by right here in this office! there are things i just itch to get my hands into, and i have to wait and tell myself 'some day, perhaps!' there's a thing i'd like to do now, and that's to take a hand in this political campaign for district attorney. it would kill my business deader than pharaoh's aunt, so i've got to let it go. but it would certainly put your friend george remington up a tall tree." "oh, you're a suffragist, then?" betty exclaimed eagerly. "i was wondering about that. i've never seen you at any of our meetings." "i'm a suffragist, all right," said e. eliot, "but as your meetings are mostly held in the afternoons, when i'm pretty busy, i haven't been able to get 'round. "i'm curious about remington," she went on. "i've known him a little, for years. when i worked for allen, i used to see him quite often in the office. and i'd always rather liked him. so that i was surprised, clear down to the ground, when i read that statement of his in the _sentinel_. i'd never thought he was _that_ sort. and from the fact that you work in his office and like him well enough to call him george one might almost suppose he wasn't." clearly betty was puzzled. "of course," she said, "i think his views about women are obsolete and ridiculous. but i don't see what they've got to do with liking him or not, personally." e. eliot's smile became grim again, but she said nothing, so betty asked a direct question. "that was what you meant, wasn't it?" "yes," the other woman said, "that was what i meant. why, if you don't mind plain speaking, it's been my observation that the sort of men who think the world is too indecent for decent women to go out into, generally have their own reasons for knowing how indecent it is; and that when they spring a line of talk like that, they're being sickening hypocrites into the bargain." betty's face had gone flame color. "george isn't like that at all," she said. "he's--he's really fine. he's old-fashioned and sentimental about women, but he isn't a hypocrite. he really means those things he says. why..." and then betty went on to tell her new friend about cousin emelene and alys brewster-smith, and how george, though he writhed, had stood the gaff. "a grown-up man," e. eliot summed up, "who honestly believes that women are made of something fine and fragile, and that they ought to be kept where even the wind can't blow upon them! but good heavens, child, if he really means that, it makes it all the better for what i was thinking of. you don't understand, of course. i hadn't meant to tell you, but i've changed my mind. "listen now. that statement in the _sentinel_ has set the town talking, of course, and stirred up a lot of feeling, for and against suffrage. but what it would be worth as an issue to go to the mat with on election day, is exactly nothing at all. you go out and ask a voter to vote against a candidate for district attorney because he's an anti-suffragist, and he'll say, 'what difference does it make? it isn't up to him to give women the vote. it doesn't matter to me what his private opinions are, as long as he makes a good district attorney!' but there is an issue that we _can_ go to the mat with, and so far it hasn't been raised at all. there hasn't been a peep." she reached over and laid a hand on betty's arm. "do you know what the fire protection laws for factories are? and do you know that it's against the law for women to work in factories at night? well, and do you know what the conditions are in every big mill in this town? with this boom in war orders, they've simply taken off the lid. anything goes. the fire and building ordinances are disregarded, and for six months the mills have been running a night shift as well as a day shift, on sundays and week-days, and three-quarters of their operatives are women. those women go to work at seven o'clock at night, and quit at six in the morning; and they have an hour off from twelve to one in the middle of the night. "now do you see? it's up to the district attorney to enforce the law. isn't it fair to ask this defender of the home whether he believes that women should be home at night or not, and if he does, what he's going to do about it? talk about slogans! the situation bristles with them! we could placard this town with a lot of big black-faced questions that would make it the hottest place for george remington that he ever found himself in. "well, it would be pretty good campaign work if he was the hypocrite i took him to be, from his stuff in the _sentinel_. but if he's on the level, as you think he is, there's a chance--don't you see there's a chance that he'd come out flat-footed for the enforcement of the law? and if he did!... child, can you see what would happen if he _did_?" betty's eyes were shining like a pair of big sapphires. when she spoke, it was in a whisper like an excited child. "i can see a little," she said. "i think i can see. but tell me." "in the first place," said e. eliot, "see whom he'd have against him. there'd be the best people, to start with. most of them are stockholders in the mills. why, you must be, yourself, in the jaffry-bradshaw company! your father was, anyway." betty nodded. "you want to be sure you know what it means," the older woman went on. "this thing might cut into your dividends, if it went through." "i hope it will," said betty fiercely. "i never realized before that my money was earned like that--by women, girls of my age, standing over a machine all night." she shivered. "and there are some of us, i'm sure," she went on, "who would feel the way i do about it." "well,--some," e. eliot admitted. "not many, though. and then there are the merchants. these are great times for them--town crammed with people, all making money, and buying right and left. and then there's the labor vote itself! a lot of laboring men would be against him. their women just now are earning as much as they are. there are a lot of these men--whatever they might say--who'd take good care not to vote for a man who would prevent their daughters from bringing in the fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five dollars a week they get for that night work. "well, and who would be with him? why, the women themselves. the one chance on earth he'd have for election would be to have the women organized and working for him, bringing every ounce of influence they had to bear on their men--on all the men they knew. "mind you, i don't believe he could win at that. but, win or lose, he'd have done something. he'd have shown the women that they needed the vote, and he'd have found out for himself--he and the other men who believe in fair human treatment for everybody--that they can't secure that treatment without women's votes. that's the real issue. it isn't that women are better than men, or that they could run the world better if they got the chance. it's that men and women have got to work together to do the things that need doing." "you're perfectly wonderful," said betty, and sat thereafter, for perhaps a minute and a half, in an entranced silence. then, with a shake of the head, a straightening of the spine, and a good, deep, business-like preliminary breath, she turned to her new friend and said, "well, shall we do it?" this time it was e. eliot's turn to gasp. she hadn't expected to have a course of action put up to her in that instantaneous and almost casual manner. she wasn't young like betty. she'd been working hard ever since she was seventeen years old. she'd succeeded, in a way, to be sure. but her success had taught her how hard success is to obtain. she saw much farther into the consequences of the proposed campaign than betty could see. she realized the bitter animosity that it would provoke. she knew it was well within the probabilities that her business would be ruined by it. she sat there silent for a while, her face getting grimmer and grimmer all the time. but she turned at last and looked into the eager face of the girl beside her, and she smiled,--though even the smile was grim. "all right," she said, holding out her hand to bind the bargain. "we'll start and we'll stick. and here's hoping! we'd better lunch together, hadn't we?" chapter vii. by anne o'hagan mr. benjamin doolittle, by profession white-water's leading furniture dealer and funeral director, and by the accident of political fortune the manager of mr. george remington's campaign, sat in his candidate's private office, and from time to time restrained himself from hasty speech by the diplomatic and dexterous use of a quid of tobacco. he found it difficult to preserve his philosophy in the face of george remington's agitation over the woman's suffrage issue. "it's the last time," he had frequently informed his political cronies since the opening of the campaign, "that i'll wet-nurse a new-fledged candidate. they've got at least to have their milk teeth through if they want benjamin doolittle after this." to george, itchingly aware through all his rasped nerves of mrs. herrington's letter in that morning's _sentinel_ asking him to refute, if he could, an abominable half column of statistics in regard to legislation in the woman suffrage states, the furniture dealer was drawling pacifically: "now, george, you made a mistake in letting the women get your goat. don't pay no attention to them. of course their game's fair enough. i will say that you gave them their opening; stood yourself for a target with that statement of yours. howsomever, you ain't obligated to keep on acting as the nigger head in the shooting gallery. "let 'em write; let 'em ask questions in the papers; let 'em heckle you on the stump. all that you've got to say is that you've expressed your personal convictions already, and that you've stood by those convictions in your private life, and that as you ain't up for legislator, the question don't really concern your candidacy. and that, as you're running for district attorney, you will, with their kind permission, proceed to the subjects that do concern you there--the condition of the court calendar of whitewater county, the prosecution of the racetrack gamblers out at erie oval, and so forth, and so forth. "you laid yourself open, george, but you ain't obligated in law or equity to keep on presenting yourself bare chest for their outrageous slings and arrows." "of course, what you say about their total irrelevancy is quite true," said george, making the concession so that it had all the belligerency of a challenge. "but of course i would never have consented to run for office at the price of muzzling my convictions." mr. doolittle wearily agreed that that was more than could be expected from any candidate of the high moral worth of george remington. then he went over a list of places throughout the county where george was to speak during the next week, and intimated dolefully that the committee could use a little more money, if it had it. he expressed it thus: "a few more contributions wouldn't put any strain to speak of on our pants' pockets. anything more to be got out of old martin jaffry? don't he realize that blood's thicker than water?" "i'll speak to him," growled george. he hated mr. benjamin doolittle's colloquialisms, though once he had declared them amusing, racy, of the soil, and had rebuked genevieve's fastidious criticisms of them on an occasion when she had interpreted her rôle of helpmeet to include that of hostess to mr. and mrs. doolittle--oh, not in her own home, of course!--at luncheon, at the country club! "well, i guess that's about all for today." mr. doolittle brought the conference to a close, hoisting himself by links from his chair. "it takes $ every time you circularize the constituency, you know----" he lounged toward the window and looked out again upon the pleasant, mellow scene around fountain square. and with the look his affectation of bucolic calm dropped from him. he turned abruptly. "what's that going on at mcmonigal's corner?" he demanded sharply. "i don't know, i am sure," said george, with indifference, still bent upon teaching his manager that he was a free and independent citizen, in leading strings to no man. "it's been vacant since the fire in march, when petrosini's fish market and miss letterblair's hat st----" he had reached the window himself by this time, and the sentence was destined to remain forever unfinished. from the low, old-fashioned brick building on the northeast corner of fountain square, whose boarded eyes had stared blindly across toward the glittering orbs of its towering neighbor, the jaffry building, for six months, a series of great placards flared. planks had been removed from the windows, plate glass restored, and behind it he read in damnable irritation: "some questions for candidate remington." a foot high, an inch broad, black as erebus, the letters shouted at him against an orange background. every window of the second story contained a placard. on the first story, in the show window where petrosini had been wont to ravish epicurean eyes by shad and red snapper, perch and trout, cunningly imbedded in ice blocks upon a marble slab--in that window, framed now in the hated orange and black, stood a woman. she was turning backward, for the benefit of onlookers who pressed close to the glass, the leaves of a mammoth pad resting upon an easel. from their point of vantage in the second story of the jaffry building, the candidate and his manager could see that each sheet bore that horrid headline: "questions for candidate remington." the whole population of white water, it seemed to george, was crowded about that corner. "i'll be back in a minute," said benjie doolittle, disappearing through the private office door with the black tails of his coat achieving a true horizontal behind him. as statesman and as undertaker, mr. doolittle never swerved from the garment which keeps green the memory of the late prince consort. as the door opened, the much-tried george remington had a glimpse of that pleasing industrial unit, betty sheridan, searching through the file for the copy of the letter to the cummunipaw steel works, which he had recently demanded to see. he pressed the buzzer imperiously, and betty responded with duteous haste. he pointed through the window to the crowd in front of mcmonigal's block. "perhaps," he said, with what seemed to him spartan self-restraint, "_you_ can explain the meaning of that scene." betty looked out with an air of intelligent interest. "oh yes!" she said vivaciously. "i think i can. it's a voiceless speech." "a voice l--" george's own face was a voiceless speech as he repeated two syllables of his stenographer's explanation. "yes. don't you know about voiceless speeches? it's antiquated to try to run any sort of a campaign without them nowadays." "perhaps you also know who that--female--" again george's power of utterance failed him. betty came closer to the window and peered out. "it's frances herrington who is turning the leaves now," she said amiably. "i know her by that ducky toque." "frances herrington! what harvey herrington is thinking of to allow----" george's emotion constrained him to broken utterance. "and we're dining there tonight! she has no sense of the decencies--the--the--the hospitality of existence. we won't go--i'll telephone genevieve----" "fie, fie georgie!" observed betty. "why be personal over a mere detail of a political campaign?" but before george could tell her why his indignation against his prospective hostess was impersonal and unemotional, the long figure of mr. doolittle again projected itself upon the scene. betty effaced herself, gliding from the inner office, and george turned a look of inquiry upon his manager. "well?" the monosyllable had all the force of profanity. "well, the women, durn them, have brought suffrage into your campaign." "how?" "how? they've got a list of every blamed law on the statute books relating to women and children, and they're asking on that sheet of leaves over there, if you mean to proceed against all who are breaking those laws here in whitewater county. and right opposite your own office! it's--it's damn smart. you ought to have got that herrington woman on your committee." "it's indelicate, unwomanly, indecent. it shows into what unsexed degradation politics will drag woman. but i'm relieved that that's all they're asking. of course, i shall enforce the law for the protection of every class in our community with all the power of the----" "oh, shucks! there's nobody here but me--you needn't unfurl old glory," counseled mr. doolittle, a trifle impatiently. "they're asking real questions, not blowing off hot-air. oh, i say, who owns mcmonigal's block since the old man died? we'll have the owner stop this circus. that's the first thing to do." "i'll telephone allen. he'll know." allen's office was very obliging and would report on the ownership on mcmonigal's block in ten minutes. mr. doolittle employed the interval in repeating to george some of the "questions for candidate remington," illegible from george's desk. "you believe that 'woman's place is in the home.' will you enforce the law against woman's night work in the factories? over nine hundred women of whitewater county are doing night work in the munition plants of airport, whitewater and ondegonk. what do you mean to do about it?" "you 'desire to conserve the threatened flower of womanhood.'" a critical listener would have caught a note of ribald scorn in mr. doolittle's drawl, as he quoted from his candidate's statement, via the voiceless speech placards. "to conserve the threatened flower of womanhood, the grape canneries of omega and onicrom townships are employing children of five and six years in defiance of the child labor law of this state. are you going to proceed against them?" "'woman is man's rarest heritage.' do you think man ought to burn her alive? remember the livingston loomis-ladd collar factory fire--fourteen women killed, forty-eight maimed. in how many of the factories in whitewater, in which women work, are the fire laws obeyed? do you mean to enforce them?" the telephone interrupted mr. doolittle's hateful litany. alien's bright young man begged to report that mcmonigal's block was held in fee simple by the widow of the late michael mcmonigal. mr. doolittle juggled the leaves of the telephone directory with the dazzling swiftness of a japanese ball thrower, and in a few seconds he was speaking to the relict of the late michael. george watched him with fevered eyes, listened with fevered ears. the conversation, it was easy to gather, did not proceed as mr. doolittle wished. "oh! in entire charge--e. eliot. oh! in sympathy yourself. oh, come now, mrs. mcmonigal----" but mrs. mcmonigal did not come now. the campaign manager frowned as he replaced the receiver. "widow owns the place. that eliot woman is the agent. the suffrage gang has the owner's permission to use the building from now on to election. she says she's in sympathy. well, we'll have to think of something----" "it's easy enough," declared george. "i'll simply have a set of posters printed answering their questions. and we'll engage sandwich men to carry them in front of mcmonigal's windows. certainly i mean to enforce the law. i'll give the order to the _sentinel_ press now for the answers--definite, dignified answers." "see here, george." mr. doolittle interrupted him with unusual weightiness of manner. "it's too far along in the campaign for you to go flying off on your own. you've got to consult your managers. this is your first campaign; it's my thirty-first. you've got to take advice----" "i will not be muzzled." "shucks! who wants to muzzle, anybody! but you can't say everything that's inside of you, can you? there's got to be some choosing. we've got to help you choose. "the silly questions the women are displaying over there--you can't answer 'em in a word or in two words. this city is having a boom; every valve factory in the valley, every needle and pin factory, is makin' munitions today--valves and needles and pins all gone by the board for the time being. money's never been so plenty in whitewater county and this city is feelin' the benefits of it. people are buying things--clothes, flour, furniture, victrolas, automobiles, rum. "there ain't a merchant of any description in this county but his business is booming on account of the work in the factories. you can't antagonize the whole population of the place. why, i dare say, some of your own money and mrs. remington's is earning three times what it was two years ago. the first national bank has just declared a fifteen per cent. dividend, and martin jaffry owns fifty-four per cent. of the stock. "you don't want to put brakes on prosperity. it ain't decent citizenship to try it. it ain't neighborly. think of the lean years we've known. you can't do it. this war won't last forever--" mr. doolittle's voice was tinged with regret--"and it will be time enough to go in for playing the deuce with business when business gets slack again. that's the time for reforms, george,--when things are dull." george was silent, the very presentment of a sorely harassed young man. he had not, even in a year when blamelessness rather than experience was his party's supreme need in a candidate, become its banner bearer without possessing certain political apperceptions. he knew, as benjie doolittle spoke, that benjie spoke the truth--white-water city and county would never elect a man who had too convincingly promised to interfere with the prosperity of the city and county. "better stick to the gambling out at erie oval, george," counseled the campaign manager. "they're mostly new yorkers that are interested in that, anyway." "i'll not reply without due consideration and--er--notice," george sullenly acceded to his manager and to necessity. but he hated both doolittle and necessity at the moment. that sun-bright vision of himself which so splendidly and sustainingly companioned him, which spoke in his most sonorous periods, which so completely and satisfyingly commanded the reverence of genevieve--that george remington of his brave imaginings would not thus have answered benjamin doolittle. through the silence following the furniture man's departure, betty, at the typewriter, clicked upon georgie's ears. an evil impulse assailed him--impolitic, too, as he realized--impolitic but irresistible. it was the easiest way in which candidate remington, heckled by suffragists, overridden by his campaign committee, mortifyingly tormented by a feeling of inadequacy, could re-establish himself in his own esteem as a man of prompt and righteous decisions. he might not be able to run his campaign to suit himself, but, by jove, his office was his own! he went into betty's quarters and suggested to her that a due sense of the eternal fitness of things would cause her to offer him her resignation, which his own sense of the eternal fitness of things would lead him at once to accept. it seemed, he said, highly indecorous of her to remain in the employ of remington and evans the while she was busily engaged in trying to thwart the ambitions of the senior partner. he marveled that woman's boasted sensitiveness had not already led her to perceive this for herself. for a second, betty seemed startled, even hurt. she colored deeply and her eyes darkened. then the flush of surprise and the wounded feeling died. she looked at him blankly and asked how soon it would be possible for him to replace her. she would leave as soon as he desired. in her bearing, so much quieter than usual, in the look in her face, george read a whole volume. he read that up to this time, betty had regarded her presence in the ranks of his political enemies as she would have regarded being opposed to him in a tennis match. he read that he, with that biting little speech which he already wished unspoken, had given her a sudden, sinister illumination upon the relations of working women to their employers. he read the question in the back of her mind. suppose (so it ran in his constructive fancy) that instead of being a prosperous, protected young woman playing the wage-earner more or less as marie antoinette had played the milkmaid, she had been mamie riley across the hall, whose work was bitter earnest, whose earnings were not pin-money, but bread and meat and brother's schooling and mother's health--would george still have made the stifling of her views the price of her position? and if george--george, the kind, friendly, clean-minded man would drive that bargain, what bargain might not other men, less gentle, less noble, drive? all this george's unhappily sensitized conscience read into betty sheridan's look, even as the imp who urged him on bade him tell her that she could leave at her own convenience; at once, if she pleased; the supply of stenographers in whitewater was adequately at demand. he rather wished that penny evans would come in; penny would doubtless take a high hand with him concerning the episode, and there was nothing which george remington would have welcomed like an antagonist of his own size and sex. but penny did not appear, and the afternoon passed draggingly for the candidate for the district attorneyship. he tried to busy himself with the affairs of his clients, but even when he could keep away from his windows he was aware of the crowds in front of mcmonigal's block, of frances herrington, her "ducky" toque and her infernal voiceless speech. and when, for a second, he was able to forget these, he heard from the outer office the unmistakable sounds of a desk being permanently cleared of its present incumbent's belongings. after a while, betty bade him a too courteous good-by, still with that abominable new air of gravely readjusting her old impressions of him. and then there was nothing to do but to go home and make ready for dinner at the herrington's, unless he could induce genevieve to have an opportune headache. of course betty had been right. not upon his masculine shoulders should there be laid the absurd burden of political chagrin strong enough to break a social engagement. genevieve was in her room. the library was given over to alys brewster-smith, cousin emelene brand, two rusty callers and the tea things. before the drawing-room fire, hanna slept in maltese proprietorship. george longed with passion to kick the cat. genevieve, as he saw through the open door, sat by the window. she had, it appeared, but recently come in. she still wore her hat and coat; she had not even drawn off her gloves. and seeing her thus, absorbed in some problem, george's sense of his wrongs grew greater. he had, he told himself, hurried home out of the jar and fret of a man's day to find balm, to feel the cool fingers of peace pressed upon hot eyelids, to drink strengthening draughts of refreshment from his wife's unquestioning belief, from the completeness of her absorption in him. and here she sat thinking of something else! genevieve arose, a little startled as he snapped on the lights and grunted out something which optimism might translate into an affectionate husbandly greeting. she came dutifully forward and raised her face, still exquisite and cool from the outer air, for her lord's home-coming kiss. that resolved itself into a slovenly peck. "been out?" asked george unnecessarily. he tried to quell the unreasonable inclination to find her lacking in wifely devotion because she had been out. "yes. there was a meeting at the woman's forum this afternoon," she answered. she was unpinning her hat before the pier glass, and in it he could see the reflection of her eyes turned upon his image with a questioning look. "the ladies seem to be having a busy day of it." he struggled not quite successfully to be facetious over the pretty, negligible activities of his wife's sex. "what mighty theme engaged your attention?" "that miss eliot--the real estate woman, you know--" george stiffened into an attitude of close attention--"spoke about the conditions under which women are working in the mills in this city and in the rest of the county--" genevieve averted her mirrored eyes from his mirrored face. she moved toward her dressing-table. "oh, she did! and is the woman's forum going to come to grips with the industrial monster and bring in the millennium by the first of the year?" but george was painfully aware that light banter which fails to be convincingly light is but a snarl. genevieve colored slightly as she studied the condition of a pair of long white gloves which she had taken from a drawer. "of course the woman's forum is only for discussion," she said mildly. "it doesn't initiate any action." then she raised her eyes to his face and george felt his universe reel about him. for his wife's beautiful eyes were turned upon him, not in limpid adoration, not in perfect acceptance of all his views, unheard, unweighed; but with a question in their blue depths. the horrid clairvoyance which harassment and self-distrust had given him that afternoon enabled him, he thought, to translate that look. the eliot woman, in her speech before the woman's forum, had doubtless placed the responsibility for the continuation of those factory conditions upon the district attorney's office, had doubtless repeated those damn fool, impractical questions which the suffragists were displaying in mcmonigal's windows. and genevieve was asking them in her mind! genevieve was questioning him, his motives, his standards, his intentions! genevieve was not intellectually a charming mechanical doll who would always answer "yes" and "no" as he pressed the strings, and maintain a comfortable vacuity when he was not at hand to perform the kindly act. genevieve was thinking on her own account. what, he wondered angrily, as he dressed--for he could not bring himself to ask her aid in escaping the herringtons and, indeed, was suddenly balky at the thought of the intimacies of a domestic evening--_what_ was she thinking? she was not such an imbecile as to be unaware how large a share of her comfortable fortune was invested in the local industry. why, her father had been head of the livingston loomis-ladd collar company, when that dreadful fire--! and she certainly knew that his uncle, martin jaffry, was the chief stockholder in the jaffry-bradshaw company. what was the question in genevieve's eyes? was she asking if he were the knight of those women who worked and sweated and burned, or of her and the comfortable women of her class, of alys brewster-smith with her little cottages, of cousin emelene with her little stocks, of masquerading betty sheridan whose sortie of independence was from the safe vantage-grounds of entrenched privilege? and all that evening as he watched his wife across the crystal and the roses of the herrington table, trying to interpret the question that had been in her eyes, trying to interpret her careful silence, he realized what every husband sooner or later awakes to realize--that he had married a stranger. he did not know her. he did not know what ambitions, what aspirations apart from him, ruled the spirit behind that charming surface of flesh. of course she was good, of course she was tender, of course she was high-minded! but how wide-enveloping was the cloak of her goodness? how far did her tenderness reach out? was her high-mindedness of the practical or impractical variety? from time to time, he caught her eyes in turn upon him, with that curious little look of re-examination in their depths. she could look at him like that! she could look at him as though appraisals were possible from a wife to a husband! they avoided industrial whitewater county as a topic when they left the herrington's. they talked with great animation and interest of the people at the party. arrived at home, george, pleading press of work, went down into the library while genevieve went to bed. carefully they postponed the moment of making articulate all that, remaining unspoken, might be ignored. it was one o'clock and he had not moved a paper for an hour, when the library door opened. genevieve stood there. she had sometimes come before when he had worked at night, to chide him for neglecting sleep, to bring bouillon or chocolate. but tonight she did neither. she did not come far into the room, but standing near the door and looking at him with a new expression--patient, tender, the everlasting eternal look--she said: "i couldn't sleep, either. i came down to say something, george. don't interrupt me----" for he was coming toward her with sounds of affectionate protest at her being out of bed. "don't speak! i want to say--whatever you do, whatever you decide--now--always--i love you. even if i don't agree, i love you." she turned and went swiftly away. george stood looking at the place where she had stood,--this strange, new genevieve, who, promising to love, reserved the right to judge. chapter viii. by mary heaton vorse the high moods of night do not always survive the clear, cold light of day. indeed it requires the contribution of both man and wife to keep a high mood in married life. genevieve had gone in to make her profession of faith to her husband in a mood which touched the high altitudes. she had gone without any conscious expectation of anything from him in the way of response. she had vaguely but confidingly expected him to live up to the moment. she had expected something beautiful, a lovely flower of the spirit--comprehension, generosity. living up to the demand of the moment was george's forte. indeed, there were those among his friends who felt that there were moments when george lived up to things too brightly and too beautifully. his uncle jaffry, for instance, had his openly skeptical moments. but george even lived up to his uncle's skepticism. he accepted his remarks with charming good humor. it was his pride that he could laugh at himself. at the moment of genevieve's touching speech he lived up to exactly nothing. he didn't even smile. he only stared at her--a stare which said: "now what the devil do you mean by that?" genevieve had a flicker of bitter humor when she compared her moment of sentiment to a toy balloon pulled down from the blue by an unsympathetic hand. the next morning, while george was still shaving, the telephone rang. it was betty. "can you have lunch with me at thorne's, where we can talk?" she asked genevieve. "and give me a little time tomorrow afternoon?" "why," geneviève responded, "i thought you were a working girl." there was a perceptible pause before betty replied. "hasn't george told you?" "told what?" genevieve inquired. "george hasn't told me anything." "i've left the office." "left! for heaven's sake, why?" betty's mind worked swiftly. "better treat it as a joke," was her decision. there was no pause before she answered. "oh, trouble with the boss." "you'll get over it. you're always having trouble with penny. "oh," said betty, "it's not with penny this time." "not with george?" "yes, with george," betty answered. "did you think one couldn't quarrel with the noblest of his sex? well, one can." "oh, betty, i'm sorry." genevieve's tone was slightly reproachful. "well, i'm not," said betty. "i like my present job better. it was a good thing he fired me." "_fired_ you! george fired _you_?" "sure thing," responded betty blithely. "i can't stand here talking all day. what i want to know is, can i see you at lunch?" "yes--why, yes, of course," said genevieve, dazedly. then she hung up the receiver and stared into space. george, beautifully dressed, tall and handsome, now emerged from his room. for once his adoring wife failed to notice that in appearance he rivaled the sun god. she had one thing she wanted to know, and she wanted to know it badly. it was, "why did you fire betty sheridan?" she asked this in the insulting "point of the bayonet" tone which angry equals use to one another the world over. either question or tone would have been enough to have put george's already sensitive nerves on edge. both together were unbearable. it was, when you came down to it, the most awkward question in the world. why, indeed, had he fired betty sheridan? he hadn't really given himself an account of the inward reasons yet. the episode had been too disturbing; and it was george's characteristic to put off looking on unpleasant facts as long as possible. had he been really hard up, which he never had been, he would undoubtedly have put away, unopened, the bills he couldn't pay. life was already presenting him with the bill of yesterday's ill humor, and he was not yet ready to add up the amount. he hid himself now behind the austerity of the offended husband. "my dear," he inquired in his turn, "don't you think that you had best leave the details of my office to me?" he knew how lame this was, and how inadequate, before genevieve replied. "betty sheridan is not a detail of your office. she's one of my best friends, and i want to know why you fired her. i dare say she was exasperating; but i can't see any reason why you should have done it. you should have let her leave." it was betty, with that lamentable lack of delicacy which george had pointed out to her, who had not been ready to leave. "you will have to let me be the judge of what i should or should not have done," said george. this piece of advice genevieve ignored. "why did you send her away?" she demanded. "i sent her away, if you want to know, for her insolence and her damned bad taste. if you think--working in my office as she was--it's decent or proper on her part to be active in a campaign that is against me----" "you mean because she's a suffragist? you sent her away for _that_! why, really, that's _tyranny_! it's like my sending away some one working for me for her beliefs----" they stood staring at each other, not questioningly as they had yesterday, but as enemies,--the greater enemies that they so loved each other. because of that each word of unkindness was a doubled-edged sword. they quarreled. it was the first time that they had seen each other without illusion. they had been to each other the ideal, the lover, husband, wife. now, in the dismay of his amazement in finding himself quarreling with the perfect wife, a vagrant memory came to george that he had heard that genevieve had a hot temper. she certainly had. he didn't notice how handsome she looked kindled with anger. he only knew that the rose garden in which they lived was being destroyed by their angry hands; that the very foundation of the life they had been leading was being undermined. the time of mirage and glamour was over. he had ceased being a hero and an ideal, and why? because, forgetting his past life, his record, his achievement, genevieve obstinately insisted on identifying him with one single mistake. he was willing to concede it was a mistake. she had not only identified him with it, but she had called him a number of wounding things. "tyrant" was the least of them, and, worse than that, she had, in a very fury of temper, told him that he "needn't take that pompous"--yes, "pompous" had been her unpleasant word--"tone" with her, when he had inquired, more in sorrow than in anger, if this were really his genevieve speaking. there was a pause in their hostilities. they looked at each other aghast. aghast, they had perceived the same awful truth. each saw that love [illustration: "you mean because she's a suffragist? you sent her away for _that_? why, really, that's _tyranny_!"] in the other's heart was dead, and that things never could be the same again. so they stood looking down this dark gulf, and the light of anger died. in a toneless voice: "we mustn't let cousin emelene and alys hear us quarreling," said george. and genevieve answered, "they've gone down to breakfast." the two ladies were seated at table. "we heard you two love birds cooing and billing, and thought we might as well begin," said alys brewster-smith. "regularity is of the highest importance in bringing up a child." cousin emelene was reading the _sentinel._ george's quick eye glanced at the headlines: _candidate remington heckled by suffragists. ask him leading questions._ "why, dear me," she remarked, her kind eyes on george, "it's perfectly awful, isn't it, that they break the laws that way just for a little more money. but i don't see why they want to annoy dear george. they ought to be glad they are going to get a district attorney who'll put all those things straight. i think it's very silly of them to ask him, don't you, genevieve?" "let me see," said genevieve, taking the paper. "all he's got to do, anyway, is to answer," pursued cousin emelene. "yes, that's all," replied genevieve, her melancholy gaze on george. yesterday she would have had emelene's childlike faith. but this stranger, who, for a trivial and tyrannical reason, had sent away betty--how would _he_ act? "they showed these right opposite your windows?" she questioned. "yes," he returned. "our friend mrs. herrington did it herself. it was the first course of our dinner. if you think that's good taste--" "i would expect it of her," said alys brewster-smith. "but it makes it so easy for george," emelene repeated. "they'll know now what sort of a man he is. little children at work, just to make a little more money--it's awful!" "talking about money, george," said alys, "have you seen to my houses yet?" "not yet," replied the harassed george. "you'll have to excuse my going into the reasons now. i'm late as it is." his voice had not the calm he would have wished for. as he took his departure, he heard alys saying, "if you'll let me, my dear, i'd adore helping you about the housekeeping. i don't want to stay here and be a burden. if you'll just turn it over to me, i could cut your housekeeping expenses in half." "damn the women," was the unchivalrous thought that rose to george's lips. one would have supposed that trouble had followed closely enough on george remington's trail, but now he found it awaiting him in his office. usually, penny was the late one. it was this light-hearted young man's custom to blow in with so engaging an expression and so cheerful a manner that any comment on his unpunctuality was impossible. today, instead of a gay-hearted young man, he looked more like a sentencing judge. what he wanted to know was, "what have you done to betty sheridan? do you mean to say that you had the nerve to send her away, send her out of my office without consulting me--and for a reason like that? how did you think i was going to feel about it?" "i didn't think about you," said george. "you bet you didn't. you thought about number one and your precious vanity. why, if one were to separate you from your vanity, one couldn't see you when you were going down the street. go on, make a frock coat gesture! play the brilliant but outraged young district attorney. do you know what it was to do a thing of that kind--to fire a girl because she didn't agree with you?" "it wasn't because she didn't agree with me," george interrupted, with heat. "it was the act of a cad," penny finished. "look here, young man, i'm going to tell you a few plain truths about yourself. you're not the sort of person that you think you are. you've deceived yourself the way other people are deceived about you--by your exterior. but inside of that good-looking carcass of yours there's a brain composed of cheese. you weren't only a cad to do it--you were a fool!" "you can't use that tone to me!" cried george. "oh, can't i just? by jove, it's things like that that make one wake up. now i know why women have a passion for suffrage. i never knew before," penny went on, with more passion than logic. "you had a nerve to make that statement of yours. you're a fine example of chivalry. you let loose a few things when you wrote that fool statement, but you did a worse trick when you fired betty sheridan. god, you're a pinhead--from the point of view of mere tactics. sometimes i wonder whether you've _any_ brain." george had turned white with anger. "that'll just about do," he remarked. "oh, no, it won't," said penny. "it won't do at all. i'm not going to remain in a firm where things like this can happen. i wouldn't risk my reputation and my future. you're going to do the decent thing. you're going to betty sheridan and tell her what you think of yourself. she won't come back, i suppose, but you might ask her to do that, too. and now i'm going out, to give you time to think this over. and tonight you can tell me what you've decided. and then i'll tell you whether i'm going to dissolve our partnership. your temper's too bad to decide now. maybe when you've done that she won't treat me like an unsavory stranger." he left, and george sat down to gloomy reflection. to do him justice, the idea of apologizing to betty had already occurred to him. if he put off the day of reckoning, when the time came he would pay handsomely. he realized that there was no use in wasting energy and being angry with penny. he looked over the happenings of the last few hours and the part he had played in them, and what he saw failed to please him. he saw himself being advised by doolittle to concentrate on the erie oval. he heard him urging him not to be what doolittle called unneighborly. the confiding words of cousin emelene rang in his ears. he saw himself, in a fit of ill-temper, discharging betty. he saw genevieve, lovely and scornful, urging him to be less pompous. all this, he had to admit, he had brought on himself. why should he have been so angry at these questions? again emelene's remark echoed in his ear. he had only to answer them--and he was going to concentrate on the erie oval! there came a knock on the door, and a breezy young woman demanded, "d'you want a stenographer?" george wanted a stenographer, and wanted one badly. he put from him the whole vexed question in the press of work, and by lunch time he made up his mind to have it out with betty. there was no use putting it off, and he knew that he could have no peace with himself until he did. he felt very tired--as though he had been doing actual physical work. he thought of yesterday as a land of lost content. but he couldn't find betty. he bent his steps toward home, and as he did so affection for genevieve flooded his heart. he so wanted yesterday back--things as they had been. he so wanted her love and her admiration. he wanted to put his tired head on her shoulder. he couldn't bear, not for another moment, to be at odds with her. he wondered what she had been doing, and how she had spent the morning. he imagined her crying her heart out. he leaped up the steps and ran up to his room. in it was alys brewster-smith. she started slightly. "i was just looking for some cold cream," she explained. "where's genevieve?" george asked. "oh, she's out," alys replied casually. "she left a note for you." the note was a polite and noncommittal line informing george that genevieve would not be back for lunch. he felt as though a lump of ice replaced his heart. his disappointment was the desperate disappointment of a small boy. he went back to the gloomy office and worked through the interminable day. late in the afternoon mr. doolittle lounged heavily in. "have some gum, george?" he inquired, inserting a large piece in his own mouth. he chewed rhythmically for a space. george waited. he knew that chewing gum was not the ultimate object of mr. doolittle's visit. "don't women beat the dutch?" he inquired at last. "yes sir, mister; they do!" "what's up now?" george inquired. "the suffragists again?" "nope; not on the face of it they ain't. it's the woman's forum that's doin' this. they've got a sweet little idea. 'seein' whitewater sweat' they call it. "they're goin' around in bunches of twos, or mebbe blocks o' five, seein' all the sights; an' you know women ain't reasonable, an' you can't reason with them. they're goin' to find a pile o' things they won't like in this little burg o' ours, all right, all right. an' they'll want to have things changed right off. i want to see things changed m'self. i'd like to, but them things take time, an' that's what women won't understand. "jimminee, i've heard of towns all messed up and candidates ruined just because the women got wrought up over tenement-house an' fire laws an' truck like that. yes sir, they're out seein' whitewater this minut, or will be if you can't divert their minds. call 'em off, george, if you can. get 'em fussy about sumpen else." "why, what have i to do with it?" george inquired. "well, i didn't know but what you might have sumpen," said mr. doolittle mildly. "it's that young lady that works here, miss sheridan, an' your wife what's organizin' it. planning it all out to thorne's at lunch they was, an' heally was sittin' at the next table and beats it to me. you can see for yerself what a hell of a mess they'll make!" chapter ix. by alice duer miller it was a relief to both men when at this point the door of the office opened and martin jaffry entered. not since the unfortunate anti-suffrage statement of george's had uncle martin dropped in like this. george, looking at him with that first swift glance that often predetermines a whole interview, made up his mind that bygones were to be bygones. he greeted his uncle with the warmest cordiality. "well, george," said uncle martin, "how are things going?" "i'm going to be elected, if that's what you mean," answered george. doolittle gave a snort. "indeed, are ye?" said he. "as a friend and well-wisher, i'm sure i'm delighted to hear the news." "do i understand that you have your doubts, mr. doolittle?" jaffry inquired mildly. "there's two things we need and need badly, mr. jaffry," said doolittle. "one's money--" "a small campaign contribution would not be rejected?" "but there's something we need more than money--and god knows i never expected to say them words--and that's common sense." "good," said uncle martin, "i have plenty of that, too!" "then for the love of mike pass some of it on to this precious nephew of yours." "what seems to be the matter?" "it's them women," said doolittle. uncle martin turned inquiringly to george: "the tender flowers?" he suggested. "look here, uncle martin," said george, who had had a good deal of this sort of thing to bear, "i don't understand you. do you believe in woman suffrage?" uncle martin contemplated a new crumpling of his long-suffering cap before he answered. "yes and no, george. i believe in it in the same way that i believe in old age and death. i can't avoid them by denying their existence." "but you fight against them, and put them off as long as you can." "but i yield a little to them, too, george. what is it? has genevieve become a convert to suffrage?" "has genevieve--has my wife----" then george remembered that his uncle was an older man and that chivalry is not limited to the treatment of the weaker sex. "no," he said with a calm hardly less magnificent than the tempest would have been, "no, uncle martin, genevieve has not become a suffragist." "well," said doolittle rising, as if such things were hardly worth his valuable time, "i fail to see the difference between a suffragette an' a woman who goes pokin' her nose into what----" "you're speaking of my wife, mr. doolittle," said george, with a significant lighting of the eye. "speakin' in general," said doolittle. uncle martin was interested. "has genevieve been--well, we won't say poking the nose--but taking a responsible civic interest where it would be better if she didn't?" "it seems," answered george, casting an angry glance at his campaign manager, "that mr. doolittle has heard from a friend of his who overheard a conversation between betty sheridan and my wife at luncheon. from this he inferred that the two were planning an investigation of some of the city's problems." uncle martin looked relieved. "oh, your wife and your stenographer. that can be stopped, i suppose, without undue exertion." "betty is no longer my stenographer." "left, has she?" said jaffry. "i had an idea she would not stay with you long." this intimation was not agreeable to george. he would have liked to explain that miss sheridan's departure had been dictated by the will of the head of the firm; in fact he opened his mouth to do so. but the remembrance that this would entail a long and wearisome exposition of his reasons caused him to remain silent, and his uncle went on: "well, anyhow, you can get geneviève to drop it." if doolittle had not been there, george would have been glad to discuss with his uncle, who had, after all, a sort of worldly shrewdness, how far a man is justified in controlling his wife's opinions. but before an audience now a trifle unsympathetic, he could not resist the temptation of making the gesture of a man magnificently master in his own house. he smiled quite grandly. "i think i can promise that," he said. doolittle got up slowly, bringing his jaws together in a relentless bite on the unresisting gum. "well," he said, "that's all there is to it." and he added significantly as he reached the door, "if you kin _do_ it!" when the campaign manager had gone, uncle martin asked very, very gently: "you don't feel any doubt of being able to do it, do you, george?" "about my ability to control--i mean influence, my wife? i feel no doubt at all." "and penfield, i suppose, can tackle betty? you won't mind my saying that of the two i think your partner has the harder job." a slight cloud appeared upon the brow of the candidate. "i don't feel inclined to ask any favor of penny just at present," he said haughtily. "has it ever struck you, uncle martin, that penny has an unduly emotional, an almost feminine type of mind?" "no," said the other, "it hasn't, but that is perhaps because i have never been sure just what the feminine type of mind is." "you know what i mean," answered george, trying to conceal his annoyance at this sort of petty quibbling. "i mean he is too personal, over-excitable, irrational and very hard to deal with." "dear me," said jaffry. "is geneviève like that?" "geneviève," replied her husband loyally, "is much better poised than most women, but--yes,--even she--all women are more or less like that." "all women and penny. well, george, you have my sympathy. an excitable partner, an irrational stenographer, and a wife that's very hard to deal with!" "i never said geneviève was hard to deal with," george almost shouted. "my mistake--thought you did," answered his uncle, now moving rapidly away. "let me know the result of the interview, and we'll talk over ways and means." and he shut the door briskly behind him. george walked to the window, with his hands in his pockets. he always liked to look out while he turned over grave questions in his mind; but this comfort was now denied to him, for he could not help being distracted by the voiceless speech still relentlessly turning its pages in the opposite window. the heading now was: does the fifty-four-hour-a-week law apply to flowers? he flung himself down on his chair with an exclamation. he knew he had to think carefully about something which he had never considered before, and that was his wife's character. of course he liked to think about geneviève--; of her beauty, her abilities, her charms; and particularly he liked to think about her love for him. a week ago he would have met the present situation very simply. he would have put his arm about her and said: "my darling, i think i'd a little rather you dropped this sort of thing for the present." and that would have been enough. but he knew it would not be enough now. he would have to have a reason, a case. "heavens," he thought, "imagine having to talk to one's wife as if she were the lawyer for the other side." he did not notice that he was reproaching geneviève for being too impersonal, too unemotional and not irrational enough. when he went home at five, he had thought it out. he put his head into the sitting-room, where alys was ensconced behind the tea-kettle. "come in, george dear," she called graciously, "and let me give you a really good cup of tea. it's some i've just ordered for you, and i think you'll find it an improvement on what you've been accustomed to." george shut the door again, pretending he had not heard; but he had had time enough to note that dear little eleanor was building houses out of his most treasured books. the memory of his quarrel with his wife had been partly obliterated by memories of so many other quarrels during the day that it was only when he was actually standing in her room that he remembered how very bitter their parting had been. he stood looking at her doubtfully, and it was she who came forward and put her arms about him. they clung to each other like two children who have been frightened by a nightmare. "we mustn't quarrel again, george," she said. "i've had a real, true, old-fashioned pain in my heart all day. but i think i understand better now than i did. i lunched with betty and she made me see." "what did betty make you see?" asked george nervously, for he had not perfect confidence in miss sheridan's visions. "that it was all a question of efficiency. she said that in business a man's stenographer is just an instrument to make his work easier, and if for any reason at all that instrument does not suit him he is justified in getting rid of it, and in finding one that does." "betty is very generous," he said coldly. he wanted to hear his wife say that she had not thought him pompous; it was very hard to be thankful for a mere ethical rehabilitation. part of his thought-out plan was that geneviève must herself tell him of the woman's forum's investigation; it would not do for him to let her know he had heard of it through a political eavesdropper. so after a moment he added casually: "and what else did betty have to say?" "nothing much." his heart sank. was geneviève becoming uncandid? "nothing else," he said. "just to justify me in your eyes?" she hesitated, "no, that was not quite all, but it is too early to talk about it yet." "anything that interests you, my dear, i should like to hear about from the beginning." perhaps geneviève was not so unemotional after all, for at this expression of his affection, her eyes filled with tears. "i long to tell you," she said. "i only hesitated on your account, but of course i want all your help and advice. it's this: there seems to be no doubt that the conditions under which women are working in our factories are hideous--dangerous--the law is broken with perfect impunity. i know you can't act on rumors and hearsay. even the inspectors don't give out the truth. and so we are going to persuade the woman's forum to abandon its old policy of mere discussion. "we--betty and i--are going to get the members for once to act--to make an investigation; so that the instant you come into the office you will have complete information at your disposal--facts, and facts and facts on which you can act." she paused and looked eagerly at her husband, who remained silent. seeing this she went on: "i know what you're thinking. i thought of it myself. am i justified in using my position in the woman's forum to further your political career? well, my answer is, it isn't your political career, only; it's truth and justice that will be furthered." here in the home there was no voiceless speech to make the view intolerable, and george moved away from his wife and walked to the window. he looked out on his own peaceful trees and lawn, and on hanna, like a tiger in the jungle, stalking a competent little sparrow. a temptation was assailing george. suppose he did put his opposition to this investigation on a high and mighty ground? suppose he announced a moral scruple? but no, he cast satan behind him. "geneviève," he said, turning sharply toward her, "this question puts our whole attitude to a test. if you and i are two separate individuals, with different responsibilities, different interests, different opinions, then we ought to be consistent; that ought to mean economic independence of each other, and equal suffrage; it means that husband and wife may become business competitors and political opponents. "but if, as you know i believe, a man and woman who love each other are one, are a unit as far as society is concerned, why then our interests are identical, and it is simply a question of which of us two is better able to deal with any particular situation." "but that is what i believe, too, george." "i hoped it was, dear; i know it used to be. then you must let me act for you in this matter." "yes, in the end; but an investigation--" "my darling, politics is not an ideal; it is a practical human institution. just at present, from the political point of view, such an investigation would do me incalculable harm." "george!" he nodded. "it would probably lose me the election." "but why?" "geneviève, am i your political representative or not?" "you are," she smiled at him, "and my dear love as well; but may i not even know why?" "if you dismissed the cook, and i summoned you before me and bade you give me your reasons for such an action, would you not feel in your heart that i was disputing your judgment?" she looked at him honestly. "yes, i should." "and i would not do such a discourteous thing to you. in the home you are absolute. whatever you do, whatever you decide, is right. i would not dream of questioning. will you not give me the same confidence in my special department?" there was a short pause; then geneviève held out her hand. "yes, george," she said, "i will, but on one condition----" "_i_ did not make conditions, geneviève." "you do not have to, my dear. you know that i am really your representative in the house; that i am really always thinking of your wishes. you must do the same as my political representative. i mean, if i am not to do this work myself, you must do it for me." "even if i consider it unwise?" "unwise to protect women and children?" "geneviève," he said seriously, as one who confides something not always confided to women, "enforcing law sometimes does harm." "but an investigation----" "that's where you are ignorant, my dear. if an investigation is made, especially if the women mix themselves up in it, then we shall have no choice but enforcement." she had sunk down on her sofa, but now she sprang up. "and you don't mean to enforce the law in respect of women? is that why you don't want the investigation?" "not at all. you are most unjust. you are most illogical, geneviève. all i am asking is that the whole question should not be taken up at this moment--just before election." "but this is the only moment when we can find out whether or not you are a candidate who will do what we want." "_we_, geneviève! who do you mean by 'we'?" she stared for a second at him, her eyes growing large and dark with astonishment. "oh, george," she gasped finally, "i think i meant women when i said 'we.' george, i'm afraid i'm a _suffragist_. and oh," she added, with a sort of wail, "i don't want to be, i don't want to be!" "damn betty sheridan," exclaimed george. "this is all her doing." his wife shook her head. "no," she said, "it wasn't betty who made me see." "who was it?" "it was you, george." "i don't understand you." "you made me see why women want to vote for themselves. how can you represent me, when we disagree fundamentally?" "how can we disagree fundamentally when we love each other?" "you mean that because we love each other, i must think as you do?" "what else could i mean, darling?" "you might have meant that you would think as i do." george glanced at her in deep offense. "we have indeed drifted far apart," he said. at this moment there was a knock at the door, and the news was conveyed to george that mr. evans was downstairs asking to see him. "oh dear," said geneviève, "it seems as if we never could get a moment by ourselves nowadays. what does penny want?" "he wants to tell me whether he intends to dissolve partnership or not." any fear that his wife had disassociated herself from his interests should have been dispelled by the tone in which she exclaimed: "dissolve partnership! penny? well, i never in my life! where would penny be without you, i should like to know! he must be crazy." these words made george feel happier than anything that had happened to him throughout this day. his self-esteem began to revive. "i think penny has been a little hasty," he said, judicially but not unkindly. "he lost all self-control when he heard i had let betty go." "isn't that like a man," said geneviève, "to throw away his whole future just because he loses his temper?" george did not directly answer this question, and his wife went on. "however, it will be all right. he has seen betty this afternoon, and she won't let him do anything foolish." george glanced at her. "you mean that betty will prevent his leaving the firm?" "of course she will." george walked to the door. "i seem to owe a good deal to my former stenographer," he said, "my wife, my partner; next, perhaps it will be my election." chapter x. by ethel watts mumford penny, pacing the drawing-room with pantheresque strides, came to a tense halt as remington entered. "well?" he said, his eyes hard, his unwelcoming hands thrust deep into his pockets. that identical "well" with its uptilt of question had been on george's tongue. it was a monosyllable that demanded an answer. penny had got ahead of him, forced him, as it were, into the witness chair, and he resented it. "seems to me," he began hotly, "that you were the one who was going to make the statements--' whether or no,' i believe, we were to continue in partnership." "perhaps," retorted penny, with the air of allowing no great importance to that angle of the argument, "but what i want to know is, _are_ you going to be a square man, and own up you were peeved into being a tyrant? and when you've done that, are you going to tell betty, and apologize?" george hesitated, trapped between his irritation and the still small voice. "look here," he said, with that amiable suavity that had won him many a concession, "you know well enough i don't want to hurt betty's feelings. if she feels that way about it, of course i'll apologize." his partner looked at him in blank amazement. "gad!" he exclaimed as if examining a particularly fine specimen of some rare beetle, "what a bounder." "meaning me?" snapped george. "don't dare to quibble. look me in the eye." there was a third degree fatality about the usually debonair penny that exacted obedience. george unwillingly looked him in the eye, and had a ghastly feeling of having his suddenly realized smallness x-rayed. "you know damned well you acted like a cad," penny continued, "and i want to know, for all our sakes, if you're man enough to own it?" george's fundamental honesty mastered him. anger died from his eyes. his clenched hands relaxed and began an unconscious and nervous exploration for a cigarette. "since you put it that way," he said, "and it happens that my conscience agrees with you--i'll go you. i _was_ a cad, and i'll tell betty so. confound it!" he growled, "i don't know _what's_ come over me these days. i've got to get a grip on myself." "you _bet_ you have," said penny, hauling his fists from his trousers as if with an effort. then he grinned. "betty said you would." george's eyes darkened. "and i'll tell you now," penny went on, "since you've turned out at least half-decent, betty'll let you off that apology thing. _she_ wasn't the one who was exacting it--not she. _i_ couldn't stand for your highfalutin excuses for being--well, never mind--we all get our off days. but don't you get off again like that if----" penny hesitated. "if you want me for a partner," which seemed the obvious conclusion, was tame. "if you want to hang on to any one's respect," he finished. "say, though," he murmured, "betty'll give me 'what for' for drubbing you. she actually took your side--said--oh, never mind--tried to make me think of her just as if she was any old mamie--the stenog--tried to prune out personal feeling." "by jove," he ruminated, "that girl's a corker!" he raised forgiving eyes from his contemplation of the rug. "well, old man, blow me to a scotch and soda, and i'll be going. dinged if it wouldn't have broken me all up to have busted with you, even if you are a box of prunes. shake." george shook, but he was far from happy. what he had gained in peace of mind he had lost in self-conceit. his resentment against the pinch of circumstance was deepening to cancerous vindictiveness. as pennington left with a cheery good-by and a final half-cynical word of advice "to get onto himself" george mounted the stairs slowly and came face to face with geneviève, obviously in wait for him. "what happened?" she inquired, with an anxious glance at his corrugated brow. george did not feel in a mood to describe his retreat, if not defeat. "oh, nothing. we had a highball. i think i made him--well--it's all right." "there, i knew betty'd make him see reason," she smiled. "i'm awfully glad. i've a real respect for penny's judgment after all, you know." "meaning, you have your doubts about mine." "no, meaning only just what i said--_just_ that. by the way, george, i wish you'd take time to look into alys' real estate. somebody ought to, and if you're really representing her----" "oh, good heavens!" he exclaimed impatiently, angered by her swift transition from his own to another's affairs. "i can't! i simply can't! haven't you any conception of how busy i am?" "i know, dear; i _do_ know. but something must be done. the health department," she explained, "has sent in complaint after complaint, and miss eliot simply won't handle the property unless she's allowed to spend a lot setting things to rights. alys says it's absurd; none of the other property owners out there are doing anything, and _she_ won't. so, nobody's looking after it, and somebody should." "who told you all this?" he demanded. "miss e. eliot, i suppose." his wife nodded. "and she's right," she added. "well, perhaps she is," he allowed. "i'll get alien to act as her agent again. he's in with all the politicians; he ought to be able to stall off the department." the words slipped out before he realized their import, but at genevieve's wide stare of amazement he flushed crimson. "i mean--lots of these complaints are really mere red tape; some self-important employee is trying to look busy. a little investigation usually puts that straight." "of course," she acquiesced, and he breathed a sigh of relief. "that happens, too, but miss eliot says that the conditions out there are really dreadful." "i'll talk to allen," said george with an affectation of easy dismissal of the subject. but genevieve's mind appeared to have grown suddenly persistent. at dinner she again brought up the subject, this time directing her troubled gaze and troubling words at her guest. "alys," she said abruptly, "i really think you ought to go out to kentwood--to see about your property out there, i mean." mrs. brewster-smith looked up, rolling her large eyes in frank amazement. "go out there? what for? it isn't the sort of a district a lady cares to be seen in, i'm told; and, besides, george is looking after that for me. _he_ understands such matters, and i frankly own _i_ don't. business makes me quite dizzy," she added with a flash of very white teeth. geneviève hesitated, then went to the point. "but you must advise with your agent, alys. the property is _yours_." alys raised sharply penciled brows. "i have utter confidence in george," she answered in a tone of finality that brought an adoring look from emelene, and her usual boswellian echo: "of _course_." george squirmed uneasily. such a vote of confidence implied accepted responsibility, and he acknowledged to himself that he wanted to and would dodge the unwelcome burden. he turned a benign jovian expression on mrs. brewster-smith and condescended to explain. "i have considered what is best for you, and i will myself see allen and request him to take your real-estate affairs in charge again. neither sampson nor--er--eliot is, i think, advisable for your best interests." at the mention of the last name genevieve's expressive face stretched to speak; then she closed her lips with self-controlled determination. mrs. brewster-smith looked at her host in scandalized amazement. "but i _told_ you," she almost whimpered, "that his wife is simply impossible." george smiled tolerantly. "but his wife isn't doing the business. it's the business, not the social interests, we have to consider. "oh, but she is in the business," alys explained. "i think it's because she's jealous of him; she wants to be around the office and watch him." geneviève interposed. "mrs. allen owns a lot of land herself, and she looks after it. it seems quite natural to me." "but she _has_ a husband," alys rebuked. "yes," agreed geneviève, "but she probably married him for a husband, not a business agent." george felt the reins of the situation slipping from him, so he jerked the curb of conversation. "we are beside the issue," he said in his most legal manner. "the fact is that allen knows more about the kentwood district and the factory values than any one else, and i feel it my duty to advise alys to leave her affairs in his hands. i'll see him for you in the morning." he turned to alys with a return of tolerantly protective inflection in his voice. geneviève shrugged, a faint ghost of a shrug. had george been less absorbed in his own mental discomforts, he would have discovered there and then that the matter of his speech, not the manner of his delivery, was what held his wife's attention. no longer could rounded periods and eloquent sophistry hide from her his thoughts and intentions. a telephone call interrupted the meal. he answered it with relief, bowing a hurried, self-important excuse to the ladies. but the voice that came over the wire was not modulated in tones of flattery. "say," drawled the campaign manager, "you'd better get a hump on, and come over here to headquarters. there's a couple of gents here who want a word with you." the tone was ominous, and george stiffened. "very well, i'll be right over. but you can pretty well tell them where i stand on the main issues. who's at headquarters?" a snort of disgust greeted the inquiry. the snort told george that seasoned campaigners did not use the telephone with such casual lack of circumspection. the words were in like manner enlightening. "well, there might be mr. julius caesar, and then again mr. george washington might drop in. what i'm putting you wise to," he added sharply, "is that you'd better get on to your job." there was a click as of a receiver hung up with a jerk, and a subdued giggle that testified to the innocent attention of the telephone operator. with but a pale reflection of his usual courtesy the harassed candidate left the bosom of his family. no sooner had he taken his departure than the bosom heaved. "my dear girl," said alys, "if you take that tone with your husband you'll never hold him--never. men won't stand for it. you're only hurting yourself." "what tone?" genevieve inquired as she rose calmly and led the way to the drawing-room. "i mean"--mrs. brewster-smith slipped a firm, white hand across genevieve's shoulders--"you shouldn't try to force issues. it looks as if you didn't have confidence in your husband, and men, to _do_ and _be_ their best, must feel perfect trust from the woman they love. you don't mind my being so frank, dear, but we women must help one another--by our experience and our intuitions." geneviève looked at her. oblique angles had become irritatingly fascinating. "i'm beginning to think so more and more," she replied. "it's for your own good, dear," alys smiled. "yes," geneviève agreed. "i understand. things that hurt are often for our good, aren't they? we have to be _made_ to realize facts really to know them." "coffee, dear?" inquired alys, assuming the duties of hostess. geneviève shook her head. "no. i find i've been rather wakeful of late: perhaps it's coffee. excuse me. i must telephone." a moment later she returned beaming. "i have borrowed a car for tomorrow, and i want you and emelene to come with me for a little spin. we ought to have a bright day; the night is wonderful. poor george," she sighed, "i wish he didn't have to be away so much." "his career is yours, you know," kittenishly bromidic, emelene comforted her. the following day fulfilled the promise of its predecessor. clear and balmy, it invited to the outer, world, and it was with pleased anticipation that genevieve's guests prepared for the promised outing. geneviève glanced anxiously into her gold mesh bag. the motor was hired, not borrowed. she had permitted herself this one white lie. she ushered her guests into the tonneau and took her place beside the chauffeur. their first few stops were for such prosaic purchases as the household made necessary; there was a pause at the post office, another at the forum, where geneviève left two highly disgruntled women waiting for her while with a guilty sense of teasing her prey she prolonged her business. the sight of their stiffened figures and averted faces when she returned to them kindled a new amusement. at last they were settled comfortably, and the car turned toward the suburbs. the town streets were passed and lines of villa homes thinned. the ornate colonial gates of the country club flashed by. now the sky to the right was dark with the smoke of the belching chimneys of many factories. for a block or two cottages of the better sort flanked the road; then, grim, ugly and dilapidated, stretched the twin "improved" sections of kentwood and powderville. in the air was an acrid odor. soot begrimed everything. the sodden ground was littered with refuse between the shacks, which were dignified by the title of "workmen's cottages." amid the confusion, irregular trodden paths led, short-cutting, toward the clattering, grinding munition plants. for a space of at least half an acre around the huge iron buildings the ground, with sinister import, was kept clear of dwellings, but in all directions outside of the inclosure thousands of new yellow-pine shacks testified to the sudden demand for labor. a large weather-beaten signboard at a wired cross-road bore the name of "kentwood," plus the advice that the office was adjacent for the purchase or lease of the highly desirable villa sites. the motor drew up and genevieve alighted. for the first time since their course had been turned toward the unlovely but productive outskirts, geneviève faced her passengers. alys' face was pale. emelene's expression was puzzled and worried, as a child's is worried when the child is suddenly confronted by strange and gloomy surroundings. "there is some one in the renting office," said geneviève with quiet determination. "i'll find out. we shall need a guide to go around with us. emelene, you needn't get out unless you wish to." emelene shuffled uneasily, half rose, and collapsed helplessly back on the cushions, like a baby who has encountered the resistance of his buggy strap. "i--if you'll excuse me, geneviève, dear, i won't get out. i've only got on my thin kid slippers. i didn't expect to put foot on the pavement this morning, you know." "very well, then, alys!" genevieve's voice assumed a note of command her mild accents had never before known. alys' brilliant eyes snapped. "i have no desire," she said firmly, with all the dignity of an affronted lady, "to go into this matter." "i know you haven't. but i'm going to walk through. _i_ am making a report for the woman's forum." alys' face crimsoned with anger. "you have no right to do such a thing," she exclaimed. "i shall refuse you permission. you will have to obtain a permit." "i have one," geneviève retorted, "from the health department. and--i am to meet one of the officers here." mrs. brewster-smith's descent from the tonneau was more rapid than graceful. "what are you trying to do?" she demanded. "geneviève, i don't understand you." "don't you?" the diffident girl had suddenly assumed the incisive strength of observant womanhood. "i think you _do_. i am going to show you your own responsibilities, if that's a possible thing. i'm not going to let you throw them on george because he's a man and your kin; and i shan't let him throw them on an irresponsible agent because he has neither the time nor the inclination to do justice to himself, to you, nor to these people to whom he is responsible." she waved a hand down the muddy, jumbled street. the advent of an automobile had had its effect. eager faces appeared at windows and doors. children frankly curious and as frankly neglected climbed over each other, hanging on the ragged fences. two mongrel dogs strained at their chains, yelping furiously. geneviève crossed to the little square building bearing a gilt "office" sign. there was no response to her imperative knock, but a middle-aged man appeared on the porch of the adjoining shack and observed her curiously. "wanta rent?" he called jëeringly. "are you in charge here?" geneviève inquired. "sorter," he temporized. "watcha want?" "i want some one who knows something about it to go around kentwood with us." "what for?" he snarled. "i got my orders." "from whom?" countered geneviève. "none of your business, as i can see." he eyed her narrowly. "but my orders is to keep every one nosin' around here without no good raison _out_ of the place--and i don't think _you're_ here to rent, nor your friend, neither. besides, there ain't nothin' to rent." mrs. brewster-smith colored. the insult to her ownership of the premises stung her to resentment. "my good man," she said sharply. "i happen to be the proprietor of north kent wood." "then you'd better beat it." the guardian grinned. "there's a dame been here with one of them fellers from the town office." "where are they now?" questioned genevieve sharply. "went up factory way. but if you _ain't_ one of them lady nosies, you'd better beat it, i tell you." genevieve looked up the street. "very well, we'll walk on up. this is north kentwood, isn't it?" "ain't much choice," he shrugged, "but it is. you can smell it a mile. say, you lady owner there"--he laughed at his own astuteness in not being taken in--"you know the monikers, don't you? south kentwood, 'stinktown'; north kentwood, 'swilltown'?" he grinned, pulled at his hip pocket and, extracting a flat glass flask, took a prolonged swig and replaced the bottle with a leer. the two incongruous visitors were already negotiating the muddy thoroughfare between the dilapidated dwellings. presently these gave place to roughly knocked together structures for two and three families. the number of children was surprising. now and again a shrill-voiced woman, who seemed the prototype of her who lived in the shoe, came to admonish her young and stare with hostile eyes at the invaders. refuse, barrels, cans, pigs, dogs, chickens, were on all sides, with here and there a street watering trough, fed, apparently, by an occasional tap at the wide-apart hydrants, installed by the factories for protection in case of fire, as evidenced by the signs staked by the apparatus. "what do they pay you for these cottages?" geneviève inquired suddenly. mrs. brewster-smith, whose curiosity concerning her possessions had been aroused by the physical evidence of the same, balanced on a rut and surveyed her tormentor angrily. "i'm sure i don't know. i've told you before i don't understand such matters, and i see nothing to be gained by coming here." geneviève pushed open a battered gate, walked up to the door and knocked. "what are you doing?" her companion called, querulously. a noise of many pattering feet on bare floors, a strident order for silence, and the door swung open. a young girl stood in the doorway. behind her were a dozen or more children, varying from toddlers to gawky girls and boys of school age. genevieve's eyes widened. "dear me," she exclaimed, "they aren't all _yours_!" the young woman grinned mirthlessly. "i should say not!" she snapped. "they pays me to look out for 'em--their fathers and mothers in the factory. watcha want?" "what do you pay for a house like this?" the hired mother's brow wrinkled, and her lips drew back in an ugly snarl. "they robs us, these landlords does. we gotter be 'longside the works, so they robs us. what do i pay for this? thirty a month, and at that 'tain't fit for no dawg to live in. i could knock up a shack like this with tar paper, i could. "and what do we get? i gotter haul the water in a bucket, and cook on an oil stove, and they hists the price of the ile, 'cause he comes by in a wagon with it. the landlords is squeezing the life out of us, i tell ye." she paused in her tirade to yell at her charges. then she turned again to the story of her wrongs. "and of all the pest holes i ever seen, this is the plum worst. there's chills an' fever an' typhoid till you can't rest, an' them kids is abustin' with measles an' mumps an' scarlet fever. that i ain't got 'em all myself's a miracle." "you ought to have a district nurse and inspector/' said geneviève, amused, in spite of her indignation, at the dark picture presented. "distric' nothin'," the other sneered. "there ain't nothin' here but rent an' taxes--doggone if i don't quit. there's plenty to do this here mindin' work, an' i bet i could make more at the factory. they're payin' grand for overtime." geneviève looked at the thin shoulders and narrow chest of the girl, noted her growing pallor and wondered how long such a physique could withstand the strain of hard work and overtime. she sighed. something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, for the girl reddened and her lips tightened. without another word she slammed the door in her visitor's face. mrs. brewster-smith cackled thin laughter. "that's what you get for interfering," she jeered, so angry with her hostess for this forced inspection of her source of income that she was ready to sacrifice the comforts of her extended visit to have the satisfaction of airing her resentment. "poor soul!" said geneviève. "thirty a month!" her eyes ran over the rows of crowded shacks. "the owners must get together and do something here," she said. "these conditions are simply vile." "it's probably all these people are used to," alys snapped, "and, besides, if they went further into town it'd cost them the trolley both ways, and all the time lost. it's the location they pay for. mr. alien told me not two months ago he thought rents could be raised." "if you all co-operate," genevieve continued her own line of thought, "you could at least clean the place and make it _safe_ to live in, even if they haven't any comforts." her face brightened. around the corner came the strong, solid figure of miss eliot; behind her trotted a bespectacled young man who carried a pigskin envelope under his arm and whose expression was far from happy. "hello!" called miss eliot. "so you did come. i'm glad of it. let me present mr. glass to you. the department lent him to me for the day. and what do you think of it, now that you can see it?" "glad to meet you," said genevieve, nodding to the health officer. "what do i think of it? what does mr. glass think? that's more important. oh, let me present you--this is mrs. brewster-smith." miss eliot's face showed no surprise, though her eyes twinkled, but mr. glass was frankly taken aback. "mrs. brewster--smith----brewster--smith," he stammered. "oh--er--" he gripped his pigskin folio as if about to search its contents to verify the name. "the--er--the owner?" he inquired. alys stiffened. "my dear husband left me this property. i have never before seen it." "i'm very glad," beamed mr. glass, "to see that we shall have your co-operation in our efforts to do something definite for this section--and measures must be taken quickly. as you see, there is no sanitation, no trenching, no mosquito-extermination plant. malaria and typhoid are prevalent; it's all very bad, very bad, indeed. and you'd hardly believe, mrs. brewster-smith, what difficulties we are having with the owners as a class. the five biggest have formed an association. i suppose you've heard about it. they must have made an effort to interest you "--he stopped short, remembering that her name appeared on the lists of the "protective league." "really"--alys had recovered her hauteur and the aloofness becoming the situation--"i know nothing whatever about what measures my agents have thought it advisable to take." mr. glass choked and glanced uneasily at miss eliot. that lady grinned, almost the grin of a gamin. "you needn't look at _me_, mr. glass. i don't represent mrs. brewster-smith." "oh, i know, i know," mr. glass hastened to exonerate his companion. "i believe miss eliot declined the honor," genevieve's voice was heard. "i did," the agent affirmed. she laughed shortly. "otherwise you would hardly find me here in my present capacity. one does not 'run with the hare and hunt with the hounds,' you know." alys lost her temper. it seemed to her she was ruthlessly being forced to shoulder responsibilities she had been taught to shirk as a sacred feminine right. therefore, feeling injured, she voiced her innocence. "your husband, my dear geneviève, has been good enough to administer my little estate. whatever he has done, or now plans to do, meets with _my_ entire approval." the thrust went home in more directions than one. miss eliot turned her frank gaze upon the speaker, while she slowly nodded her head as if studying a perfect specimen of a noxious species. mr. glass gasped. there was political material in the statement. he looked anxiously at the wife of the gentleman implicated, but in her was no fear and no manner of trembling. instead, the light of battle shone in her eyes. "my dear alys," she said, "my husband has told you that he is too busy a man to give your affairs his personal attention. he can only advise you and turn the executive side over to another. his experience does not extend to the stock market or to real estate. it is an imposition to throw your burdens upon him. if you derive benefits from ownership, you must educate yourself to accept your duty to society." "indeed!" flared alys, furious at this public arraignment. "may i ask if you intend to continue this insulting attitude?" "if you mean, do i expect hereafter to be a live woman and not a parasite--i do." mrs. brewster-smith turned on her heel and walked away, teetering over the ruts and holes of the path. genevieve looked distressed. "i'm sorry," she breathed, "i'm ashamed, but it _had_ to come out. i--i couldn't stand it any longer. i--beg everybody's pardon. i'm sure, it was awfully bad manners of me. oh, dear--" she faltered, half turned, and, with a gesture of appeal toward mrs. brewster-smith's slowly retreating back, moved as if to follow. "i wouldn't go after her," said e. eliot. "of course, you haven't had experience. you don't know how much self-restraint you've got to build up, but you're here now, and i'm sure mr. glass understands. _he's_ got to come up against all sorts of exasperations on _his_ job, too. he won't take any stock in mrs. brewster-smith's trying to tie your husband up to these wretched conditions. "he's looking forward to seeing an honest, public-spirited district attorney get into office--even if your husband doesn't yet see that women have anything to say about it. they may heckle him in order to force him to come out on his intentions about the graft, and the eight-hour day, and the enforcement of the law, but they don't doubt his honesty. when he know's what's what, i guess the public can trust him to do the right thing. only he's got to be shown." as she talked, giving geneviève time to recover from her upheaval, the three investigators were plowing their way up and down byways equally depressing and insanitary. silence ensued. occasionally an expression of commiseration or condemnation escaped one or another of the party. suddenly a raucous whistle tore the air, followed by another and another, declaring the armistice of the noon hour. iron gates in the surrounding wall were opened, a stream of men and women poured out, grimed, sweat-streaked and voluble. the two women and their escort paused and watched the oncoming swarm of humanity. around the corner, just ahead, strode a giant of a man, followed by a red-faced, unkempt, familiar figure--the man in charge of the renting office. the giant came forward threateningly. "what youse doing?" he growled. he jerked his jersey, displaying a brass badge, p. a. guard. "git outer here--git," he called. mr. glass stepped forward, displaying his health department permit. the giant laughed. "say, sonny," he sneered, "that don't go--see. them tin fakes don't git by. if you're one of them guys, you come here wit' mclaughlin, and youse can rubber. but we've had enough of this stuff. them dames is no blind, neither. i'm guard for the owners here, and we ain't takin' no chances wit' trouble makers--git. git a move on!" "the department," spluttered glass, "shall hear of this." "that's all right. mclaughlin's the boss. tell 'em not to send a kid to do a man's job." geneviève was too amazed to protest. it was her first experience of defiance of law and order by law and order. meanwhile, the first stragglers of the released army of toilers were nearly upon them. the giant observed their approach, and the look of menace deepened on his huge, congested face. "move on, now--move on," he snarled, and herded them forward in advance of the workers. sheepishly the three obeyed, but miss eliot was not silent. "your name?" she demanded in judicial command. the very terseness of her question seemed to jerk an unwilling answer from the guard. "michael mehan." "and you're employed by the owners' protective league?" "sure." "have they given you orders to keep strangers out of the district?" "i have me orders, and i know what they be. i'm duly sworn in as extra guard--and i'm not the only one, neither." "did _he_ come after you?" miss eliot indicated the ruffian at his side. "i seen the lady owner blew the bunch," that worthy remarked with a hoarse chuckle. "i wised mike, all right. whatcha goin' to do about it?" "mrs. brewster-smith, the owner," miss eliot observed, "didn't seem to know that she had employed you. how about that?" "i'm put here by the o.p.l. that's good enough fer yer lady owner--now--ain't it? the things them nosey dames thinks they can git by wit'!" he observed to the guard, and swore an oath that made mr. glass turn to him with unexpected fury. "you may pretend to think that i'm not what i represent myself to be, but let me tell you, mclaughlin is going to hear of this. one more insult to these ladies and i'll make it my business to go personally to your employers. get me?" "shut your trap, jim," snarled mehan. "yer ain't got no orders fer no fancy language." he leered at geneviève. "now we've shooed the chickens out, we're tru'." with a wave of his huge paw he indicated the highway the turn of the path revealed. geneviève looked to the right, where the car should be waiting her. it was gone. evidently the indignant mrs. brewster-smith had expedited the departure. miss eliot read her discomfiture. "my car is right down here behind that palatial mansion with the hole in the roof and the tin-can extension. thank you very much for your escort," she added, turning to the two representatives of the protective league. "my name, by the way, is e. eliot. i am a real-estate agent and my office is at braston street. you might mention it in your report." the little car stood waiting, surrounded by a group of admiring children. its owner stepped in briskly, backed around and received her passengers. "well," she smiled as they drew out on the traveled highway, "how do you like the purlieus of our noble little city?" genevieve was silent. then she spoke with conviction. "when george is in power--and he's _got_ to be--the law will be the law. i know him." chapter xi. by marjorie benton cook george remington walked toward headquarters with more assurance than he felt. he resented doolittle's command that he appear at once. he was beginning to realize the pressure which these campaign managers were bringing to bear upon him. he was not sure yet how far he could go, in out-and-out defiance of them and their dictates. he knew that he had absolutely no ambitions, no interests in common with these schemers, whose sole idea lay in party patronage, in manipulating every political opportunity--in short, in reaping where they had sown. the question now confronting him was this: was he prepared to sell his political birthright for the mess of pottage they offered him? he stood a second at the door of the office, peering through the reeking, smoke-filled atmosphere, to get a bird's-eye view of the situation before he entered. mr. doolittle sat on the edge of a table monologuing to wes' norton and pat noonan. mr. norton was the president of the whitewater commercial club, composed of the leading merchants of the town, and mr. noonan was the apostle of the liquor interests. remington felt his back stiffen as he stepped among them. "good-evening, gentlemen," he said briskly. "h'are ye, george?" drawled doolittle. "there was something you wanted to discuss with me?" "i dunno as there's anything to discuss, but there's a few things wes' an' pat an' me'd like to say to ye. there ain't no two ways of thinkin' about the prosperity of whitewater, ye know, george. the merchants in this town is satisfied with the way things is boomin'. the factory workers is gittin' theirs, with high wages an' overtime. the stockholders is makin' no kick on the dividends--as ye know, george, being one of them. "now, we don't want nuthin' to disturb all this if the fact'ries is crackin' the law a bit, why, it ain't the first time such things has got by the inspector. the fact'ry managers'd like some assurance from ye that ye're goin' to keep yer hands off before they line up the fact'ry hands to vote for ye." doolittle paused here. george nodded. "when are ye comin' out with a plain statement of yer intentions, george?" inquired mr. norton in a conciliatory tone. "the voters in this town will get a clear statement of my stand on all the issues of this campaign in plenty of time, gentlemen." "that's all right fer the voter, but ye can't stall _us_ wit' that kind of talk--" began noonan. "wait a minute, pat," counseled doolittle. "george means all right. he's new to this game, but he means to stand fer the intrusts of his party, don't ye, george?" "i should scarcely be the candidate of that party if i did not." "i ain't interested in no oratory. are ye or are ye not goin' to keep yer hands off the prosperity of whitewater?" demanded noonan angrily. "look here, noonan, i am the candidate for this office--you're not. i intend to do as my conscience dictates. i will not be hampered at every turn, nor told what to say and what to think. i must get to these things in my own way." "don't ye fergit that ye're _our_ candidate, that ye are to express the opinion of the people who will elect ye, and not any dam' theories of yer own----" "i think i get your meaning, noonan." george spoke with a smile which for some reason disconcerted noonan. he sensed with considerable irritation the social and class breach between himself and remington, and while he did not understand it he resented it. he called him "slick" to wes' and doolittle and loudly bewailed their choice of him as candidate. "then there's that p.l. bizness, pat--don't fergit that," urged wes'. "i ain't fergittin' it. there's too much nosin' round kentwood district by the women, george. too much talkin'. ye'd better call that off right now. property owners down there is satisfied, an' they got _their_ rights, ye know." "i suppose you know what the conditions down there are?" "sure we know, george, and we want to clean it up down there just as much as you do," said the pacific doolittle; "but what we're sayin' is, this ain't the time to do it. later, mebbe, when the conditions is jest right----" "somebody has got the women stirred up fer fair. it's up to you to call 'em off, george," said mr. norton. "how can i call them off?"--tartly. "ye can put the brakes on mrs. remington and that there sheridan girl, can't ye?" "miss sheridan is no longer in my employ. as for mrs. remington, if she is not one in spirit with me, i cannot force her to be. every human being has a right to----" "some change sence ye last expressed yerself, george. seems like i recall ye sayin', 'i'll settle that!'" remarked doolittle coldly. "we will leave my wife's name out of the discussion, please," said george with tardy but noble loyalty. "well, them two i mentioned can stir up some trouble; but they ain't the brains of their gang, by a long shot. it's this e. eliot we gotta deal with. she's as smart, if not smarter, than any man in this town. she's smarter than you, george--or me, either," he added consolingly. "i've seen her about, but i've never talked to her. what sort of woman is she?" "quiet, sensible kind. ye keep thinking, 'how reasonable that woman is,' till ye wake up and find she's got ye hooked on one of the horns of yer own damfoolishness! slick as they make 'em and straight as a string--that's e. eliot." "what do you want me to do about it?"--impatiently. "are ye aimin' to answer them voiceless questions?" pat inquired. silence. "plannin' to tear down kentwood and enforce them factory laws?" demanded wes' norton. still no answer. "i'm jest callin' yer attention to the fact that this election is gittin' nearer every day." "what am i to do with her? i can't afford to show we're afraid of her." "huh." "i can't bribe her to stop." "i'd like to see the fella that would try to bribe e. eliot," doolittle chuckled. "wouldn't be enough of him left to put in a teacup." "then we've got to ignore her." "_we_ can ignore her, all right, george; but the women an' some of the voters ain't ignoring her. it's my idea she's got a last card up her sleeve to play the day before we go to the polls that'll fix us." "have you any plan in your mind?" doolittle scratched his head, wrestling with thought. "we was thinking that if she could be called away suddenly, and detained till after election--" he began meaningly. "you mean----" "something like that." "i won't have it, not if i lose the election. i won't stoop to kidnapping a woman like a highwayman. what do you take me for, doolittle?" "georgie, politics ain't no kid-glove bizness. it ain't what _you_ want; you're jest a small part of this affair. you're _our_ candidate, and we _got_ to win this here election. do you get me?" he shot out his underjaw, and there was no sign of his usual good humor. "well, but----" "you don't have to know anything about this. we'll handle it. you'll be pertected to the limit; don't you worry," sneered noonan. "but you can't get away with this old-fashioned stuff nowadays, doolittle," protested remington. "can't we? you jest leave it to your uncle benjamin. you don't know nothing about this. see?" "i know it's a dirty, low, underhanded----" "george," remarked mr. doolittle, slowly hoisting his big body on to its short legs, "in politics we don't call a spade a spade. we call it 'a agricultural implument.'" with this sage remark mr. doolittle took his departure, followed by the other prominent citizens. george sat where they left him, head in hands, for several moments. then he sprang up and rushed to the door to call them back. he would not stand it--he would not win at that price. he had conceded everything they had demanded of him up to this point, but here he drew the line. ever since that one independent fling of his about suffrage they had treated him like a naughty child. what did they think he was--a rubber doll? he would telephone doolittle that he would rather give up his candidacy. here he paused. suppose he did withdraw, nobody would understand. the town would think the women had frightened him off. he couldn't come out now and denounce the machine methods of his party. every eye in whitewater was focused on him; his friends were working for him; the district attorneyship was the next step in his career; geneviève expected him to win--no, he must go through with it! but after he got into office, then he would show them! he would take orders from no one. he sat down again and moodily surveyed the future. in the days which followed, another mental struggle was taking place in the remington family. poor genevieve was like a woman struck by lightning. she felt that her whole structure of life had crashed about her ears. in one blinding flash she had seen and condemned george because he considered political expediency. she realized that she must think for herself now and not rely on him for the family celebration. she had conceived her whole duty in life to consist in being george's wife; but now, by a series of accidents, she had become aware of the great social responsibilities, the larger human issues, which men and women must meet together. betty and e. eliot had pointed out to her that she knew nothing of the conditions in her own town. they assured her that it was as much her duty to know about such things as to know the condition of her own back yard. then came the awful revelations of kentwood--human beings huddled like rats; children swarming, dirty and hungry! she could not bear to remember the scenes she had witnessed in kentwood. she recalled the shock of alys brewster-smith's indifference to all that misery! the widow's one instinct had seemed to be to fight e. eliot and the health officer for their interference. stranger still, the tenants did not want to be moved out, driven on. the whole situation was confused, but in it at least one thing stood out clearly: geneviève realized, during the sleepless night after her visit to kentwood, that she hated cousin alys! the following sunday, when she put on her coat, she found a souvenir of that visit in her pocket, a soiled reminder of poverty and toil. she remembered picking it up and noting that it was the factory pass of one marya slavonsky. she had intended to leave it with some one in the district, but evidently in the excitement of her enforced exit she had thrust it into her pocket. this marya worked in the factories. she was one of that grimy army geneviève had seen coming out of the factory gate, and she went home to that pen which cousin alys provided. marya was a girl of genevieve's own age, perhaps, while she, geneviève, had this comfortable home, and george! she had been blind, selfish, but she would make up for it, she _would_! she would make a study of the needs of such people; she would go among them like st. agatha, scattering alms and wisdom. george might have his work; she had found hers! she would begin with the factory girls. she would waken them to what had so lately dawned on her. how could she manage it? the rules of admission in the munition factories were very strict. then again her eye fell upon the soiled card and a great idea was born in her brain. dressed as a factory girl, she would use marya's card to get her into the circle of these new-found sisters. she would see how and where they worked. she would report it all to the forum and to george. she could be of use to george at last. she remembered betty's statement that at midnight in the factories the women and girls had an hour off. that was the time she chose, with true dramatic instinct. she rummaged in the attic for an hour, getting her costume ready. she decided on an old black suit and a shawl which had belonged to her mother. she carried these garments to her bedroom and hid them there. then, with machiavellian finesse, she laid her plans. she would slip out of bed at half-past eleven o'clock, taking care not to waken george, and she would dress and leave the house by the side door. by walking fast she could reach by midnight the factory to which she had admission. it annoyed her considerably to have george announce at luncheon that he had a political dinner on for the evening and probably would not be home before midnight. he grumbled a little over the dinner. "the campaign," he said, "really ended yesterday. but doolittle thought it was wise to have a last round-up of the business men, and give them a final speech." geneviève acquiesced with a sympathetic murmur, but she was disappointed. merely to walk calmly out of the house at eleven o'clock lessened the excitement. however, she decided upon leaving george a note explaining that she had gone to spend the night with betty sheridan. she looked forward to the long afternoon with impatience. cousin emelene was taking her nap. mrs. brewster-smith left immediately after lunch to make a call on one of her few women friends. genevieve tried to get betty on the telephone, but she was not at home. it was with a thrill of pleasure that she saw e. eliot coming up the walk to the door. she hurried downstairs just as the maid explained that mrs. brewster-smith was not at home. "oh, won't you come in and see me for a moment, miss eliot?" genevieve begged. "i do so want to talk to you." e. eliot hesitated. "the truth is, i am fearfully busy today, even though it's sunday. i wanted to get five minutes with mrs. brewster-smith about those cottages--" she began. genevieve laid a detaining hand on her arm and led her into the living-room. "she's hopeless! i can hardly bear to have her in my house after the way she acted about those fearful places." "well, all that district is the limit, of course. she isn't the only landlord." "but she didn't _see_ those people." "she's human, i guess--didn't want to see disturbing things." "i would have torn down those cottages with my own hands!" burst forth geneviève. e. eliot stared. "no one likes her income cut down, you know," she palliated. "income! what is that to human decencies?" cried the newly awakened apostle. "your husband doesn't entirely agree with you in some of these matters, i suppose." "oh, yes he does, in his heart! but there's something about politics that won't let you come right out and say what you think." "not after you've come right out once and said the wrong thing," laughed e. eliot. "i'm afraid you will have to use your indirect influence on him, mrs. remington." geneviève threw her cards on the table. "miss eliot, i am just beginning to see how much there is for women to do in the world. i want to do something big--the sort of thing you and betty sheridan are doing--to rouse women. what can i do?" e. eliot scrutinized the ardent young face with amiable amusement. "you can't very well help us just now without hurting your husband's chances and embarrassing him in the bargain. you see, we're trying to embarrass him. we want him to kick over the traces and tell what he's going to do as district attorney of this town." "but can't i do something that won't interfere with george? couldn't i investigate the factories, or organize the working girls?" "my child, have you ever organized anything?" exclaimed e. eliot. "no." "well, don't begin on the noble working girl. she doesn't organize easily. wait until the election is over. then you come in on our schemes and we'll teach you how to do things. but don't butt in now, i beg of you. misguided, well-meaning enthusiasts like you can do more harm to our cause than all the anti-suffragists in this world!" with her genial, disarming smile, e. eliot rose and departed. she chuckled all the way back to her rooms over the idea of remington's bride wanting to take the field with the enemies of her wedded lord. "women, women! god bless us, but we're funny!" mused e. eliot. genevieve liked her caller immensely, and she thought over her advice, but she determined to let it make no difference in her plans. she saw her work cut out for her. she would not flinch! she would do her bit in the great cause of women--no, of humanity. the flame of her purpose burned steadily and high. at a quarter-past eleven that night a slight, black-clad figure, with a shawl over its head, softly closed the side door of the remington house and hurried down the street. never before had genevieve been alone on the streets after dark. she had not foreseen how frightened she would be at the long, dark stretches, nor how much more frightened when any one passed her. two men spoke to her. she sped on, turning now this way, now that, without regard to direction--her eyes over her shoulder, in terror lest she be followed. so it was that she plunged around a corner and into the very arms of e. eliot, who was sauntering home from a political meeting, where she had been a much-advertised speaker. she was in the habit of prowling about by herself. tonight she was, as usual, unattended--unless one observed two burly workingmen who walked slowly in her wake. "oh, i beg your pardon," came a gently modulated voice from behind the shawl. e. eliot stared. "no harm done here. did i hurt you?" she replied. she thought she heard an involuntary "oh!" from beneath the shawl. "no, thanks. could you tell me how to get to the whitewater arms and munitions factory? i'm all turned around." "certainly. two blocks that way to the state road, and half a mile north on that. shall i walk to the road with you?" "oh, no, thank you," the girl answered and hurried on. e. eliot stood and watched her. where had she heard that voice? she knew a good many girls who worked at the factories, but none of them spoke like that. all at once a memory came to her: "couldn't i investigate something, or organize the working girls?" mrs. george remington! "the little fool," ejaculated the other woman, and turned promptly to follow the flying figure. the two burly gentlemen in the rear also turned and followed, but e. eliot was too busy planning how to manage mrs. remington to notice them. she had to walk rapidly to keep her quarry in sight. as she came within some thirty yards of the gate she saw genevieve challenge the gatekeeper, present her card and slip inside, the gate clanging to behind her. e. eliot broke into a jog trot, rounded the corner of the wall, pulled herself up quickly, using the stones of the wall as footholds. she hung from the top and let herself drop softly inside, standing perfectly still in the shadow. at the same moment the two burly gentlemen ran round the corner and saw nothing. "i told ye to run--" began one of them fiercely. "aw, shut up. if she went over here, she'll come out here. we'll wait." the midnight gong and the noise of the women shuffling out into the courtyard drowned that conversation for e. eliot. she stood and watched the gatekeeper saunter indoors, not waiting for the man who relieved him on duty. she watched genevieve go forward and meet the factory hands. the newcomer shyly spoke to the first group. the eavesdropper could not hear what she said. but the crowd gathered about the speaker, shuffling, chaffing, finally listening. somebody captured the gatekeeper's stool and geneviève stood on it. "what i want to tell you is how beautiful it is for women to stand together and work together to make the world better," she began. "say, what is your job?" demanded a girl, suspicious of the soft voice and modulated speech. "well, i--i only keep house now. but i intend to begin to do a great deal for the community, for all of you----" "she keeps house--poor little overworked thing!" "but the point is, not what you do, but the spirit you do it in----" "what is this, a revival meetin'?" "so i want to tell you what the women of this town mean to do." "hear! hear! listen at the suffragette!" "first, we mean to clean up the kentwood district. you all know how awful those cottages are." "sure; we live in 'em!" "we intend to force the landlords to tear them down and improve all that district." "much obliged, lady, and where do we go?" demanded one of her listeners. "you must have better living conditions." "but where? rents in this town has boomed since the war began. ain't that got to you yet? there ain't no place left fer the poor." "then we must find places and make them healthy and beautiful." "for the love of mike! she's talkin' about heaven, ain't she?" "she's talkin' through her hat!" cried another. "then, we mean to make the factories obey the laws. they have no right to make you girls work here at night." "who's makin' us?" "we are going to force the factories to obey the letter of the law on our statute books." a thin, flushed girl stepped out of the crowd and faced her. "say, who is 'we'?" "why, all of us, the women of whitewater." "how are we goin' to repay the women of whitewater fer tearin' down our homes an' takin' away our jobs? ain't there somethin' we can do to show our gratitood?" the new speaker asked earnestly. "go to it--let her have it, mamie flynn!" cried the crowd. "oh, but you mustn't look at it that way! we must all make some sacrifices----" "cut that slush! what do you know about sacrifices? i'm on to you. you're one of them uptown reformers. what do you know about sacrifices? ye got a sure place to sleep, ain't ye? ye've got a full belly an' a husband to give ye spendin' money, ain't ye? don't ye come down here gittin' our jobs away an' then fergettin' all about us!" there was a buzz of agreement and an undertone of anger which to an experienced speaker would have been ominous. but geneviève blundered on: "we only want to help you----" "we don't want yer help ner yer advice. you keep yer hands off our business! do yer preachin' uptown--that's where they need it. ask the landlords of kentwood and the stockholders in the munition factories to make some sacrifices, an' see where that gits ye! but don't ye come down here, a-spyin' on us, ye dirty----" the last words were happily lost as the crowd of girls closed in on geneviève with cries of "spy!" "scab!" "throw her out!" they had nearly torn her clothes off before e. eliot was among them. she sprang up on the chair and shouted: "girls--here, hold on a minute." there was a hush. some one called out: "it's miss e. eliot." "listen a minute. don't waste your time getting mad at this girl. she's a friend of mine. and you may not believe me, but she means all right." "what's she pussyfootin' in here for?" "don't you know the story of the man from pittsburgh who died and went on?" cried e. eliot. "some kindly spirit showed him round the place, and the newcomer said: 'well, i don't think heaven's got anything on pittsburgh.' 'this isn't heaven!' said the spirit." there was a second's pause, and then the laugh came. "now, this girl has just waked up to the fact that whitewater isn't heaven, and she thought you'd like to hear the news! i'll take the poor lamb home, put cracked ice on her head and let her sleep it off." they laughed again. "go to it," said the erstwhile spokeswoman for the working girls. e. eliot called them a cheery good-night. the factory girls drifted away, in little groups, leaving geneviève, bedraggled and hysterical, clinging to her rescuer. "they would have killed me if you hadn't come!" she gasped. e. eliot thought quickly. "stand here in the shadow of the fence till i come back," she said. "it will be all right. i've got to run into the office and send a telephone message. i have a pal there who will let me do it." "you--you won't be long?" it was clear that the nerve of mrs. remington was quite gone. "i won't be gone five minutes." e. eliot was as good as her word. when she returned she seized the stool on which her companion had made her maiden speech--ran to the wall, placed it at the spot where she had made her entrance and urged geneviève to climb up and drop over; as she obeyed, e. eliot mounted beside her. they dropped off, almost at the same moment--into arms upheld to catch them. geneviève screamed, and was promptly choked. "what'll we do with this extra one?" asked a hoarse voice. "bring her. there's no time to waste now. if ye yell again, ye'll both be strangled," the second speaker added as he led the way toward the road, where the dimmed lights of a motor car shone. he was carrying e. eliot as if she were a doll. behind him his assistant stumbled along, bearing, less easily but no less firmly, the, wife of the candidate for district attorney! chapter xii. by william allen white as the two gagged women--one comfortably gagged with more or less pleasant bandages made and provided, the other gagged by the large, smelly hand of an entire stranger to mrs. george remington--whom she was trying impolitely to bite, by way of introduction--were speeding through the night, mr. george remington, ending a long and late speech before the whitewater business men's club, was saying these things: "i especially deplore this modern tendency to talk as though there were two kinds of people in this country--those interested in good government, and those interested in bad government. we are all good americans. we are all interested in good government. some of us believe good government may be achieved through a protective tariff and a proper consideration for prosperity [cheers], and others, in their blindness, bow down to wood and stone!" he smiled amiably at the laughter, and continued: "but while some of us see things differently as to means, our aims are essentially the same. you don't divide people according to trades and callings. i deplore this attempt to set the patriotic merchant against the patriotic saloonkeeper; the patriotic follower of the race track against the patriotic manufacturer. "here is my good friend, benjie doolittle. when he played the ponies in the old days, before he went into the undertaking and furniture business, was he less patriotic than now? was he less patriotic then than my uncle martin jaffry is now, with all his manufacturer's interest in a stable government? and is my uncle martin jaffry more patriotic than pat noonan? or is pat less patriotic than our substantial merchant, wesley norton? "down with this talk that would make lines of moral and patriotic cleavage along lines of vocation or calling. i want no votes of those who pretend that the good americans should vote in one box and the bad americans in another box. i want the votes of those of all castes and cults who believe in prosperity [loud cheers], and i want the votes of those who believe in the glorious traditions of our party, its magnificent principles, its martyred heroes, its deathless name in our history!" it was, of course, an after-dinner speech. being the last speech of the campaign it was also a highly important one. but george remington felt, as he sat listening to the din of the applause, that he had answered rather neatly those who said he was wabbling on the local economic issue and was swaying in the wind of socialist agitation which the women had started in whitewater. as he left the hotel where the dinner had been given, he met his partner on the sidewalk. "get in, penny," he urged, jumping into his car. "come out to the house for the night, and we'll have betty over to breakfast. then she and geneviève and you and i will see if we can't restore the _ante-bellum modus vivendi_! come on! emelene and alys always breakfast in bed, anyway, and it will be no trouble to get betty over." the two men rode home in complacent silence. it was long past midnight. they sat on the veranda to finish their cigars before going into the house. "penny," asked george suddenly, "what has pat noonan got in this game--i mean against the agitation by the women and this investigation of conditions in kentwood? why should he agonize over it?" "is he fussing about it?" "is he? do you think i'd tie his name up in a public speech with martin jaffry if pat wasn't off the reservation? you could see him swell up like a pizened pup when i did it! i hope uncle martin will not be offended." "he's a good sport, george. but say--what did pat do to give you this hunch?" remington smoked in meditative silence, then answered: "well, penny, i had to raise the devil of a row the other day to keep pat from ribbing up benjie doolittle and the organization to a frame-up to kidnap this eliot person." "kidnap e. eliot!" gasped the amazed evans. "kidnap that very pest. and i tell you, man, if i hadn't roared like a stuck ox they would have done it! fancy introducing 'prisoner of zenda' stuff into the campaign in whitewater! though i will say this, penny, as between old army friends and college chums," continued mr. remington earnestly, "if a warrior bold with spurs of gold, who was slightly near-sighted and not particular about his love being so damned young and fair, would swoop down and carry this e. eliot off to his princely donjon, and would let down the portcullis for two days, until the election is over, it would help some! though otherwise i don't wish her any bad luck!" the old army friend and college chum laughed. "well, that's your end of the story! i'm mighty glad you stopped it. here's my end. you remember two-fingered moll, who was our first client? the one who insisted on being referred to as a lady? the one who got converted and quit the game and who thought she was being pursued by the racetrack gang because she was trying to live decent?" george smiled in remembrance. "well, she called me up to know if there was any penalty for renting a house to mike the goat and his wife and old salubrious the armenian, who had a lady friend they were keeping from the cops against her will. she said they weren't going to hurt the lady, and i could see her every day to prove it. i advised her to keep out of it, of course; but she was strong for it, because of what she called the big money. i explained carefully that if anything should happen, her past reputation would go against her. but she kept saying it was straight, until i absolutely forbade her to do it, and she promised not to." "mike and his woman, and old salubrious!" echoed remington. "and e. eliot locked up with them for two days!" he shivered, partly at the memory of his own mealy-mouthed protest. "well," he said, and there was an air of finality in his tone, "i'm glad i stopped the whole infamous business." mentally he decided to get noonan on the telephone the first thing in the morning and make certain that the plan was abandoned. he continued his chat with evans. "but, penny, why this agonizing of noonan? what has he to lose by the better conditions in kentwood? why should he----" outside of a neat white dwelling in the suburbs of whitewater, four figures were struggling in the night toward a vine-covered door--that door which appeared so attractively in the _welfare bulletin_ of the toledo blade steel company's publicity program as the "prize garden home of j. agricola, roller." a woman stood in the doorway, holding the door open. two women, who had been carried by two men, from an automobile at the gate, were forced through. there the men left them with their hostess. "i was only looking for one of yez," she said, hospitably, "but you're bote welcome. now, ladies, i'm goin' to make you comfortable. it won't do no good to scream, so i'm goin' to take your gags off. and i hope you, lady, haven't been inconvenienced by a handkerchief. we could just as well have arranged for your comfort, too." "madam," gasped e. eliot, who was the first to be released to speech, "it is unimportant who i am. but do you know that this woman with me is mrs. george remington, the wife of the candidate for district attorney--mr. george remington of whitewater? there has been a mistake." the hostess looked at genevieve, who nodded a tearful confirmation. but the woman only smiled. "my man don't make mistakes," she said laconically. "and, what's more to the point, miss, he's a friend of george remington, and why should he be giving his lady a vacation? you are e. eliot, and your friends think you're workin' too hard, so they're goin' to give you a nice rest. nothin' will happen to you if you are a lady, as i think you are. and when i find out who this other lady is, we'll make her as welcome as you!" she went out of the room, locking the door behind her as the two women struggled vainly with their bonds. in an instant she returned. "my man says to tell the one who thinks she's mrs. george remington that she's spendin' the week-end with mrs. napoleon boneypart." my man says he's a good friend of george remington and is supportin' him for district attorney, and that's how he can make it so pleasant here. "and i'll tell you something else," she continued proudly. "when george got married, it was my man that went up and down smoky row and seen all the girls and got 'em to give a dollar apiece for them lovely roses labeled 'the young men's republican club.' mr. doolittle he seen to that. my man really collected fifty dollars more'n he turned in, and i got a diamond-set wrist watch with it! so, you see, we're real friendly with them remingtons, and we're glad to see you, mrs. remington!" "oh, how horrible!" cried geneviève. "there were eight dozen of those roses from the young men's republican club, and to think---oh, to think----" "well, now, george," cried mr. penfield evans, "just stop and think. use your bean, my boy! what is the one thing on earth that puts the fear of god into pat noonan? it's prohibition. look at the prohibition map out west and at the suffrage map out west. they fit each other like the paper on the wall. whatever women may lack in intelligence about some things, there is one thing woman knows--high and low, rich and poor! she knows that the saloon is her enemy, and she hits it; and pat noonan, seeing this rise of women investigating industry, makes common cause with martin jaffry and the whole employing class of whitewater against the nosey interference of women. "and pat noonan is depending on you," continued evans. "he expects you to rise. he expects you to go to congress--possibly to the senate, and he figures that he wants to be dead sure you'll not get to truckling to decency on the liquor question. so he ties you up--or tries you out for a tie-up or a kidnapping; and benjie doolittle, who likes a sporting event, takes a chance that you'll stand hitched in a plan to rid the community of a political pest without seriously hurting the pest--a friendless old maid who won't be missed for a day or two, and whose disappearance can be hushed up one way or another after she appears too late for the election. "just figure things out, george. do you think noonan got mike the goat to assess the girls on the row a dollar apiece for your flowers from the young men's republican club, for his health! you had the grace to thank pat, but if you didn't know where they came from," explained mr. evans cynically, "it was because you have forgotten where all pat's floral offerings from the y.m.r.c. come from at weddings and funerals! and pat feels that you're his kind of people. "politics, george, is not the chocolate éclair that you might think it, if you didn't know it! use your bean, my boy! use your bean! and you'll see why pat noonan lines up with the rugged captains of industry who are the bulwarks of our american liberty. pat uses his head for something more than a hatrack." the two puffed for a time in silence. finally the host said: "well, let's turn in." three minutes later george called across the upper hall to penfield. "the joke's on us, penny. here's a note saying that geneviève is over with betty for the night. we'll call her up after breakfast and have them both over to a surprise party." penny strolled across to his friend's door. he was disappointed, and he showed it. he found george sitting on the side of his bed. "penny," mused the young man in politics, in his finest mood, "you know i sometimes think that, perhaps, way down deep, there is something wrong with our politics. i don't like to be hooked up with noonan and his gang. and i don't like the way noonan and his gang are hooked up with wesley norton and the silk stockings and uncle martin and the big fellows. why can't we get rid of the noonan influence? they aren't after the things we're after! they only furnish the unthinking votes that make majorities that elect the fellows the big crooks handle. lord, man, it's a dirty mess! and why women want to get into the dirty mess is more than i can see." "what a sweet valedictory address you are making for a young ladies' school!" scoffed penny. "the hills are green far off! aren't you the sweet young thing. but i'll tell you why the women want to get in, george. they think they want to clean up the mess." "but would they clean it? wouldn't they vote about as we vote?" "well," answered mr. evans with the cynicism of the judicial mind, "let's see. you know now, if you didn't know at the time, that noonan got mike the goat to assess the disorderly houses for the money to buy your wedding roses from the y.m.r.c. all right. noonan's bartender is on the ticket with you as assemblyman. are you going to vote for him or not?" "but, penny, i've just about got to vote for him." "all right, then. i'll tell geneviève the truth about noonan and the flowers, and i'll ask her if she would feel that she had to vote for noonan's bartender!" retorted mr. evans. "giving women the ballot will help at least that much. if the noonans stay in politics, they'll get no help from the women when they vote!" "but aren't we protecting the women?" * * * * * "anyway, mrs. remington," said e. eliot comfortably, "i'm glad it happened just this way. without you, they would hold me until after the election on tuesday. with you, about tomorrow at ten o'clock we shall be released. e. eliot alone they have made every provision for holding. they have started a scandal, i don't doubt, necessary to explain my absence, and pulled the political wires to keep me from making a fuss about it afterward. they know their man in the district attorney's office, and----" "do you mean george remington?" this from his wife, with flashing eyes. "i mean," explained e. eliot unabashed, "that for some reason they feel safe with george remington in the district attorney's office, or they would not kidnap me to prevent his defeat! that is the cold-blooded situation." "this party," e. eliot smiled, "is given at the country home of mike the goat, as nearly as i can figure it out. mike is a right-hand man of noonan. noonan is a right-hand man of benjie doolittle and wesley norton, and they are all a part of the system that holds martin jaffry's industries under the amiable beneficence of our sacred protective tariff! hail, hail, the gang's all here--what do we care now, my dear? and because you are here and are part of the heaven-born combination for the public good, i am content to go through the rigors of one night without a nightie for the sake of the cause!" "but they don't know who i am!" protested mrs. remington. "and----" "exactly, and for that reason they don't know who you are not. tomorrow the whole town will be looking for you, and noonan will hear who you are and where you are. then! say, girl--_say, girl,_ it _will_ be grist for our mill! fancy the headlines all over the united states: 'gang kidnaps candidate's wife mystery shrouds plot candidate remington is silent.'" "but he won't be silent," protested the indignant geneviève. "i tell you, he'll denounce it from the platform. he'll never let this outrage----" "well, my dear," said the imperturbable e. eliot, "when he denounces this plot he'll have to denounce doolittle and noonan, and probably norton, and maybe his uncle martin jaffry. somebody is paying big money for this job! i said the headlines will declare: 'candidate remington is silent but still maintains that women are protected from rigors of cruel world by man's chivalry.'" "oh, miss eliot, don't! how can you? oh, i know george will not let this outrage----" "of course not," hooted e. eliot. "the sturdy oak will support the clinging vine! but while he is doing it he will be defeated. and if he doesn't protest he will be defeated, for i shall talk!" "george remington will face defeat like a gentleman, miss eliot; have no fear of that. he will speak out, no matter what happens." "and when he speaks, when he tells the truth about this whole alliance between the greedy, ruthless rich and the brutal, vicious dregs of this community--our cause is won!" * * * * * the next morning george remington reached from his bed for his telephone and called up the sheridan residence. two minutes later penfield evans heard a shout. at his door stood the unclad and pallid candidate for district attorney. "penny," he gasped, "genevieve's not there! she has not been with betty all night. and betty has gone out to find e. eliot, who is missing from her boarding-house!" "are you sure----" "god--penny--i thought i had stopped it!" george was back in his room, flying into his clothes. the two men were talking loudly. from down the hall a sleepy voice--unmistakably mrs. brewster-smith's--was drawling: "george--george--are you awake? i didn't hear you come in. dear geneviève went over to stay all night with cousin betty, and the oddest thing happened. about midnight the telephone bell rang, and that odious eliot person called you up!" george was in the hall in an instant and before mrs. brewster-smith's door. "well, well, for god's sake, what did she say!" he cried. "oh, yes, i was coming to that. she said to send your chauffeur with the car down to the--oh, i forget, some nasty factory or something, for genevieve. she said genevieve was down there talking to the factory girls. fancy that, george! so i just put up the receiver. i knew genevieve was with betty sheridan and not with that odious person at all--it was some ruse to get your car and compromise you. fancy dear genevieve talking to the factory girls at midnight!" penfield evans and george remington, standing in the hall, listened to these words with terror in their hearts. "get noonan first," said george. "i'll talk to him." in five seconds evans had noonan's residence. remington listened to penny's voice. "gone," he was saying. "gone where?" and then: "why, he was at the dinner last---what's doolittle's number?" ("noonan went to new york on the midnight train," he threw at george.) a moment later remington heard his partner cry, "doolittle's gone to new york? on the midnight train?" "try norton," snapped george. soon he heard penny exclaim. "albany?" said penny. "mr. norton is in albany? thank you!" "their alibis!" said evans calmly, as he hung up the receiver and stared at his partner. "well, it--it----why, penny, they've stolen geneviève! that damned mike and the armenian! they've got geneviève with that eliot woman! god----why, penny, for god's sake, what----" "slowly, george--slowly. let's move carefully." the voice of penfield evans was cool and steady, "first of all, we need not worry about any harm coming to geneviève. she is with miss eliot, and that woman has more sense than a man. she may be depended upon. now, then," evans waved his partner to silence and went on: "the next thing to consider is how much publicity we shall give this episode." he paused. "it's not a matter of publicity; it's a matter of getting geneviève immediately." "an hour or so of publicity of the screaming, hysterical kind will not help us to find geneviève. but when we do find her, our publicity will have defeated you!" the two men stared at each other. remington said: "you mean i must shield the organization!" "if you are to be elected--yes!" "do you think geneviève and miss eliot would consent to shield the organization when we find them? why, penny, you're mad! we must call up the chief of police! we must scour the country! i propose to go right to the newspapers! the more people who know of this dastardly thing the sooner we shall recover the victims!" "and the sooner noonan, when he comes home tonight, will denounce you as an accessory before the fact, with norton and doolittle as corroborating witnesses for him! oh, you're learning politics fast, george!" the thought of what genevieve would say when she knew, through noonan and doolittle, that he had heard of the plot to kidnap miss eliot, and within an hour had talked to his wife casually at luncheon without saying anything about it, made george's heart stop. he realized that he was learning something more than politics. he walked the floor of the room. "well," he said at last, "let's call in uncle martin jaffry. he----" "yes; he is probably paying for the job. he might know something! i'll get him." "paying for the job! do you think he knew of this plot?" cried george as evans stood at the telephone. "oh, no. he just knew, in a leer from doolittle, that they had extraordinary need for eve thousand dollars or so in your behalf--that they had consulted you. and then doolittle winked and noonan cocked his head rakishly, and uncle martin put--hello, mr. jaffry. this is penny. dress and come down to the office quickly. we are in serious trouble." twenty minutes later uncle martin was sitting with the two young men in the office of remington and evans. when they explained the situation to him his dry little face screwed up. "well, at least geneviève will be all right," he muttered. "e. eliot will take care of her. but, boys--boys," he squeezed his hands and rocked in misery, "the devil of it is that i gave doolittle the money in a check and then went and got another check from the owners' protective association and took the peak load off myself, and doolittle was with me when i got the p. a. check. we've simply got to protect him. and, of course, what he knows, noonan knows. we can't go tearing up jack here, calling police and raising the town!" george remington rose. "then i've got to let my wife lie in some dive with that unspeakable turk and that mike the goat while you men dicker with the scoundrels who committed this crime!" he said. "my god, every minute is precious! we must act. let me call the chief of police and the sheriff----" "all dear friends of noonan's," penny quietly reminded him. "they probably have the same tip about what is on as you and uncle martin have! calm down, george! first, let me go out and learn when noonan and doolittle are coming home! when we know that, we can----" "penny, i can't wait. i must act now. i must denounce the whole damnable plot to the people of this country. i must not rest one second longer in silence as an accessory. i shall denounce----" "yes, george, you shall denounce," exclaimed his partner. "but just whom--yourself, that you did not warn miss eliot all day yesterday!" "yes," cried remington, "first of all, myself as a coward!" "all right. next, then, your uncle martin jaffry, who was earnestly trying to help you in the only way he knew how to help! why, george, that would be----" "that would be the least i could do to let the people see----" "to let the people see that mrs. brewster-smith and all your social friends in this town are associated with mike the goat and his gang----" before evans could finish, his partner stopped him. "yes, yes--the whole damned system of greed! the rich greed and the poor greed--our criminal classes plotting to keep justice from the decent law-abiding people of the place, who are led like sheep to the slaughter. what did the owners pay that money for? not for the dirty job that was turned--not primarily. but to elect me, because they thought i would not enforce the factory laws and the housing laws and would protect them in their larceny! that money uncle martin collected was my price--my price!" he was standing before his friends, rigid and white in rage. neither man answered him. "and because the moral sense of the community was in the hearts and heads of the women of the community," he went on, "those who are upholding the immoral compact between business and politics had to attack the womanhood of the town--and genevieve's peril is my share in the shame. by god, i'm through!" chapter xiii. by mary austin close on young remington's groan of utter disillusionment came a sound from the street, formless and clumsy, but brought to a sharp climax with the crash of breaking glass. even through the closed window which penfield evans hastily threw up, there was an obvious quality to the disturbance which revealed its character even before they had grasped its import. the street was still full of morning shadows, with here and there a dancing glimmer on the cobbles of the still level sun, caught on swinging dinner pails as the loosely assorted crowd drifted toward shop and factory. in many of the windows half-drawn blinds marked where spruce window trimmers added last touches to masterpieces created overnight, but directly opposite nothing screened the offense of the voiceless speech, which continued to display its accusing questions to the passer-by. clean through the plate-glass front a stone had crashed, leaving a heap of shining splinters, on either side of which a score of men and boys loosely clustered, while further down a ripple of disturbance marked where the thrower of the stone had just vanished into some recognized port of safety. it was a clumsy crowd, half-hearted, moved chiefly by a cruel delight in destruction for its own sake, and giving voice at intervals to coarse comment of which the wittiest penetrated through a stream of profanity, like one of those same splinters of glass, to the consciousness of at least two of the three men who hung listening in the window above: "to hell with the----suffragists!" at the same moment another stone hurled through the break sent the voiceless speech toppling; it lay crumpled in a pathetic feminine sort of heap, subject to ribald laughter, but penny evans' involuntary cry of protest was cut off by his partner's hand on his shoulder. "they're noonan's men, penny; it's a put-up job." george had marked some of the crowd at the meetings noonan had arranged for him, and the last touch to the perfunctory character of the disturbance was added by the leisurely stroll of the policeman turning in at the head of the street. before he reached the crowd it had redissolved into the rapidly filling thoroughfare. "it's no use, penny. our women have seen the light and beaten us to it; we've got to go with them or with noonan and his--mike the goat!" recollection of his wife's plight cut him like a knife. "the brewster-smith women have got to choose for themselves!" he felt about for his hat like a man blind with purpose. the street sweeper was taking up the fragments of the shattered windows half an hour later, when martin jaffry found himself going rather aimlessly along main street with a feeling that the bottom had recently dropped out of things--a sensation which, if the truth must be told, was greatly augmented by the fact that he hadn't yet breakfasted. he had remained behind the two younger men to get into communication with betty sheridan and ask her to stay close to the telephone in case miss eliot should again attempt to get into touch with her. he lingered still, dreading to go into any of the places where he was known lest he should somehow be led to commit himself embarrassingly on the subject of his nephew's candidacy. his middle-aged jauntiness considerably awry, he moved slowly down the heedless street, subject to the most gloomy reflections. like most men, martin jaffry had always been dimly aware that the fabric of society is held together by a system of mutual weaknesses and condonings, but he had always thought of himself and his own family as moving freely in the interstices, peculiarly exempt, under providence, from strain. now here they were, in such a position that the first stumbling foot might tighten them all into inextricable scandal. it is true that penny, at the last moment, had prevailed on george to put off the relief of his feelings by public repudiation of his political connections, at least until after a conference with the police. and to george's fear that the newspapers would get the news from the police before he had had a chance to repudiate, he had countered with a suggestion, drawn from an item in the private history of the chief--known to him through his father's business--which he felt certain would quicken the chief's sense of the propriety of keeping george's predicament from the press. "my god!" said george in amazement, and martin jaffry had responded fervently with "o lord!" not because it shocked him to think that there might be indiscretions known to the lawyer of a chief of police which the chief might not wish known to the world, but because, with the addition of this new coil to his nephew's affairs, he was suddenly struck with the possibility of still other coils in any one of which the saving element of indiscretion might be wanting. suppose they should come upon one, just one impregnable honesty, one soul whom the fear of exposure left unshaken. on such a possibility rested the exemption of the jaffry-remingtons. it was the reference to e. eliot in his instructions to betty which had awakened in jaffry's mind the disquieting reflection that just here might prove such an impregnability. they probably wouldn't be able to "do anything" with e. eliot simply because she herself had never done anything she was afraid to go to the public about. to do him justice, it never occurred to him that in the case of a lady it was easily possible to invent something which would be made to answer in place of an indiscretion. probably that was martin jaffry's own impregnability--that he wouldn't have lied about a lady to save himself. what he did conclude was that it was just this unbending quality of women, this failure to provide the saving weakness, which unfitted them for political life. he shuddered, seeing the whole fabric of politics fall in ruins around an electorate composed largely of e. eliots, feeling himself stripped of everything that had so far distinguished him from the noonans and the doolittles. out of his sudden need for reinstatement with himself, he raised in his mind the vision of woman as the men of martin jaffry's world conceived her--a tender, enveloping medium in which male complacency, unchecked by any breath of criticism, reaches its perfect flower--the flower whose fruit, eaten in secret and afar from the soil which nourishes it, is graft, corruption and civic incompetence. instinctively his need directed him toward the remington place. mrs. brewster-smith was glad to see him. between george's hurried departure and jaffry's return several of the specters that haunt such women's lives looked boldly in at the window. there was the specter of scandal, as it touched the remingtons, touching that dearest purchase of femininity, social standing; there was the specter of poverty, which threatened from the exposure of the source of her income and the enforcement of the law; nearer and quite as poignant, was the specter of an ignominious retreat from the comfort of george remington's house to her former lodging, which she was shrewd enough to realize would follow close on the return of her cousin's wife. all morning she had beaten off the invisible host with that courage--worthy of a better cause--with which women of her class confront the assaults of reality; and the sight of martin jaffry coming up the broad front walk met her like a warm waft of security. she flung open the door and met him with just that mixture of deference and relief which the situation demanded. she was terribly anxious about poor geneviève, of course, but not so anxious that she couldn't perceive how genevieve's poor uncle had suffered. "what, no breakfast! oh, you poor man! come right out into the dining-room." mrs. brewster-smith might have her limitations, but she was entirely aware of the appeasing effect of an open fire and a spread cloth even when no meal is in sight; she was adept in the art of enveloping tenderness and the extent to which it may be augmented by the pleasing aroma of ham and eggs and the coffee which she made herself. and oh, those _poor_ women, what _disaster_ they were bringing on themselves by their prying into things that were better left to more competent minds, and what pain to _other_ minds! so _selfish_, but of course they didn't realize. really she hoped it would be a lesson to geneviève. the dear girl was so changed that she didn't see how she was going to go on living with her; though, of course, she would like to stand by dear george--and a woman did so appreciate a home! at this point the enveloping tenderness of mrs. brewster-smith concentrated in her fine eyes, just brushed the heart of her listener as with a passing wing, hovered a moment, and dropped demurely to the tablecloth. in the meantime two sorely perplexed citizens were grappling with the problem of the disappearance of two highly respectable women from their homes under circumstances calculated to give the greatest anxiety to faithful "party" men. it hadn't needed penny's professional acquaintance with chief buckley to impress the need of secrecy on that official's soul. "squeal" on noonan or mike the goat? not if he knew himself. naturally mr. remington must have his wife, but at the same time it was important to proceed regularly. "and the day before election, too!" mourned the chief. "lord, what a mess! but keep cool, mr. remington; this will come out all right!" after half an hour of such ineptitudes, penfield evans found it necessary to withdraw his partner from the vicinity of the police before his impatience reached the homicidal pitch. "buckley's no such fool as he sounds," penny advised. "he probably has a pretty good idea where the women are hidden, but you must give him time to tip off mike for a getaway." but the suggestion proved ill chosen, at least so far as it involved a hope of keeping george from the newspapers. shocked to the core of his young egotism as he had been, remington was yet not so shocked that the need of expression was not stronger in him than any more distant consideration. "getaway!" he frothed. "getaway! while a woman like my wife--" but the bare idea was too much for him. "they may get away, but they'll not get off--not a damned one of them--of _us_," he corrected himself, and with face working the popular young candidate for district attorney set off almost on a run for the office of the sentinel. reflecting that if his friend was bent upon official suicide, there was still no reason for his being, a witness to it, penny turned aside into a telephone booth and called up betty sheridan. he heard her jump at the sound of his voice, and the rising breath of relief running into his name. "o-o-oh, penny! yes, about twenty minutes ago. geneviève is with her.... oh, yes, i'm sure." her voice sounded strong and confident. "they're in a house about an hour from the factory," she went on, "among some trees. i'm sure she said trees. we were cut off. no, i couldn't get her again.... yes... it's a party line. in the redfield district. oh, penny, do you think they'll do her any harm?" it was, no doubt, the length of time it took to assure miss sheridan on this point that prevented evans from getting around to the _sentinel_, whose editor was at that moment giving an excellent exhibition of indecision between his obligation as a journalist and his rôle of leading citizen in a town where he met his subscribers at dinner. it was good stuff--oh, it was good! what headlines! prominent society women kidnapped candidate remington repudiates party! it was good for a double evening edition. on the other hand, there was norton, one of his largest advertisers. there was also the rival city of hamilton, which was even now basely attempting to win away from whitewater a recently offered carnegie library on the ground of its superior fitness. finally there was the party. the _sentinel_ had always been a sound party organ. but _what_ a scoop! and suppose it were possible to save the party at the expense of its worst element? suppose they raised the cry of reform and brought remington in on a full tide of public indignation? would mike stand the gaff? if it were made worth his while. but what about noonan and doolittle? so the editorial mind shuttled to and fro amid the confused outpourings of the amazed young candidate, while with eyes bright and considering as a rat's the editor followed remington in his pacings up and down the dusty, littered room. completely occupied with his own reactions, george's repudiation swept on in an angry, rapid stream which, as it spent itself, began to give place to the benumbing consciousness of a divided hearing. until this moment remington had had a pleasant sense of the press as a fine instrument upon which he had played with increasing mastery, a trumpet upon which, as his mind filled with commendable purposes, he could blow a very pretty tune,--a noble tune with now and then a graceful flourish acceptable to the public ear. now as he talked he began to be aware of flatness, of squeaking keys.... "naturally, mr. remington, i'll have to take this up with the business management..." dry-lipped, the tune sputtered out. at this juncture the born journalist awaked again in the editorial breast at the entrance of penfield evans with his new item of betty's interrupted message. two women shut up in a mysterious house among the trees! oh, hot stuff, indeed! under it george rallied, recovered a little of the candidate's manner. "understand," he insisted. "this goes in even if i have to pay for it at advertising rates." a swift pencil raced across the paper as remington's partner swept him off again to the police. betty's call had come a few minutes before ten. what had happened was very simple. the two women had been given breakfast, for which their hands had been momentarily freed. when the bonds had been tied again it had been easy for e. eliot to hold her hands in such a position that she was left, when their keeper withdrew, with a little freedom of movement. by backing up to the knob she had been able to open a door into an adjoining room, in which she had been able to make out a telephone on a stand against the wall. this room also had locked windows and closed shutters, but her quick wit had enabled her to make use of that telephone. shouldering the receiver out of the hook, she had called betty's number, and, with geneviève stooping to listen at the dangling receiver, had called out two or three broken sentences. guarded as their voices had been, however, some one in the house had been attracted by them, and the wire had been cut at some point outside the room. e. eliot and geneviève came to this conclusion after having lost betty and failed to raise any answer to their repeated calls. somebody came and looked in at them through the half-open door, and, seeing them still bound, had gone away again with a short, contemptuous laugh. "no matter," said e. eliot. "betty heard us, and the central office will be able to trace the call." it was because she could depend on betty's intelligence, she went on to say, that she had called her instead of the remington house--for suppose that fool brewster-smith woman had come to the telephone! she and geneviève occupied themselves with their bonds, fumbling back to back for a while, until geneviève had a brilliant idea. kneeling, she bit at the cords which held miss eliot's wrists until they began to give. * * * * * what betty had done intelligently was nothing to what she had done without meaning it. she had been unkind to pudge. young sheridan was in a condition which, according to his own way of looking at it, demanded the utmost kindness. following a too free indulgence in _marrons glacés_ he had been relegated to a diet that reduced him to the extremity of desperation. not only had he been forbidden to eat sweets, but while his soul still longed for its accustomed solace, his stomach refused it, and he was unable to eat a box of candied fruit which he had with the greatest ingenuity secured. and that was the occasion betty took--herself full of nervous starts and mysterious recourse to the telephone behind locked doors--to remind him cruelly that he was getting flabby from staying too much in the house and to recommend a long walk for his good. it was plain that she would stick at nothing to get her brother out of the way, and pudge was cut to the heart. oh, well, he would go for a walk, from which he would probably be brought home a limp and helpless cripple. come to think of it, if he once got started to walk he was not sure he would ever turn back; he would just walk on and on into a kinder environment than this. after all, it is impossible to walk in that fateful way in a crowded city thoroughfare. besides, one passes so many confectioners with their mingled temptation and disgust. pudge rode on the trolley as far as the city limits. here there was softer ground underfoot and a hint of melancholy in the fields. a flock of crows going over gave the appropriate note. off there to the left, set back from the road among dark, crowding trees, stood a mysterious house. pudge always insisted that he had known it for mysterious at the first glance. it had a mansard roof and shutters of a sickly green, all closed; there was not a sign of life about, but smoke issued from one of the chimneys. here was an item potent to raise the sleuth that slumbers in every boy, even in such well-cushioned bosoms as pudge sheridan's. he paused in his walk, fell into an elaborately careless slouch, and tacked across the open country toward the back of the house. here he discovered a considerable yard fenced with high boards that had once been painted the same sickly green as the shutters, and a great buckeye tree just outside, spreading its branches over the corner furthest from the house. toward this post of observation he was drifting with that fine assumption of aimlessness which can be managed on occasion by almost any boy, when he was arrested by a slight but unmistakable shaking of one of the shutters, as though some one from within were trying the fastenings. the shaking stopped after a moment, and then, one after another, the slats of the double leaves were seen to turn and close as though for a secret survey of the field. after a moment or two this performance was repeated at the next window on the left, and finally at a third. here the shaking was resumed after the survey, and ended with the shutter opening with a snap and being caught back from within and held cautiously on the crack. pudge kicked clods in his path and was pretentiously occupied with a dead beetle which he had picked up. all at once something flickered across the ground at his feet, swung two or three times, touched his shoe, traveled up the length of his trousers and rested on his breast. how that bosom leaped to the adventure! he fished hurriedly in his pocket and brought up a small round mirror. it had still attached to its rim a bit of the ribbon by which it had been fastened to his sister's shopping bag, from which, if the truth must be told, he had surreptitiously detached it. pretending to consult it, as though it were some sort of pocket oracle, pudge flashed back, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing a bright fleck of light travel across the shutter. immediately there was a responsive flicker from the window: one, two, three, he counted, and flashed back: one, two, three. pudge's whole being was suffused with delicious thrills. he wished now he had obeyed that oft-experienced presentiment and learned the morse code; it was a thing no man destined for adventure should be without. this wordless interchange went on for a few moments, and then a hand, a woman's hand--o fair, imprisoned ladies of all time!--appeared cautiously at the open shutter, waved and pointed. it pointed toward the buckeye tree. pudge threw a stone in that direction and sauntered after it, pitching and throwing. once at the corner, after a suitable exhibition of casualness, he climbed until he found himself higher than the fence, facing the house. while he was thus occupied, things had been happening there. the shutter had been thrown back and a woman was climbing down by the help of a window ledge below and a pair of knotted window curtains. another woman prepared to follow her, gesticulating forcibly to the other not to wait, but to run. run she did, but it was not until pudge, lying full length on the buckeye bough, reached her a hand that he discovered her to be his sister's friend, geneviève remington. in the interval of her scrambling up by the aid of the bent bough and such help as he could give her, they had neglected to observe the other woman. now, as mrs. remington's heels drummed on the outside of the fence, pudge was aware of some commotion in the direction of the house, and saw miss eliot running toward him, crying: "run, run!" while two men pursued her. she made a desperate jump toward the tree, caught the branch, hung for a moment, lost her hold, and brought pudge ignominiously down in a heap beside her. if miss eliot had not contradicted it, pudge would have believed to his dying day that bullets hurtled through the air; it was so necessary to the dramatic character of the adventure that there should be bullets. he recovered from the shock of his fall in time to hear miss eliot say: "better not touch me, mike; if there's so much as a bruise when my friends find me, you'll get sent up for it." her cool, even tones cut the man's stream of profanity like a knife. he came threateningly close to her, but refrained from laying hands on either of them. meantime his companion drew himself up to the top of the fence for a look over, and dropped back with a gesture intended to be reassuring. pudge rose gloriously to the occasion. "the others have gone back to call the police," he announced. mike spat out an oath at him, but it was easy to see that he was not at all sure that this might not be the case. the possibility that it might be, checked a movement to pursue the fleeing geneviève. miss eliot caught their indecision with a flying shaft. "mrs. george remington," she said, "will probably be in communication with her friends very shortly. and between his wife and his old and dear friend mike it won't take george remington long to choose." this was so obvious that it left the men nothing to say. they fell in surlily on either side of her, and without any show of resistance she walked calmly back toward the house. pudge lingered, uncertain of his cue. "beat it, you putty-face!" mike snarled at him, showing a yellow fang. "if you ain't off the premises in about two shakes, you'll get what's comin' to you. see?" pudge walked with as much dignity as he could muster in the direction of the public road. he could see nothing of mrs. remington in either direction; now and then a private motor whizzed by, but there was no other house near enough to suggest a possibility of calling for help. he concealed himself in a group of black locusts and waited. in about half an hour he heard a car coming from the house with the mansard roof, and saw that it held three occupants, two men and a woman. the men he recognized, and he was certain that the woman, though she was well bundled up, was not e. eliot. the motor turned away from the town and disappeared in the opposite direction. pudge surmised that mike was making his getaway. he waited another half hour and began to be assailed by the pangs of hunger. the house gave no sign; even the smoke from the chimney stopped. he was sure miss eliot was still there; imagination pictured her weltering in her own gore. between fear and curiosity and the saving hope that there might be food of some sort in the house, pudge left his hiding place and began a stealthy approach. he came to the low stoop and crept up to the closed front door. hovering between fear and courage, he knocked. but there was no response. with growing boldness he tried the door. it was locked. the rear door also was bolted; but, creeping on, he found a high side window that the keepers of this prison in their hasty flight had forgotten to close. with the aid of an empty rain barrel, which he overturned and rolled into position, pudge scrambled with much hard breathing through the window and dropped into the kitchen. here he listened; his ears could discern no sound. on tiptoe he crept through the rooms of the first floor--but came upon neither furtive enemy nor imprisoned friend. up the narrow stairway he crept--peeped into three bedrooms--and finally opening the door of what was evidently a storeroom, he found the object of his search. e. eliot sat in an old splint-bottomed chair--gagged, arms tied behind her and to the chair's back, and her ankles tied to the chair's legs. in a moment pudge had the knotted towel out of her mouth, and had cut her bonds. but quick though pudge was, to her he seemed intolerably slow; just then e. eliot was thinking of only one thing. this was the final afternoon of the campaign and she was away out here, far from all the great things that might be going on. she gave a single stretch of her cramped muscles as she rose. "i know you--you're betty sheridan's brother--thanks," she said briskly. "what time is it?" pudge drew out his most esteemed possession, a watch which kept perfect time--except when it refused to keep any time at all. "three o'clock," he announced. "then our last demonstration is under way, and when i tell my story--" e. eliot interrupted herself. "come on--let's catch the trolley!" with pudge panting after her, she hurried downstairs, unbolted the door, and, running lightly on the balls of her feet, sped in the direction of the street car line. chapter xiv. by leroy scott in the meantime, concern and suspense and irruptive wrath had their chief abode in the inner room of remington and evans. george had received a request, through penny evans, from the chief of police to remain in his office, where he could be reached instantly if information concerning geneviève were received, and where his help could instantly be secured were it required; and penny had enlarged that request to the magnitude of a command and had stood by to see that it was obeyed, and himself to give assistance. george had recognized the sense of the order, but he rebelled at the enforced inactivity. where was geneviève?--why wasn't he out doing something for her? he strode about the office, fuming, sick with the suspense and inaction of his rôle. but geneviève was not his unbroken concern. he was still afire with the high resentment which a few hours earlier had made him go striding into the office of the _sentinel_. fragments of his statement to the editor leaped into his mind; and as he strode up and down he repeated phrases silently, but with fierce emphasis of the soul. now and again he paused at his window and looked down into main street. below him was a crowd that was growing in size and disorder: the last afternoon of any campaign in whitewater was exciting enough; much more so were the final hours of this campaign that marked the first entrance of women into politics in whitewater on a scale and with an organized energy that might affect the outcome of the morrow's voting. across the way, mrs. herrington, the fighting blood of five generations of patriots roused in her, had reinstated the voiceless speech within the plate-glass window broken by the stones of that morning and was herself operating it; and, armed with banners, groups of women from the woman's club, the municipal league and the suffrage society were marching up and down the street sidewalks. it was their final demonstration, their last chance to assert the demands of good citizenship--and it had attracted hundreds of curious men, vote-owners, belonging to what, in such periods of political struggle, are referred to on platforms as "our better element." also drifting into main street were groups of voters of less prepossessing aspect--noonan's men, george recognized them to be. these jeered and jostled the marching women and hooted the remarks of the voiceless speech--but the women, disregarding insults and attacks, went on with their silent campaigning. the feeling was high--and george could see, as noonan's men kept drifting into main street, that feeling was growing higher. looking down, george felt an angered exultation. well, his statement in the _sentinel_, due upon the street almost any moment, would answer all these and give them something to think about!--a statement which would make an even greater stir than the declaration which he had issued those many weeks ago, when, fresh from his honeymoon, he had begun his campaign for the district attorneyship.--[illustration: across the way, mrs. herrington, the fighting blood of five generations of patriots roused in her, had reinstated the voiceless speech.] these people below certainly had a jolt coming to them! george's impatient and glowering meditations--the hour was then near four--were broken in upon by several interruptions, which came on him in quick succession, as though detonated by brief-interval time-fuses. the first was the entrance of that straw-haired misspeller of his letters who had succeeded betty sheridan as guardian of the outer office. "mr. doolittle is here," she announced. "he says he wants to see you." "you tell mr. doolittle _i_ don't want to see _him_!" commanded the irritated george. but mr. benjamin doolittle was already seeing his candidate. as political boss of his party, he had little regard for such a formality as being announced to any person on whom he might call--so he had walked through the open door. "well, what d'you want, doolittle?" george demanded aggressively. mr. doolittle's face wore that look of bland solicitude, that unobtrusive partnership in the misfortune of others, which had made him such an admirable and prosperous officiant at the last rites of residents of whitewater. "i just wanted to ask you, george--" he was beginning in his soft, lily-of-the-valley voice, when the telephone on george's desk started ringing. george turned and reached for it, to find that penny had already picked up the instrument. "i'll answer it, george.... hello... mr. remington is here, but is busy; i'll speak for him--i'm mr. evans.... what--it's you! where are you?... stay where you are; i'll come right over for you in my car." "who was that?" demanded george. "geneviève," penny said rapidly, seizing his hat, "and i'm going----" "so am i!" exclaimed george. "not till we've had a little understanding," sharply put in doolittle, blocking his way. "stay here, george," his partner snapped out--"she's perfectly safe--just a little out of breath--telephoned from a drug store over in the red-field district. i'll have her back here in fifteen minutes." and out penny dashed, slamming the door. but perhaps it was the straw-haired successor of betty sheridan who really prevented george from plunging after his partner. "you ordered the _sentinel_ sent up as soon as it was out," she said. "here are six copies." george seized the ink-damp papers, and as the straw-haired one walked out in rubber-heeled silence he turned savagely upon his campaign manager. "well, doolittle?" he demanded. "i just want to ask you, george----" george exploded. "oh, you just want to ask me! well, everything you want to ask me is answered in that paper. read it!" doolittle took the copy of the _sentinel_ which was thrust into his hands. george watched him with triumphant grimness, awaiting the effect of the bomb about to explode in the other's face. mr. doolittle unfolded the _sentinel_--looked it slowly through--then raised his eyes to george. his face seemed somewhat puzzled, but otherwise it was overspread with that sympathetic concern which, as much as his hearse and his folding-chairs, was a part of his professional equipment. "why, george. i don't just get what you're driving at." forgetting that he was holding several copies of the sentinel, george dropped them all upon the floor and seized the paper from mr. doolittle. he glanced swiftly over the first page--and experienced the highest voltage shock of his young public career. feverishly he skimmed the remaining pages. but of all that he had poured out in the office of the _sentinel_, not one word was in print. automatically clutching the paper in a hand that fell to his side, he stared blankly at his campaign manager. mr. doolittle gazed back with his air of sympathetic concern, bewildered questioning in his eyes. and for a space, despite the increasing uproar down in the street, there was a most perfect silence in the inner office of remington and evans. before either of the two men could speak, the door was violently flung open and martin jaffry appeared. his clothing was disarranged, his manner agitated--in striking contrast to the dapper and composed appearance usual to that middle-aged little gentleman. "george," he panted, "heard anything about geneviève?" "she's safe. penny's got charge of her by this time." his answer was almost mechanical. "thank god!" uncle martin collapsed in one of the office chairs. "mind--if sit here minute--get my breath." george did not reply, for he had not heard. he was gazing steadily at mr. doolittle; some great, but as yet shapeless, force was surging up dazingly within him. but he somehow held himself in control. "well, doolittle," he demanded, "you said you came to ask something." mr. doolittle's manner was still propitiatingly bland. "i'll mention something else first, george, if you don't mind. you just remarked i'd find your answer in the _sentinel_. there must 'a' been some little slip-up somewhere. so i guess i better mention first that the _sentinel_ has arranged to stand ready to get out an extra." "an extra! what for?" "principally, george, i reckon to print those answers you just spoke of." george still kept that mounting something under his control. "answers to what?" "why, george," the other replied softly, persuasively. "i guess we'd better have a little chat--as man to man--about politics. meaning no offense, george, stalling is all right in politics--but this time you've carried this stalling act a little too far. as the result of your tactics, george, why here's all this disorder in our streets--and the afternoon before election. if you'd only really tried to stop these messing women----" "i didn't try to stop them by kidnapping them!" burst from george--and uncle martin, his breath recovered, now sat up, clutching his homespun cap. "kidnapping women?" queried the bland, bewildered voice of the party boss. "i say, george, i don't know what you're talking about." "why, you--" but george caught himself. "speak it out, doolittle--what do you want?" "since you ask it so frankly, george, i'll try to put it plain: you been going along handing out high-sounding generalities. there's nothing better and safer than generalities--usually. but this ain't no usual case, george. these women, stirring everything up, have got the solid interests so unsettled that they don't know where they're at--or where you're at. and a lot of boys in the organization feel the same way. what the crisis needs, george, is a plain statement of your intentions as district attorney, which we can get into that _sentinel_ extra and which will reassure the public--and the organization." "a plain statement?" there was a grim set to george's jaw. "oh, it needn't go into too many details. just what you might call a ringing declaration about this being the greatest era of prosperity whitewater has ever known, and that you conceive it to be the duty of your administration to protect and stimulate this prosperity. the people will understand, and the organization will understand. i guess you get what i mean, george." "yes, i get what you mean!" exploded george, his fist crashing upon the table. "you mean you want me to be a complacent accessory to all the legal evasions that you and your political gang and the rich bunch behind you may want to get away with! you want me to be a crook in office! by god, doolittle----" "shut up, remington," snapped the political boss, his soft manner now vanished, his whole aspect now grimly menacing. "i know the rest of what you're going to say. i was pretty certain what it 'ud be before i came here, but i had to know for sure. well, i know now, all right!" his lank jaws snapped again. "since you are not going to represent the people that put you up, i demand your written withdrawal as candidate for the district attorney's office." "and i refuse to give it!" cried george. "i was nominated by a convention, not by you. and i don't believe the party is as crooked as you--anyhow i'm going to give the decent members of the party a chance to vote decently! and you can't remove me from the ballot, either, for the ballot is already printed and----" "that'll do you no----" "i thought some time ago i was through with this political mess," george drove on. "but, doolittle, damn you, i've just begun to get in it! and i'm going to see it through to the finish!" suddenly a thin little figure thrust itself between the bellicose pair and began shaking george's hand. it was martin jaffry. "george--i guess i'm my share of an old scoundrel--and a trimmer--but hearing some one stand up and talk man's talk--" he broke off to shake george's hand again. "i thought you were the king of boobs--but, boy, i'm with you to wherever you want to go--if my money will last that far!" "keep out of this, jaffry," roughly growled doolittle. "it's too late for your dough to help this young pup. remington, we may not take you off the ballot, but the organization kin send out word to the boys----" "to knife me! of course, i expect that! all right--go to it! but i'm on the ballot--you can't deprive people of the chance of voting for me. and i shall announce myself an independent and shall run as one!" "we may not be able to elect our own nominee," harshly continued doolittle, "but we kin send out word to back the democratic candidate. miller ain't much, but, at least, he's a soft man. and that _sentinel_ extra is going to say that a feeling has spread among the respectable element that it has lost confidence in you, and is going to say that prominent party members feel the party has made a mistake in ever putting you up. so run, damn you--run as a democrat, a republican, an independent--but how are you going to git it across to the public in a way to do yourself any good--without backing? how are you going to git it across to the public?" his last words, flung out with overmastering fury, brought george up short, and he saw this. doolittle's wrath had mounted to that pitch which should never be reached by the resentment of a practical politician; it had attained such force that it drove him on to taunt his man. "how are you going to git it before the public?" he again demanded, eyes agleam with triumphant rancor--"with us shutting you off and hammering you on one side?--and them damned messy women across the street hammering you from the other side? oh, it's a grand chance you have--one little old grand chance! especially with those dear damned females loving you like they do! jest take a look at what the bunch over there are doing to you!" doolittle followed his own taunting suggestion; and george, too, glanced through his window across the crowded street into the shattered window whence issued the voiceless speech. in that jagged frame in the raw november air still stood mrs. harvey herrington, turning the giant leaves of her soundless oratory. the heckling request which then struck george's eyes began: "_will candidate remington answer_----" george remington read no more. his already tense figure suddenly stiffened; he caught a sharp breath. then, without a word to the two men with him, he seized his hat and dashed from his office. the street was even more a turbulent human sea, with violently twisting eddies, than had appeared from george's windows. it seemed that every member of the organizations whom mrs. herrington (and also betty sheridan, and later e. eliot, and, at the last, geneviève) had brought into this fight, were now downtown for the supreme effort. and it seemed that there were now more of the so-called "better citizens." certainly there were more of noonan's men, and these were still elbowing and jostling, and making little mass rushes--yet otherwise holding themselves ominously in control. into this milling assemblage george flung himself, so dominated by the fiery urge within him that he did not hear geneviève call to him from penny's car, which just then swung around the corner and came to a sharp stop on the skirts of the crowd. george shouldered his way irresistibly through this mass; the methods of his football days when he had been famed as a line-plunging back instinctively returned--and, all the fine chivalry forgotten which had given to his initial statement to the voters of whitewater so noble a sound, he battered aside many of those "fairest flowers of our civilization, to protect whom it is man's duty and inspiration." his lunging progress followed by curses and startled cries of feminine indignation, he at length emerged upon the opposite sidewalk, and, breathless and disheveled, he burst into the headquarters of the voiceless speech. some half-dozen of mrs. herrington's assistants cried out at his abrupt entrance. mrs. herrington, forward beside the speech, turned quickly about. "mr. remington, you here!" she cried in amazement as he strode toward her. "what--what do you want?" "i want--i want--" gasped george. but instead of finishing his sentence he elbowed mrs. herrington out of the way, shoved past her, and stepped forth in front of the voiceless speech. there, standing in the frame of jagged plate-glass, upon what was equivalent to a platform raised above the crowd, he sent forth a speech which had a voice. "ladies and gentlemen!" he called, raising an imperative hand. the uproar subsided to numerous exclamations, then to surprised silence; even noonan's men checked their disorder at this appearance of their party's candidate. "ladies and gentlemen," and this voiceful speech was loud,--"i'm here to answer the questions of this contrivance behind me. but first let me tell you that though i'm on the ballot as the candidate of the republican party, i do not want the backing of the republican machine. i'm running as an independent, and i shall act as an independent. "here are my answers: "i want to tell you that i shall enforce all the factory laws. "i want to tell you that i shall enforce the laws governing housing conditions--particularly housing conditions in the factory district. "i want to tell you that i shall enforce the laws governing child labor and the laws governing the labor of women. "and i want to tell you that i shall enforce every other law, and shall try to secure the passage of further laws, which will make whitewater a clean, forward-looking city, whose first consideration shall be the welfare of all. "and, ladies and gentlemen--" he shouted, for the hushed voices had begun to rise--"i wish i could address you all as fellow-voters!--i want to tell you that i take back that foolish statement i made at the opening of the campaign. "i want to tell you that i stand for, and shall fight for, equal suffrage! "and i want to tell you that what has brought this change is what some of the women of white-water have shown me--and also some of the things our men politicians have done--our doolittles, our noonans----" but george's speech terminated right there. noise there had been before; now there burst out an uproar, and there came an artillery attack of eggs, vegetables, stones and bricks. one of the bricks struck george on the shoulder and drove him staggering back against the voiceless speech, sending that instrument of silent argument crashing to the floor. regaining his balance, george started furiously back for the window; but mrs. herrington caught his arm. "let me go!" he called, trying to shake her off. but she held on. "don't--you've said enough!" she cried, and pulled him toward the rear of the room. "look!" through the window was coming a heavier fire of impromptu grenades that rolled, spent, at their feet. but what they saw without was far more stirring and important. noonan's men in the crowd, their hoodlumism now unleashed, were bowling over the people about them; but these really constituted noonan's outposts and advance guards. from out of two side streets, though george and mrs. herrington could not see their first appearance upon the scene, noonan's real army now came charging into main street, as per that gentleman's grim instructions to "show them messin' women what it means to mess in politics." hundreds of whitewater's women were flung about, many sent sprawling to the pavement, and some hundreds of the city's most respectable voters, caught unawares, were hustled about and knocked down by the same ruthless drive. "my god!" cried george, impulsively starting forward. "the damned brutes!" but mrs. herrington still held his arm. "come on--they're making a drive for this office!" breathlessly cried the quick-minded lady. "you can do no good here. out the rear way--my car's waiting in the back street." still clutching his sleeve, mrs. herrington opened a door and ran across the back yard of mcmonigal's building in a manner which indicated that that lady had not spent her college years (and similarly spent the years since then propped among embroidered cushions consuming marshmallows and fudge.) the lot crossed, she hurried through a little grocery and thence into the street. here they ran into a party that, seeing the riot on main street and the drive upon the window from which george had spoken, had rushed up reinforcements from the rear--a party consisting of penny, e. eliot, betty sheridan and geneviève. "geneviève!" cried george, and caught her into his arms. "oh, george," she choked. "i--i heard it all--and it--it was simply wonderful!" "george," cried betty sheridan, "i always knew, if you got the right kind of a jolt, you'd be--you'd be what you are!" e. eliot gripped his hand in a clasp almost as strong as george's arm. "mr. remington, if i were a man, i'd like to have the same sort of stuff in me." "george, you old roughneck--" began penny. "george," interrupted geneviève, still chokingly, her protective, wifely instinct now at the fore, "i saw you hit, and we're going to take you straight home----" "cut it all out," interrupted the cultured mrs. herrington. "this isn't mr. remington's honeymoon--nor his college reunion--nor the annual convention of his maiden aunts. this is mr. remington's campaign, and i'm his new campaign manager. and his campaign manager says he's not going away out to his home on sheridan road. his campaign headquarters are going to be in the center of town, at the commercial hotel, where he can be reached--for there's quick work ahead of us. come on." five minutes later they were all in the commercial hotel's best suite. "now, to business, mr. remington," briskly began mrs. herrington. "of course, that was a good speech. but why, in heaven's name, didn't you come out with it before?" "i guess i really didn't know where i stood until today," confessed george, "and today i tried to come out with it." and george went on to recount his experience with the _sentinel_--his scene with doolittle--and doolittle's plan for an extra of the sentinel, which was doubtless then in preparation. "so they've got the _sentinel_ muzzled, have they--and are going to get out an extra repudiating you," mrs. herrington repeated. there came a flash into her quick, dark eyes. "i want our candidate to stay right here--rest up--get his thoughts in order. there are a lot of things to be done. i'll be back in an hour, mr. remington. the rest of you come along--you, too, mrs. remington." mrs. herrington did not altogether keep her word in the matter of time. it was two hours before she was back. to george she handed a bundle of papers, remarking: "thought you'd like to see that _sentinel_ extra." "i suppose doolittle has done his worst," he remarked grimly. he glanced at the paper. his face went loose with bewilderment at what he saw--headlines, big black headlines, bigger and blacker than he had ever before seen in the politically and typographically conservative _sentinel_. he read through a few lines of print, then looked up. "why, it's all here!" he gasped. "the kidnapping of miss eliot and geneviève by noonan's men--my break with doolittle, my denunciation of the party's methods, my coming out as an independent candidate--that riot on main street! how on earth did that ever get into the _sentinel_?" "some straight talk, and quick talk, and the exercise of a little of the art of pressure they say you men exercise," was the prompt reply. "i telephoned mr. ledbetter of the _sentinel_ advising him to hold the extra mr. doolittle had threatened until he heard from mr. wesley norton, proprietor of the norton dry goods store. you know, mr. norton is the _sentinel_'s largest single advertiser and president of the whitewater business men's club. "then a committee of us women called on mr. norton and told him that we'd organize the women of the city and would carry on a boycott campaign against his store--we didn't really put it quite as crudely as that--unless he'd force the _sentinel_ to stop mr. doolittle's lying extra and print your statement. "mr. norton gave in, and telephoned the _sentinel_ that if it didn't do as he said he'd cancel his advertising contract. then, to make sure, we got hold of mr. jaffry, called on mr. ledbetter, who called in the business manager--and your uncle martin told them that unless they printed the truth, and every bit of it, and printed it at once, he was going to put up the money to start an opposition paper that _would print the truth_. that explains the extra 'well'," ejaculated george, still staring, "you certainly are a wonder as a campaign manager!" "oh, i only did my fraction. that miss eliot did as much as i--she's a find--she's going to be one of whitewater's really big women. and betty sheridan, you can't guess how betty's worked--and your wife, mr. remington, she's turning out to be a marvel! "but that's not all," mrs. herrington continued rapidly. "we bought ten thousand copies of that extra for ourselves--your uncle paid for them--and we're going to distribute them in every home in town. when the best element in whitewater read how the women were trampled down by noonan's mob--well, they'll know how to vote! mr. noonan will never guess how much he has helped us." "you seem to have left nothing for me to do," said george. "you'll find out there'll be all you'll want," replied the brisk mrs. herrington. "we're organizing meetings--one in every hall in the city, one on almost every other street corner, and we're going to rush you from one to the next--most of the night--and there'll be no letup for you tomorrow, even if it is election day. yes, you'll find there'll be plenty to do!" the next twenty-four hours were the busiest that george remington had ever known in his twenty-six years. but at nine o'clock the next evening it was over--the tumult and the shouting and the congratulations--and all were gone save only martin jaffry; and district-attorney-elect remington sat in his hotel suite alone in the bosom of his family. he was still dazed by what had happened to him--at the part he had unexpectedly played--dazed by the intense but well-ordered activity of the women: their management of his whirlwind tour of the city; their organization of parades with amazing swiftness; their rapid and complete house-to-house canvass--the work of mrs. herrington, of betty, of that miss eliot, of hundreds of women--and especially of geneviève. he marveled especially at geneviève because he had never thought of geneviève as doing such things. but she _had_ done them--he felt that somehow she was a different geneviève: he didn't know what the difference was--he was in too much of a whirl for analysis--but he had an undefined sense of _aliveness_, of a spirited, joyous initiative in her. she and all the rest seemed so strange as to be unbelievable. and yet, she--and all of it--true!... from dramatic events and intangible qualities of the spirit, his consciousness shifted to material things--his immediate surroundings. not till this blessed moment of relaxation did he become aware of the discomforts of this suite--nor did geneviève fully appreciate the flamboyantly flowered maroon wall-paper and the jig-saw furniture. "george,"' she sighed, "now that you're not needed down here, can't we go home?" "home!" the word came out half snort, half growl--hardly the tone becoming one whose triumph was so exultingly fresh. with a jar he had come back to a present which he fully understood. "damn home! i haven't any home!" geneviève stared. uncle martin snickered, for uncle martin had the gift of understanding. "you mean those flowers of womanhood whom chivalrous man----" "shut up," commanded george. he thought for a brief space; then his jaw set. "excuse me a moment." drawing hotel stationery toward him, he scribbled rapidly and then sealed and addressed what he had written. "uncle martin, your car's outside doing nothing; would you mind going on ahead and giving this little note to cousin alys brewster-smith, and then staying around and having a little supper with geneviève and me? we'll be out soon, but there are a few things i want to talk over with geneviève alone before we come." uncle martin would oblige. but when he had gone, there seemed to be nothing of pressing importance that george had to communicate to geneviève. nor half an hour later, when he led his bride of four months up to their home, had he delivered himself of anything which seemed to require privacy. as they stepped up on the porch, softly lighted by a frosted bulb in its ceiling, cousin emelene, her cat under her arm, came out of the front door and hurried past them, without speech. "why, cousin emelene!" george called after her. she paused and half turned. "you--you--" she half choked upon expletives that would not come forth. "the man will come for my trunks in the morning." thrusting a handkerchief to her face, she hurried away. "george, what can have happened to her?" cried the amazed geneviève. but george was saved answering her just then. another figure had emerged from the front door--a rather largish figure, all in black--her left hand clutching the right hand of a child, aged, possibly, five. and this figure did not cower and hurry away. this figure halted, and glowered. "george remington," exclaimed cousin alys, "after your invitation--you--you apostate to chivalry! that outrageous letter! but if i am leaving your home, thank god i'm leaving it for a home of my own! come on, martin!" with that she stalked away, dragging the sleepy eleanor. not till then did george and geneviève become aware that uncle martin was before them, having until now been obscured by mrs. brewster-smith's outraged amplitude. his arms were loaded with coats, obviously feminine. "uncle martin!" exclaimed george. "george," gulped his uncle--"george--" and then he gained control of a dazed sort of speech. "when i gave her that letter i didn't know it was a letter of eviction. and the way she broke down before me--a woman, you know--i--i--well, george, it's my home she's going to." "you don't mean----" "yes, george, that's just what i mean. though, of course, i'm taking her back now to mrs. gallup's boarding-house until--until--good-night, george; good-night, geneviève." the little man went staggering down the walk with his burden of wraps; and after a minute there came the sound of his six-cylinder roadster buzzing away into the darkness. "i didn't tell 'em they had to go tonight," said george doggedly. "but i did remark that even if every woman had a right to a home, every woman didn't have the right to make my home her home. anyhow," his tone becoming softer, "i've at last got a home of my own. our own," he corrected. he took her in his arms. "and, sweetheart--it's a better home than when we first came to it, for now i've got more sense. now it is a home in which each of us has the right to think and be what we please." * * * * * at just about this same hour just about this same scene was being enacted upon another front porch in whitewater--there being the slight difference that this second porch was not softly illuminated by any frosted globule of incandescence. up the three steps leading to this second porch mr. penfield evans had that moment escorted miss elizabeth sheridan. "good-night, penny," she said. he caught her by her two shoulders. "see here, betty--the last twenty-four hours have been mighty busy hours--too busy even to talk about ourselves. but now--see here, you're not going to get away with any rough work like that. come across, now. will you?" "will i what?" "say, how long do you think you're a paid-up subscriber to this little daily speech of mine?... well, if i've got to hand you another copy, here goes. you promised me, on your word of honor, if george swung around for suffrage, you'd swing around for me. well, george has come around. not that i had much to do with it--but he surely did come around! now, the point is, miss betty sheridan, are you a woman of your promise--are you going to marry me?" "well, if you try to put it that way, demanding your pound of flesh----" "one hundred and twenty pounds," corrected penny. "i'll say that, of course, i don't love you, but i guess a promise is a promise--and--and--" and suddenly a pair of strong young arms were flung about the neck of mr. penfield evans. "oh, i'm so happy, penny dear!" "betty!" after that there was a long silence... silence broken only by that softly sibilant detonation which belongs most properly to the month of june, but confines itself to no season... to a long, long silence born of and blessed by the gods... until one percival sheridan, coming stealthily home from a late debauch at humphrey's drug store, and mounting the steps in the tennis sneakers which were his invariable wear on dry and non-state occasions, bumped into the invisible and unhearing couple. "say, there--" gasped the startled youth, backing away. betty gave an affrighted cry--it was a long swift journey down from where she had just been. her right hand, reaching drowningly out, fell upon a familiar shoulder. "it's pudge!" she cried. "pudge"--shaking him--"snooping around, listening and trying to spy----" "you stop that--it ain't so!" protested the outraged pudge, his utterance throttled down somewhat by the chocolate cream in his mouth. "spying on people! and, besides, you've been stuffing yourself with candy again! you're ruining your stomach with that sticky sweet stuff--you're headed straight for a candy-fiend's grave. now, you go upstairs and to bed!" she jerked him toward the door, opened it, and as he was thrust through the door pudge felt something, something warm, press impulsively against a cheek. not until the door had closed upon him did he realize what betty had done to him. he stood dazed for a moment--unbalanced between impulses. then the sturdy maleness of fourteen rewon its dominance. "guess i know what they was doing, all right--aw, wouldn't it make you sick!" and, in disgust which another chocolate cream alleviated hardly at all, he mounted to his bed. outside there was again silence... faintly disturbed only by that softly sibilant, almost muted percussion which recalls inevitably the month of june.... the end transcriber's note. minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. a list of other changes made, can be found at the end of the book. mark up: _italics_ votes for women a play in three acts by elizabeth robins mills & boon, limited whitcomb street london w. c. court theatre playbill votes for women! a dramatic tract in three acts by elizabeth robins lord john wynnstay mr. athol forde the hon. geoffrey stonor mr. aubrey smith mr. st. john greatorex mr. e. holman clark mr. richard farnborough mr. p. clayton greene mr. freddy tunbridge mr. percy marmont mr. allen trent mr. lewis casson [ ]mr. walker mr. edmund gwenn lady john wynnstay miss maud milton mrs. heriot miss frances ivor miss vida levering miss wynne-matthison [ ]miss beatrice dunbarton miss jean mackinlay mrs. freddy tunbridge miss gertrude burnett miss ernestine blunt miss dorothy minto a working woman miss agnes thomas act i. wynnstay house in hertfordshire. act ii. trafalgar square, london. act iii. eaton square, london. the entire action of the play takes place between sunday noon and six o'clock in the evening of the same day. [ ] in the text these characters have been altered to mr. pilcher and miss jean dunbarton. cast lord john wynnstay lady john wynnstay _his wife_ mrs. heriot _sister of lady john_ miss jean dunbarton _niece to lady john and mrs. heriot_ the hon. geoffrey stonor _unionist m.p. affianced to jean dunbarton_ mr. st. john greatorex _liberal m.p._ the hon. richard farnborough mr. freddy tunbridge mrs. freddy tunbridge mr. allen trent miss ernestine blunt _a suffragette_ mr. pilcher _a working man_ a working woman _and_ miss vida levering persons in the crowd: servants in the two houses. act i wynnstay house in hertfordshire act ii trafalgar square, london act iii eaton square (_entire action of play takes place between sunday noon and six o'clock in the evening of the same day._) act i. the hall of wynnstay house. [illustration: stage setting.] _twelve o'clock sunday morning at end of june._ _action takes place between twelve and six same day._ votes for women act i hall of wynnstay house. _twelve o'clock, sunday morning, end of june. with the rising of the curtain, enter the_ butler. _as he is going, with majestic port, to answer the door_ l., _enter briskly from the garden, by lower french window_, lady john wynnstay, _flushed, and flapping a garden hat to fan herself. she is a pink-cheeked woman of fifty-four, who has plainly been a beauty, keeps her complexion, but is "gone to fat."_ lady john. has miss levering come down yet? butler (_pausing_ c.). i haven't seen her, m'lady. lady john (_almost sharply as_ butler _turns_ l.). i won't have her disturbed if she's resting. (_to herself as she goes to writing-table._) she certainly needs it. butler. yes, m'lady. lady john (_sitting at writing-table, her back to front door_). but i want her to know the moment she comes down that the new plans arrived by the morning post. butler (_pausing nearly at the door_). plans, m'la---- lady john. she'll understand. there they are. (_glancing at the clock._) it's very important she should have them in time to look over before she goes---- (butler _opens the door_ l.) (_over her shoulder._) is that miss levering? butler. no, m'lady. mr. farnborough. [_exit_ butler. (_enter the_ hon. r. farnborough. _he is twenty-six; reddish hair, high-coloured, sanguine, self-important._) farnborough. i'm afraid i'm scandalously early. it didn't take me nearly as long to motor over as lord john said. lady john (_shaking hands_). i'm afraid my husband is no authority on motoring--and he's not home yet from church. farn. it's the greatest luck finding _you_. i thought miss levering was the only person under this roof who was ever allowed to observe sunday as a real day of rest. lady john. if you've come to see miss levering---- farn. is she here? i give you my word i didn't know it. lady john (_unconvinced_). oh? farn. does she come every week-end? lady john. whenever we can get her to. but we've only known her a couple of months. farn. and i have only known her three weeks! lady john, i've come to ask you to help me. lady john (_quickly_). with miss levering? i can't do it! farn. no, no--all that's no good. she only laughs. lady john (_relieved_). ah!--she looks upon you as a boy. farn (_firing up_). such rot! what do you think she said to me in london the other day? lady john. that she was four years older than you? farn. oh, i knew that. no. she said she knew she was all the charming things i'd been saying, but there was only one way to prove it--and that was to marry some one young enough to be her son. she'd noticed that was what the _most_ attractive women did--and she named names. lady john (_laughing_). _you_ were too old! farn. (_nods_). her future husband, she said, was probably just entering eton. lady john. just like her! farn. (_waving the subject away_). no. i wanted to see you about the secretaryship. lady john. you didn't get it, then? farn. no. it's the grief of my life. lady john. oh, if you don't get one you'll get another. farn. but there _is_ only one. lady john. only one vacancy? farn. only one man i'd give my ears to work for. lady john (_smiling_). i remember. farn. (_quickly_). do i always talk about stonor? well, it's a habit people have got into. lady john. i forget, do you know mr. stonor personally, or (_smiling_) are you just dazzled from afar? farn. oh, i know him. the trouble is he doesn't know me. if he did he'd realise he can't be sure of winning his election without my valuable services. lady john. geoffrey stonor's re-election is always a foregone conclusion. farn. that the great man shares that opinion is precisely his weak point. (_smiling._) his only one. lady john. you think because the liberals swept the country the last time---- farn. how can we be sure any conservative seat is safe after---- (_as_ lady john _smiles and turns to her papers._) forgive me, i know you're not interested in politics _qua_ politics. but this concerns geoffrey stonor. lady john. and you count on my being interested in him like all the rest of my sex. farn. (_leans forward_). lady john, i've heard the news. lady john. what news? farn. that your little niece--the scotch heiress--is going to become mrs. geoffrey stonor. lady john. who told you that? farn. please don't mind my knowing. lady john (_visibly perturbed_). she had set her heart upon having a few days with just her family in the secret, before the flood of congratulations breaks loose. farn. oh, that's all right. i always hear things before other people. lady john. well, i must ask you to be good enough to be very circumspect. i wouldn't have my niece think that i---- farn. oh, of course not. lady john. she will be here in an hour. farn. (_jumping up delighted_). what? to-day? the future mrs. stonor! lady john (_harassed_). yes. unfortunately we had one or two people already asked for the week-end---- farn. and i go and invite myself to luncheon! lady john, you can buy me off. i'll promise to remove myself in five minutes if you'll---- lady john. no, the penalty is you shall stay and keep the others amused between church and luncheon, and so leave me free. (_takes up the plan._) only _remember_---- farn. wild horses won't get a hint out of me! i only mentioned it to you because--since we've come back to live in this part of the world you've been so awfully kind--i thought, i hoped maybe you--you'd put in a word for me. lady john. with----? farn. with your nephew that is to be. though i'm _not_ the slavish satellite people make out, you can't doubt---- lady john. oh, i don't doubt. but you know mr. stonor inspires a similar enthusiasm in a good many young---- farn. they haven't studied the situation as i have. they don't know what's at stake. they don't go to that hole dutfield as i did just to hear his friday speech. lady john. ah! but you were rewarded. jean--my niece--wrote me it was "glorious." farn. (_judicially_). well, you know, _i_ was disappointed. he's too content just to criticise, just to make his delicate pungent fun of the men who are grappling--very inadequately, of course--still _grappling_ with the big questions. there's a carrying power (_gets up and faces an imaginary audience_)--some of stonor's friends ought to point it out--there's a driving power in the poorest constructive policy that makes the most brilliant criticism look barren. lady john (_with good-humoured malice_). who told you that? farn. you think there's nothing in it because _i_ say it. but now that he's coming into the family, lord john or somebody really ought to point out--stonor's overdoing his rôle of magnificent security! lady john. i don't see even lord john offering to instruct mr. stonor. farn. 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 public imagination and bring the tories back into power. lady john. so he will. farn. (_hotly_). not if he disappoints meetings--goes calmly up to town--and leaves the field to the liberals. lady john. when did he do anything like that? farn. yesterday! (_with a harassed air._) and now that he's got this other preoccupation---- lady john. you mean---- farn. yes, your niece--that spoilt child of fortune. of course! (_stopping suddenly._) she kept him from the meeting last night. well! (_sits down_) if that's the effect she's going to have it's pretty serious! lady john (_smiling_). _you_ are! farn. i can assure you the election agent's more so. he's simply tearing his hair. lady john (_more gravely and coming nearer_). how do you know? farn. he told me so himself--yesterday. i scraped acquaintance with the agent just to see if--if---- lady john. it's not only here that you manoeuvre for that secretaryship! farn. (_confidentially_). you can never tell when your chance might come! that election chap's promised to keep me posted. (_the door flies open and_ jean dunbarton _rushes in._) jean. aunt ellen--here i---- lady john (_astonished_). my dear child! (_they embrace. enter_ lord john _from the garden--a benevolent, silver-haired despot of sixty-two._) lord john. i thought that was you running up the avenue. (jean _greets her uncle warmly, but all the time she and her aunt talk together. "how did you get here so early?" "i knew you'd be surprised--wasn't it clever of me to manage it? i don't deserve all the credit." "but there isn't any train between----" "yes, wait till i tell you." "you walked in the broiling sun----" "no, no." "you must be dead. why didn't you telegraph? i ordered the carriage to meet the . . didn't you say the . ? yes, i'm sure you did--here's your letter."_) lord j. (_has shaken hands with_ farnborough _and speaks through the torrent_). now they'll tell each other for ten minutes that she's an hour earlier than we expected. (lord john _leads_ farnborough _towards the garden._) farn. the freddy tunbridges said _they_ were coming to you this week. lord j. yes, they're dawdling through the park with the church brigade. farn. oh! (_with a glance back at_ jean.) i'll go and meet them. [_exit_ farnborough. lord j. (_as he turns back_). that discreet young man will get on. lady john (_to_ jean). but _how_ did you get here? jean (_breathless_). "he" motored me down. lady john. geoffrey stonor? (jean _nods_.) why, where is he, then? jean. he dropped me at the end of the avenue and went on to see a supporter about something. lord j. you let him go off like that without---- lady john (_taking_ jean's _two hands_). just tell me, my child, is it all right? jean. my engagement? (_radiantly._) yes, absolutely. lady john. geoffrey stonor isn't going to be--a little too old for you? jean (_laughing_). bless me, am i such a chicken? lady john. twenty-four used not to be so young--but it's become so. jean. yes, we don't grow up so quick. (_gaily._) but on the other hand we _stay_ up longer. lord j. you've got what's vulgarly called "looks," my dear, and that will help to _keep_ you up! jean (_smiling_). i know what uncle john's thinking. but i'm not the only girl who's been left "what's vulgarly called" money. lord j. you're the only one of our immediate circle who's been left so beautifully much. jean. ah, but remember geoffrey could--everybody _knows_ he could have married any one in england. lady john (_faintly ironic_). i'm afraid everybody does know it--not excepting mr. stonor. lord j. well, how spoilt is the great man? jean. not the least little bit in the world. you'll see! he so wants to know my best-beloved relations better. (_another embrace._) an orphan has so few belongings, she has to make the most of them. lord j. (_smiling_). let us hope he'll approve of us on more intimate acquaintance. jean (_firmly_). he will. he's an angel. why, he gets on with my grandfather! lady john. _does_ he? (_teasing._) you mean to say mr. geoffrey stonor isn't just a tiny bit--"superior" about dissenters. jean (_stoutly_). not half as much as uncle john and all the rest of you! my grandfather's been ill again, you know, and rather difficult--bless him! (_radiantly._) but geoffrey---- (_clasps her hands._) lady john. he must have powers of persuasion!--to get that old covenanter to let you come in an abhorred motor-car--on sunday, too! jean (_half whispering_). grandfather didn't know! lady john. didn't know? jean. i honestly meant to come by train. geoffrey met me on my way to the station. we had the most glorious run. oh, aunt ellen, we're so happy! (_embracing her._) i've so looked forward to having you to myself the whole day just to talk to you about---- lord j. (_turning away with affected displeasure_). oh, very well---- jean (_catches him affectionately by the arm_). _you'd_ find it dreffly dull to hear me talk about geoffrey the whole blessed day! lady john. well, till luncheon, my dear, you mustn't mind if i---- (_to_ lord john, _as she goes to writing-table._) miss levering wasn't only tired last night, she was ill. lord j. i thought she looked very white. jean. who is miss---- you don't mean to say there are other people? lady john. one or two. your uncle's responsible for asking that old cynic, st. john greatorex, and i---- jean (_gravely_). mr. greatorex--he's a radical, isn't he? lord j. (_laughing_). _jean!_ beginning to "think in parties"! lady john. it's very natural now that she should---- jean. i only meant it was odd he should be here. naturally at my grandfather's---- lord j. it's all right, my child. of course we expect now that you'll begin to think like geoffrey stonor, and to feel like geoffrey stonor, and to talk like geoffrey stonor. and quite proper too. jean (_smiling_). well, if i do think with my husband and feel with him--as, of course, i shall--it will surprise me if i ever find myself talking a tenth as well---- (_following her uncle to the french window._) you should have heard him at dutfield----(_stopping short, delighted._) oh! the freddy tunbridges. what? not aunt lydia! oh-h! (_looking back reproachfully at_ lady john, _who makes a discreet motion "i couldn't help it."_) (_enter the_ tunbridges. mr. freddy, _of no profession and of independent means. well-groomed, pleasant-looking; of few words. a "nice man" who likes "nice women" and has married one of them._ mrs. freddy _is thirty. an attractive figure, delicate face, intelligent grey eyes, over-sensitive mouth, and naturally curling dust-coloured hair._) mrs. freddy. what a delightful surprise! jean (_shaking hands warmly_). i'm so glad. how d'ye do, mr. freddy? (_enter_ lady john's _sister_, mrs. heriot--_smart, pompous, fifty--followed by_ farnborough.) mrs. heriot. my dear jean! my darling child! jean. how do you do, aunt? mrs. h. (_sotto voce_). _i_ wasn't surprised. i always prophesied---- jean. sh! _please!_ farn. we haven't met since you were in short skirts. i'm dick farnborough. jean. oh, i remember. (_they shake hands._) mrs. f. (_looking round_). not down yet--the elusive one? jean. who is the elusive one? mrs. f. lady john's new friend. lord j. (_to_ jean). oh, i forgot you hadn't seen miss levering; such a nice creature! (_to_ mrs. freddy.)--don't you think? mrs. f. of course i do. you're lucky to get her to come so often. she won't go to other people. lady john. she knows she can rest here. freddy (_who has joined_ lady john _near the writing-table_). what does she do to tire her? lady john. she's been helping my sister and me with a scheme of ours. mrs. h. she certainly knows how to inveigle money out of the men. lady john. it would sound less equivocal, lydia, if you added that the money is to build baths in our shelter for homeless women. mrs. f. homeless women? lady john. yes, in the most insanitary part of soho. freddy. oh--a--really. farn. it doesn't sound quite in miss levering's line! lady john. my dear boy, you know as little about what's in a woman's line as most men. freddy (_laughing_). oh, i say! lord j. (_indulgently to_ mr. freddy _and_ farnborough). philanthropy in a woman like miss levering is a form of restlessness. but she's a _nice_ creature; all she needs is to get some "nice" fella to marry her. mrs. f. (_laughing as she hangs on her husband's arm_). yes, a woman needs a balance wheel--if only to keep her from flying back to town on a hot day like this. lord j. who's proposing anything so---- mrs. f. the elusive one. lord j. not miss---- mrs. f. yes, before luncheon! [_exit_ farnborough _to garden._ lady john. she must be in london by this afternoon, she says. lord j. what for in the name of---- lady john. well, _that_ i didn't ask her. but (_consults watch_) i think i'll just go up and see if she's changed her plans. [_exit_ lady john. lord j. oh, she must be _made_ to. such a nice creature! all she needs---- (_voices outside. enter fussily, talking and gesticulating_, st. john greatorex, _followed by_ miss levering _and_ farnborough. greatorex _is sixty, wealthy, a county magnate, and liberal m.p. he is square, thick-set, square-bearded. his shining bald pate has two strands of coal-black hair trained across his crown from left ear to right and securely pasted there. he has small, twinkling eyes and a reputation for telling good stories after dinner when ladies have left the room. he is carrying a little book for_ miss levering. _she (parasol over shoulder), an attractive, essentially feminine, and rather "smart" woman of thirty-two, with a somewhat foreign grace; the kind of whom men and women alike say, "what's her story? why doesn't she marry?"_) greatorex. i protest! good lord! what are the women of this country coming to? i _protest_ against miss levering being carried off to discuss anything so revolting. bless my soul! what can a woman like you _know_ about it? miss levering (_smiling_). little enough. good morning. great. (_relieved_). i should think so indeed! lord j. (_aside_). you aren't serious about going---- great. (_waggishly breaking in_). we were so happy out there in the summer-house, weren't we? miss l. ideally. great. and to be haled out to talk about public _sanitation_ forsooth! (_hurries after_ miss levering _as she advances to speak to the_ freddys, _&c._) why, god bless my soul, do you realise that's _drains_? miss l. i'm dreadfully afraid it is! (_holds out her hand for the small book_ greatorex _is carrying._) (greatorex _returns_ miss levering's _book open; he has been keeping the place with his finger. she opens it and shuts her handkerchief in._) great. and we in the act of discussing italian literature! perhaps you'll tell me that isn't a more savoury topic for a lady. miss l. but for the tramp population less conducive to savouriness, don't you think, than--baths? great. no, i can't understand this morbid interest in vagrants. _you're_ much too--leave it to the others. jean. what others? great. (_with smiling impertinence_). oh, the sort of woman who smells of indiarubber. the typical english spinster. (_to_ miss levering.) _you_ know--italy's full of her. she never goes anywhere without a mackintosh and a collapsible bath--rubber. when you look at her, it's borne in upon you that she doesn't only smell of rubber. _she's_ rubber too. lord j. (_laughing_). this is my niece, miss jean dunbarton, miss levering. jean. how do you do? (_they shake hands._) great. (_to_ jean). i'm sure _you_ agree with me. jean. about miss levering being too---- great. for that sort of thing--_much_ too---- miss l. what a pity you've exhausted the more eloquent adjectives. great. but i haven't! miss l. well, you can't say to me as you did to mrs. freddy: "you're too young and too happily married--and too----" (_glances round smiling at_ mrs. freddy, _who, oblivious, is laughing and talking to her husband and_ mrs. heriot.) jean. for what was mrs. freddy too happily married and all the rest? miss l. (_lightly_). mr. greatorex was repudiating the horrid rumour that mrs. freddy had been speaking in public; about women's trade unions--wasn't that what you said, mrs. heriot? lord j. (_chuckling_). yes, it isn't made up as carefully as your aunt's parties usually are. here we've got greatorex (_takes his arm_) who hates political women, and we've got in that mild and inoffensive-looking little lady---- (_motion over his shoulder towards_ mrs. freddy.) great. (_shrinking down stage in comic terror_). you don't mean she's _really_---- jean (_simultaneously and gaily rising_). oh, and you've got me! lord j. (_with genial affection_). my dear child, he doesn't hate the charming wives and sweethearts who help to win seats. (jean _makes her uncle a discreet little signal of warning._) miss l. mr. greatorex objects only to the unsexed creatures who--a---- lord j. (_hastily to cover up his slip_). yes, yes, who want to act independently of men. miss l. vote, and do silly things of that sort. lord j. (_with enthusiasm_). exactly. mrs. h. it will be a long time before we hear any more of _that_ nonsense. jean. you mean that rowdy scene in the house of commons? mrs. h. yes. no decent woman will be able to say "suffrage" without blushing for another generation, thank heaven! miss l. (_smiling_). oh? i understood that so little i almost imagined people were more stirred up about it than they'd ever been before. great. (_with a quizzical affectation of gallantry_). not people like you. miss l. (_teasingly_). how do you know? great. (_with a start_). god bless my soul! lord j. she's saying that only to get a rise out of you. great. ah, yes, your frocks aren't serious enough. miss l. i'm told it's an exploded notion that the suffrage women are all dowdy and dull. great. don't you believe it! miss l. well, of course we know you've been an authority on the subject for--let's see, how many years is it you've kept the house in roars whenever woman's rights are mentioned? great. (_flattered but not entirely comfortable_). oh, as long as i've known anything about politics there have been a few discontented old maids and hungry widows---- miss l. "a few!" that's really rather forbearing of you, mr. greatorex. i'm afraid the number of the discontented and the hungry was , --among the mill operatives alone. (_hastily._) at least the papers said so, didn't they? great. oh, don't ask me; that kind of woman doesn't interest me, i'm afraid. only i am able to point out to the people who lose their heads and seem inclined to treat the phenomenon seriously that there's absolutely nothing new in it. there have been women for the last forty years who haven't had anything more pressing to do than petition parliament. miss l. (_reflectively_). and that's as far as they've got. lord j. (_turning on his heel_). it's as far as they'll ever get. (_meets the group up_ r. _coming down._) miss l. (_chaffing_ greatorex). let me see, wasn't a deputation sent to you not long ago? (_sits_ c.) great. h'm! (_irritably._) yes, yes. miss l. (_as though she has just recalled the circumstances_). oh, yes, i remember. i thought at the time, in my modest way, it was nothing short of heroic of them to go asking audience of their arch opponent. great. (_stoutly_). it didn't come off. miss l. (_innocently_). oh! i thought they insisted on bearding the lion in his den. great. of course i wasn't going to be bothered with a lot of---- miss l. you don't mean you refused to go out and face them! great. (_with 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. miss l. (_smiling_). well, did he get back alive? great. yes, but he advised me not to go. "you're quite right," he said. "don't you think of bothering," he said. "i've looked over the lot," he said, "and there isn't a week-ender among 'em." jean (_gaily precipitates herself into the conversation_). you remember mrs. freddy's friend who came to tea here in the winter? (_to_ greatorex.) he was a member of parliament too--quite a little young one--he said women would never be respected till they had the vote! (greatorex _snorts, the other men smile and all the women except_ mrs. heriot.) mrs. h. (_sniffing_). i remember telling him that he was too young to know what he was talking about. lord j. yes, i'm afraid you all sat on the poor gentleman. lady john (_entering_). oh, _there_ you are! (_greets_ miss levering.) jean. it was such fun. he was flat as a pancake when we'd done with him. aunt ellen told him with her most distinguished air she didn't want to be "respected." mrs. f. (_with a little laugh of remonstrance_). my _dear_ lady john! farn. quite right! awful idea to think you're _respected_! miss l. (_smiling_). simply revolting. lady john (_at writing-table_). now, you frivolous people, go away. we've only got a few minutes to talk over the terms of the late mr. soper's munificence before the carriage comes for miss levering---- mrs. f. (_to_ farnborough). did you know she'd got that old horror to give lady john £ , for her charity before he died? mrs. f. who got him to? lady john. miss levering. he wouldn't do it for me, but she brought him round. freddy. yes. bah-ee jove! i expect so. mrs. f. (_turning enthusiastically to her husband_). isn't she wonderful? lord j. (_aside_). nice creature. all she needs is---- (mr. _and_ mrs. freddy _and_ farnborough _stroll off to the garden._ lady john _on far side of the writing-table._ mrs. heriot _at the top._ jean _and_ lord john, l.) great. (_on divan_ c., _aside to_ miss levering). too "wonderful" to waste your time on the wrong people. miss l. i shall waste less of my time after this. great. i'm relieved to hear it. i can't see you wheedling money for shelters and rot of that sort out of retired grocers. miss l. you see, you call it rot. we couldn't have got £ , out of _you_. great. (_very low_). i'm not sure. (miss levering _looks at him._) great. if i gave you that much--for your little projects--what would you give me? miss l. (_speaking quietly_). soper didn't ask that. great. (_horrified_). soper! i should think not! lord j. (_turning to_ miss levering). soper? you two still talking soper? how flattered the old beggar'd be! lord j. (_lower_). did you hear what 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 in heaven_." (greatorex _and_ lord john _go off laughing._) lady john (_to miss levering_). sit over there, my dear. (_indicating chair in front of writing-table._) you needn't stay, jean. this won't interest you. miss l. (_in the tone of one agreeing_). it's only an effort to meet the greatest evil in the world? jean (_pausing as she's following the others_). what do you call the greatest evil in the world? (_looks pass between_ mrs. heriot _and_ lady john.) miss l. (_without emphasis_). the helplessness of women. (jean _stands still._) lady john (_rising and putting her arm about the girl's shoulder_). jean, darling, i know you can think of nothing but (_aside_) _him_--so just go and---- jean (_brightly_). indeed, indeed, i can think of everything better than i ever did before. he has lit up everything for me--made everything vivider, more--more significant. miss l. (_turning round_). who has? jean. oh, yes, i don't care about other things less but a thousand times more. lady john. you _are_ in love. miss l. oh, that's it! (_smiling at_ jean.) i congratulate you. lady john (_returning to the outspread plan_). well--_this_, you see, obviates the difficulty you raised. miss l. yes, quite. mrs. h. but it's going to cost a great deal more. miss l. it's worth it. mrs. h. we'll have nothing left for the organ at st. pilgrim's. lady john. my dear lydia, we're putting the organ aside. mrs. h. (_with asperity_). we can't afford to "put aside" the elevating effect of music. lady john. what we must make for, first, is the cheap and humanely conducted lodging-house. mrs. h. there are several of those already, but poor st. pilgrim's---- miss l. there are none for the poorest women. lady john. no, even the excellent soper was for multiplying rowton houses. you can never get men to realise--you can't always get women---- miss l. it's the work least able to wait. mrs. h. i don't agree with you, and i happen to have spent a great deal of my life in works of charity. miss l. ah, then you'll be interested in the girl i saw dying in a tramp ward a little while ago. _glad_ her cough was worse--only she mustn't die before her father. two reasons. nobody but her to keep the old man out of the workhouse--and "father is so proud." if she died first, he would starve; worst of all he might hear what had happened up in london to his girl. mrs. h. she didn't say, i suppose, how she happened to fall so low. miss l. yes, she had been in service. she lost the train back one sunday night and was too terrified of her employer to dare ring him up after hours. the wrong person found her crying on the platform. mrs. h. she should have gone to one of the friendly societies. miss l. at eleven at night? mrs. h. and there are the rescue leagues. i myself have been connected with one for twenty years---- miss l. (_reflectively_). "twenty years!" always arriving "after the train's gone"--after the girl and the wrong person have got to the journey's end. (mrs. heriot's _eyes flash._) jean. where is she now? lady john. never mind. miss l. two nights ago she was waiting at a street corner in the rain. mrs. h. near a public-house, i suppose. miss l. yes, a sort of "public-house." she was plainly dying--she was told she shouldn'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 pennies silvered over to look like half-crowns. mrs. h. i don't believe that story. it's just the sort of thing some sensation-monger trumps up--now, who tells you such---- miss l. several credible people. i didn't believe them till---- jean. till----? miss l. till last week i saw for myself. lady john. _saw?_ where? miss l. in a low lodging-house not a hundred yards from the church you want a new organ for. mrs. h. how did _you_ happen to be there? miss l. i was on a pilgrimage. jean. a pilgrimage? miss l. into the underworld. lady john. _you_ went? jean. how _could_ you? miss l. i put on an old gown and a tawdry hat---- (_turns to_ lady john.) you'll never know how many things are hidden from a woman in good clothes. the bold, free look of a man at a woman he believes to be destitute--you must _feel_ that look on you before you can understand--a good half of history. mrs. h. (_rises_). jean!---- jean. but where did you go--dressed like that? miss l. down among the homeless women--on a wet night looking for shelter. lady john (_hastily_). no wonder you've been ill. jean (_under breath_). and it's like that? miss l. no. jean. no? miss l. it's so much worse i dare not tell about it--even if you weren't here i couldn't. mrs. h. (_to_ jean). you needn't suppose, darling, that those wretched creatures feel it as we would. miss l. the girls who need shelter and work aren't all serving-maids. mrs. h. (_with an involuntary flash_). we know that all the women who--_make mistakes_ aren't. miss l. (_steadily_). that is why every woman ought to take an interest in this--every girl too. jean yes--oh, yes! (_simultaneously_) lady john no. this is a matter for us older---- mrs. h. (_with an air of sly challenge_). or for a person who has some special knowledge. (_significantly._) _we_ can't pretend to have access to such sources of information as miss levering. miss l. (_meeting_ mrs. heriot's _eye steadily_). yes, for i can give you access. as you seem to think, i have some first-hand knowledge about homeless girls. lady john (_cheerfully turning it aside_). well, my dear, it will all come in convenient. (_tapping the plan._) miss l. it once happened to me to take offence at an 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---- lady john (_for_ jean's _benefit_). that was ill-advised. mrs. h. of course, if a girl does _that_---- miss l. that was what all my relations said (_with a glance at_ jean), and i couldn't explain. jean. not to your mother? miss l. she was dead. i went to london to a small hotel and tried to find employment. i wandered about all day and every day from agency to agency. i was supposed to be educated. i'd been brought up partly in paris; i could play several instruments, and sing little songs in four different tongues. (_slight pause._) jean. did nobody want you to teach french or sing the little songs? miss l. the heads of schools thought me too young. there were people ready to listen to my singing, but the terms--they were too hard. soon my money was gone. i began to pawn my trinkets. _they_ went. jean. and still no work? miss l. no; but by that time i had some real education--an unpaid hotel bill, and not a shilling in the world. (_slight pause._) some girls think it hardship to have to earn their living. the horror is not to be allowed to---- jean. (_bending forward_). what happened? lady john (_rises_). my dear (_to_ miss levering), have your things been sent down? are you quite ready? miss l. yes, all but my hat. jean. well? miss l. well, by chance i met a friend of my family. jean. that was lucky. miss l. i thought so. he was nearly ten years older than i. he said he wanted to help me. (_pause._) jean. and didn't he? (lady john _lays her hand on_ miss levering's _shoulder._) miss l. perhaps after all he did. (_with sudden change of tone._) why do i waste time over myself? i belonged to the little class of armed women. my body wasn't born 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 the possible fate of homeless girls. i found there were pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our great rich london--and not one single place where destitute women can be sure of 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 stands spreading out wide arms. jean. no, no---- mrs. h. (_gathering up her gloves, fan, prayer-book, &c._). even when it's built--you'll see! many of those creatures will prefer the life they lead. they _like_ it. miss l. a woman told me--one of the sort that knows--told me many of them "like it" so much that they are indifferent to the risk of being sent to prison. "_it gives them a rest_," she said. lady john. a rest! (miss levering _glances at the clock as she rises to go upstairs._) (lady john _and_ mrs. heriot _bend their heads over the plan, covertly talking._) jean (_intercepting_ miss levering). i want to begin to understand something of--i'm horribly ignorant. miss l. (_looks at her searchingly_). i'm a rather busy person---- jean. (_interrupting_). i have a quite special reason for wanting _not_ to be ignorant. (_impulsively_). i'll go to town to-morrow, if you'll come and lunch with me. miss l. thank you--i (_catches_ mrs. heriot's _eye_)--i must go and put my hat on. [_exit upstairs._ mrs. h. (_aside_). how little she minds all these horrors! lady john. they turn me cold. ugh! (_rising, harassed._) i wonder if she's signed the visitors' book! mrs. h. for all her shelter schemes, she's a hard woman. jean. miss levering is? mrs. h. oh, of course _you_ won't think so. she has angled very adroitly for your sympathy. jean. she doesn't look hard. lady john (_glancing at_ jean _and taking alarm_). i'm not sure but what she does. her mouth--always like this ... as if she were holding back something by main force! mrs. h. (_half under her breath_). well, so she is. [_exit_ lady john _into the lobby to look at the visitors' book._ jean. why haven't i seen her before? mrs. h. oh, she's lived abroad. (_debating with herself._) you don't know about her, i suppose? jean. i don't know how aunt ellen came to know her. mrs. h. that was my doing. but i didn't bargain for her being introduced to you. jean. she seems to go everywhere. and why shouldn't she? mrs. h. (_quickly_). you mustn't ask her to eaton square. jean. i have. mrs. h. then you'll have to get out of it. jean (_with a stubborn look_). i must have a reason. and a very good reason. mrs. h. well, it's not a thing i should have preferred to tell you, but i know how difficult you are to guide ... so i suppose you'll have to know. (_lowering her voice._) it was ten or twelve years ago. i found her horribly ill in a lonely welsh farmhouse. we had taken the manor for that august. the farmer's wife was frightened, and begged me to go and see what i thought. i soon saw how it was--i thought she was dying. jean. _dying!_ what was the---- mrs. h. i got no more out of her than the farmer's wife did. she had had no letters. 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. the farmer and his wife, highly respectable people, were incensed. they were for turning the girl out. jean. _oh!_ but---- mrs. h. yes. pitiless some of these people are! i insisted they should treat the girl humanely, and we became friends ... that is, "sort of." in spite of all i did for her---- jean. what did you do? mrs. h. i--i've told you, and i lent her money. no small sum either. jean. has she never paid it back? mrs. h. oh, yes, after a time. but i _always_ kept her secret--as much as i knew of it. jean. but you've been telling me! mrs. h. that was my duty--and i _never_ had her full confidence. jean. wasn't it natural she---- mrs. h. well, all things considered, she might have wanted to tell me who was responsible. jean. oh! aunt lydia! mrs. h. all she ever said was that she was ashamed--(_losing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor_)--ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not the original temptation but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she said. jean (_wrinkling her brows_). you are being so delicate--i'm not sure i understand. mrs. h. (_irritably_). the only thing you need understand is that she's not a desirable companion for a young girl. (_pause._) jean. when did you see her after--after---- mrs. h. (_with a slight grimace_). i met her last winter at the bishop's. (_hurriedly._) she's a connection of his wife's. they'd got her to help with some of their work. then she took hold of ours. your aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and i'm debarred from taking any steps, at least till the shelter is out of hand. jean. i do rather wonder she can bring herself to talk about--the unfortunate women of the world. mrs. h. the effrontery of it! jean. or ... the courage! (_puts her hand up to her throat as if the sentence had caught there._) mrs. h. 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 about her, especially as you're old enough now to know something about life---- jean (_slowly_).--and since a girl needn't be very old to suffer for her ignorance. (_moves a little away._) i _felt_ she was rather wonderful. mrs. h. _wonderful!_ jean (_pausing_). ... to have lived through _that_ when she was ... how old? mrs. h. (_rising_). oh, nineteen or thereabouts. jean. five years younger than i. to be abandoned and to come out of it like this! mrs. h. (_laying her hand on the girl's shoulder_). it was too bad to have to tell you such a sordid story to-day of all days. jean. it is a very terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. i feel very sorry to-day for women who aren't happy. (_motor horn heard faintly._) (_jumping up._) that's geoffrey! mrs. h. mr. stonor! what makes you think...? jean. yes, yes. i'm sure, i'm sure---- (_checks herself as she is flying off. turns and sees_ lord john _entering from the garden._) (_motor horn louder._) lord j. who do you think is motoring up the drive? jean (_catching hold of him_). oh, dear! how am i ever going to be able to behave like a girl who isn't engaged to the only man in the world worth marrying? mrs. h. you were expecting mr. stonor all the time! jean. he promised he'd come to luncheon if it was humanly possible; but i was afraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented. lord j. (_laughing as he crosses to the lobby_). you felt we couldn't have borne the disappointment. jean. i felt i couldn't. (_the lobby door opens._ lady john _appears radiant, followed by a tall figure in a dust-coat, &c., no goggles. he has straight, firm features, a little blunt; fair skin, high-coloured; fine, straight hair, very fair; grey eyes, set somewhat prominently and heavy when not interested; lips full, but firmly moulded._ geoffrey stonor _is heavier than a man of forty should be, but otherwise in the pink of physical condition. the_ footman _stands waiting to help him off with his motor coat._) lady john. here's an agreeable surprise! (jean _has gone forward only a step, and stands smiling at the approaching figure._) lord j. how do you do? (_as he comes between them and briskly shakes hands with_ stonor.) (farnborough _appears at the french window_.) farn. yes, by jove! (_turning to the others clustered round the window._) what gigantic luck! (_those outside crane and glance, and then elaborately turn their backs and pretend to be talking among themselves, but betray as far as manners permit the enormous sensation the arrival has created._) stonor. how do you do? (_shakes hands with_ mrs. heriot, _who has rushed up to him with both hers outstretched. he crosses to_ jean, _who meets him half way; they shake hands, smiling into each other's eyes._) jean. such a long time since we met! lord j. (_to_ stonor). you're growing very enterprising. i could hardly believe my ears when i heard you'd motored all the way from town to see a supporter on sunday. stonor. i don't know how we covered the ground in the old days. (_to_ lady john.) 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 after the thing we want. (_smiles at_ jean.) jean. sh! (_smiles and then glances over her shoulder and speaks low._) all sorts of irrelevant people here. farn. (_unable to resist the temptation, comes forward_). how do you do, mr. stonor? stonor. oh--how d'you do. farn. some of them were arguing in the smoking-room last night whether it didn't hurt a man's chances going about in a motor. lord j. yes, we've been hearing a lot of stories about the unpopularity of motor-cars--among the class that hasn't got 'em, of course. what do you say? lady john. i'm sure you gain more votes by being able to reach so many more of your constituency than we used---- stonor. well, i don't know--i've sometimes wondered whether the charm of our presence wasn't counterbalanced by the way we tear about smothering our fellow-beings in dust and running down their pigs and chickens, not to speak of their children. lord j. (_anxiously_). what on the whole are the prospects? (farnborough _cranes forward_.) stonor (_gravely_). we shall have to work harder than we realised. farn. ah! (_retires towards group._) jean (_in a half-aside as she slips her arm in her uncle's and smiles at_ geoffrey). he says he believes i'll be able to make a real difference to his chances. isn't it angelic of him? stonor (_in a jocular tone_). angelic? macchiavelian. i pin all my hopes on your being able to counteract the pernicious influence of my opponent's glib wife. jean. you want me to have a _real_ share in it all, don't you, geoffrey? stonor (_smiling into her eyes_). of course i do. (farnborough _drops down again on pretence of talking to_ mrs. heriot.) lord j. i don't gather you're altogether sanguine. any complication? (jean _and_ lady john _stand close together_ (c.), _the girl radiant, following_ stonor _with her eyes and whispering to the sympathetic elder woman._) stonor. well (_taking sunday paper out of pocket_), there's this agitation about the woman question. oddly enough, it seems likely to affect the issue. lord j. why should it? can't you do what the other four hundred have done? stonor (_laughs_). easily. but, you see, the mere fact that four hundred and twenty members have been worried into promising support--and then once in the house have let the matter severely alone---- lord j. (_to_ stonor). let it alone! bless my soul, i should think so indeed. stonor. of course. only it's a device that's somewhat worn. (_enter_ miss levering, _with hat on; gloves and veil in her hand._) lord j. still if they think they're getting a future cabinet minister on their side---- stonor. ... it will be sufficiently embarrassing for the cabinet minister. (stonor _turns to speak to_ jean. _stops dead seeing_ miss levering.) jean (_smiling_). you know one another? miss l. (_looking at_ stonor _with intentness but quite calmly_). everybody in this part of the world knows mr. stonor, but he doesn't know me. lord j. miss levering. (_they bow._) (_enter_ greatorex, _sidling in with an air of giving_ mrs. freddy _a wide berth._) jean (_to_ miss levering _with artless enthusiasm_). oh, have you been hearing him speak? miss l. yes, i was visiting some relations near dutfield. they took me to hear you. stonor. oh--the night the suffragettes made their customary row. miss l. the night they asked you---- stonor (_flying at the first chance of distraction, shakes hands with_ mrs. freddy). well, mrs. freddy, what do you think of your friends now? mrs. f. my friends? stonor (_offering her the sunday paper_). yes, the disorderly women. mrs. f. (_with dignity_). they are not my friends, but i don't think you must call them---- stonor. why not? (_laughs._) i can forgive them for worrying the late government. but they _are_ disorderly. miss l. (_quietly_). isn't the phrase consecrated to a different class? great. (_who has got hold of the sunday paper_). he's perfectly right. how do you do? disorderly women! that's what they are! farn. (_reading over his shoulder_). ought to be locked up! every one of 'em. great. (_assenting angrily_). public nuisances! going about with dog whips and spitting in policemen's faces. mrs. f. (_with a harassed air_). i wonder if they did spit? great. (_exulting_). of _course_ they did. mrs. f. (_turns on him_). you're no authority on what they do. _you_ run away. great. (_trying to turn the laugh_). run away? yes. (_backing a few paces._) and if ever i muster up courage to come back, it will be to vote for better manners in public life, not worse than we have already. mrs. f. (_meekly_). so should i. don't think that _i_ defend the suffragette methods. jean. (_with cheerful curiosity_). still, you _are_ an advocate of the suffrage, aren't you? mrs. f. _here?_ (_shrugs._) i don't beat the air. great. (_mocking_). only policemen. mrs. f. (_plaintively_). if you cared to know the attitude of the real workers in the reform, you might have noticed in any paper last week we lost no time in dissociating ourselves from the little group of hysterical---- (_catches her husband's eye, and instantly checks her flow of words._) mrs. h. they have lowered the whole sex in the eyes of the entire world. jean (_joining_ geoffrey stonor). i can't quite see what they want--those suffragettes. great. notoriety. farn. what they want? a good thrashin'--that's what i'd give 'em. miss l. (_murmurs_). spirited fellow! lord j. well, there's one sure thing--they've dished their goose. (greatorex _chuckles, still reading the account._) i believe these silly scenes are a pure joy to you. great. final death-blow to the whole silly business! jean (_mystified, looking from one to the other_). the suffragettes don't seem to _know_ they're dead. great. they still keep up a sort of death-rattle. but they've done for themselves. jean (_clasping her hands with fervour_). oh, i hope they'll last till the election's over. farn. (_stares_). why? jean. oh, we want them to get the working man to--(_stumbling and a little confused_)--to vote for ... the conservative candidate. isn't that so? (_looking round for help. general laughter._) lord j. fancy, jean----! great. the working man's a good deal of an ass, but even he won't listen to---- jean (_again appealing to the silent_ stonor). but he _does_ listen like anything! i asked why there were so few at the long mitcham meeting, and i was told, "oh, they've all gone to hear miss----" stonor. just for a lark, that was. lord j. it has no real effect on the vote. great. not the smallest. jean (_wide-eyed, to_ stonor). why, i thought you said---- stonor (_hastily, rubbing his hand over the lower part of his face and speaking quickly_). i've a notion a little soap and water wouldn't do me any harm. lord j. i'll take you up. you know freddy tunbridge. (stonor _pauses to shake hands. exeunt all three._) jean (_perplexed, as_ stonor _turns away, says to_ greatorex). well, if women are of no importance in politics, it isn't for the reason you gave. there is now and then a week-ender among them. great. (_shuffles about uneasily_). hm--hm. (_finds himself near_ mrs. freddy.) lord! the perils that beset the feet of man! (_with an air of comic caution, moves away_, l.) jean (_to_ farnborough, _aside, laughing_). why does he behave like that? farn. his moral sense is shocked. jean. why, i saw him and mrs. freddy together at the french play the other night--as thick as thieves. miss l. ah, that was before he knew her revolting views. jean. what revolting views? great. sh! sunday. (_as_ greatorex _sidles cautiously further away._) jean (_laughing in spite of herself_). i can't believe women are so helpless when i see men so afraid of them. great. the great mistake was in teaching them to read and write. jean (_over_ miss levering's _shoulder, whispers_). _say_ something. miss l. (_to_ greatorex, _smiling_). oh no, that wasn't the worst mistake. great. yes, it was. miss l. no. believe me. the mistake was in letting women learn to talk. great. _ah!_ (_wheels about with sudden rapture._) i see now what's to be the next great reform. miss l. (_holding up the little volume_). when women are all dumb, no more discussions of the "paradiso." great. (_with a gesture of mock rapture_). the thing itself! (_aside._) that's a great deal better than talking about it, as i'm sure _you_ know. miss l. why do you think i know? great. only the plain women are in any doubt. (jean _joins_ miss levering.) great. wait for me, farnborough. i cannot go about unprotected. [_exeunt_ farnborough _and_ greatorex. mrs. f. it's true what that old cynic says. the scene in the house has put back the reform a generation. jean. i wish 'd been there. mrs. f. i _was_. jean. oh, was it like the papers said? mrs. f. worse. i've never been so moved in public. no tragedy, no great opera ever gripped an audience as the situation in the house did that night. there we all sat breathless--with everything more favourable to us than it had been within the memory of women. another five minutes and the resolution would have passed. then ... all in a moment---- lady john (_to_ mrs. heriot). listen--they're talking about the female hooligans. mrs. h. no, thank you! (_sits apart with the "church times."_) mrs. f. (_excitedly_). all in a moment a horrible dingy little flag was poked through the grille of the woman's gallery--cries--insults--scuffling--the police--the ignominious turning out of the women--_us_ as well as the---- oh, i can't _think_ of it without---- (_jumps up and walks to and fro._) (_pauses._) then the next morning! the people gloating. our friends antagonised--people who were wavering--nearly won over--all thrown back--heart breaking! even my husband! freddy's been an angel about letting me take my share when i felt i must--but of course i've always known he doesn't really like it. it makes him shy. i'm sure it gives him a horrid twist inside when he sees my name among the speakers on the placards. but he's always been an angel about it before this. after the disgraceful scene he said, "it just shows how unfit women are for any sort of coherent thinking or concerted action." jean. to think that it should be women who've given the cause the worst blow it ever had! mrs. f. the work of forty years destroyed in five minutes! jean. they must have felt pretty sick when they woke up the next morning--the suffragettes. mrs. f. i don't waste any sympathy on _them_. i'm thinking of the penalty _all_ women have to pay because a handful of hysterical---- jean. still i think i'm sorry for them. it must be dreadful to find you've done such a lot of harm to the thing you care most about in the world. miss l. do you picture the suffragettes sitting in sackcloth? mrs. f. well, they can't help realising _now_ what they've done. miss l. (_quietly_). isn't it just possible they realise they've waked up interest in the woman question so that it's advertised in every paper and discussed in every house 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 ten days since the scene, than in the ten years before it? mrs. f. you aren't saying you think it was a good way to get what they wanted? miss l. (_shrugs_). i'm only pointing out that it seems not such a bad way to get it known they _do_ want something--and (_smiling_) "want it bad." jean (_getting up_). didn't mr. greatorex say women had been politely petitioning parliament for forty years? miss l. and men have only laughed. jean. but they'd come round. (_she looks from one to the other._) mrs. tunbridge says, before that horrid scene, everything was favourable at last. miss l. at last? hadn't it been just as "favourable" before? mrs. f. no. we'd never had so many members pledged to our side. miss l. i thought i'd heard somebody say the bill had got as far as that, time and time again. jean. oh no. surely not---- mrs. f. (_reluctantly_). y-yes. this was only a resolution. the bill passed a second reading thirty-seven years ago. jean (_with wide eyes_). and what difference did it make? miss l. the men laughed rather louder. mrs. f. oh, it's got as far as a second reading several times--but we never had so many friends in the house before---- miss l. (_with a faint smile_). "friends!" jean. why do you say it like that? miss l. perhaps because i was thinking of a funny story--he said it was funny--a liberal whip told me the other day. a radical member went out of the house after his speech in favour of the woman's bill, and as he came back half an hour later, he heard some members talking in the lobby about the astonishing number who were going to vote for the measure. and the friend of woman dropped his jaw and clutched the man next him: "my god!" he said, "you don't mean to say they're going to give it to them!" jean. oh! mrs. f. you don't think all men in parliament are like that! miss l. i don't think all men are burglars, but i lock my doors. jean (_below her breath_). you think that night of the scene--you think the men didn't _mean_ to play fair? miss l. (_her coolness in contrast to the excitement of the others_). didn't the women sit quiet till ten minutes to closing time? jean. ten minutes to settle a question like that! miss l. (_quietly to_ mrs. freddy). couldn't you see the men were at their old game? lady john (_coming forward_). you think they were just putting off the issue till it was too late? miss l. (_in a detached tone_). _i_ wasn't there, but i haven't heard anybody deny that the women waited till ten minutes to eleven. then they discovered the policeman who'd been sent up at the psychological moment to the back of the gallery. then, i'm told, when the women saw they were betrayed once more, they utilised the few minutes left, to impress on the country at large the fact of their demands--did it in the only way left them. (_sits leaning forward reflectively smiling, chin in hand._) it does rather look to the outsider as if the well-behaved women had worked for forty years and made less impression on the world then those fiery young women made in five minutes. mrs. f. oh, come, be fair! miss l. well, you must admit that, next day, every newspaper reader in europe and america knew there were women in england in such dead earnest about the suffrage that the men had stopped laughing at last, and turned them out of the house. men even advertised how little they appreciated the fun by sending the women to gaol in pretty sober earnest. and all the world was talking about it. (mrs. heriot _lays down the "church times" and joins the others._) lady john. i have noticed, whenever the men aren't there, the women sit and discuss that scene. jean (_cheerfully_). _i_ shan't have to wait till the men are gone. (_leans over_ lady john's _shoulder and says half aside_) he's in sympathy. lady john. how do you know? jean. he told the interrupting women so. (mrs. freddy _looks mystified. the others smile._) lady john. oh! (mr. freddy _and_ lord john _appear by the door they went out of. they stop to talk._) mrs. f. here's freddy! (_lower, hastily to_ miss levering.) you're judging from the outside. those of us who have been working for years ... we all realise it was a perfectly lunatic proceeding. why, _think_! the only chance of our getting what we want is by _winning over_ the men. (_her watchful eye, leaving her husband for a moment, catches_ miss levering's _little involuntary gesture._) what's the matter? miss l. "winning over the men" has been the woman's way for centuries. do you think the result should make us proud of our policy? yes? then go and walk in piccadilly at midnight. (_the older women glance at_ jean.) no, i forgot---- mrs. h. (_with majesty_). yes, it's not the first time you've forgotten. miss l. i forgot the magistrate's ruling. he said no decent woman had any business to be in london's main thoroughfare at night unless she has _a man with her_. i heard that in nine elms, too. "you're obliged to take up with a chap!" was what the woman said. mrs. h. (_rising_). jean! come! (_she takes_ jean _by her arm and draws her to the window, where she signals_ greatorex _and_ farnborough. mrs. freddy _joins her husband and_ lord john.) lady john (_kindly, aside to_ miss levering). my dear, i think lydia heriot's right. we oughtn't to do anything or _say_ anything to encourage this ferment of feminism, and i'll tell you why: it's likely to bring a very terrible thing in its train. miss l. what terrible thing? lady john. sex antagonism. miss l. (_rising_). it's here. lady john (_very gravely_). don't say that. (jean _has quietly disengaged herself from_ mrs. heriot, _and the group at the window returns and stands behind_ lady john, _looking up into_ miss leverings's _face._) miss l. (_to_ lady john). you're so conscious it's here, you're afraid to have it mentioned. lady john (_turning and seeing_ jean. _rising hastily_). if it's here, it is the fault of those women agitators. miss l. (_gently_). no woman _begins_ that way. (_leans forward with clasped hands looking into vacancy._) every woman's in a state of natural subjection (_smiles at_ jean)--no, i'd rather say allegiance to her idea of romance and her hope of motherhood. they're embodied for her in man. they're the strongest things in life--till man kills them. (_rousing herself and looking into_ lady john's _face._) let's be fair. each woman knows why that allegiance died. (lady john _turns hastily, sees_ lord john _coming down with_ mr. freddy _and meets them at the foot of the stairs._ miss levering _has turned to the table looking for her gloves, &c., among the papers; unconsciously drops the handkerchief she had in her little book._) jean (_in a low voice to_ miss levering). all this talk against the wicked suffragettes--it makes me want to go and hear what they've got to say for themselves. miss l. (_smiling with a non-committal air as she finds the veil she's been searching for_). well, they're holding a meeting in trafalgar square at three o'clock. jean. this afternoon? but that's no use to people out of town---- unless i could invent some excuse.... lord j. (_benevolently_). still talking over the shelter plans? miss l. no. we left the shelter some time ago. lord j. (_to_ jean). then what's all the chatterment about? (jean, _a little confused, looks at_ miss levering.) miss l. the latest thing in veils. (_ties hers round her hat._) great. the invincible frivolity of woman! lord j. (_genially_). don't scold them. it's a very proper topic. miss l. (_whimsically_). oh, i was afraid you'd despise us for it. both men (_with condescension_). not at all--not at all. jean (_to_ miss levering _as_ footman _appears_). oh, they're coming for you. don't forget your book. (footman _holds out a salver with a telegram on it for_ jean.) why, it's for me! miss l. but it's time i was---- (_crosses to table._) jean (_opening the telegram_). may i? (_reads, and glances over the paper at_ miss levering.) i've got your book. (_crosses to_ miss levering, _and, looking at the back of the volume_) dante! whereabouts are you? (_opening at the marker._) oh, the "inferno." miss l. no; i'm in a worse place. jean. i didn't know there was a worse. miss l. yes; it's worse with the vigliacchi. jean. i forget. were they guelf or ghibelline? miss l. (_smiling_). they weren't either, and that was why dante couldn't stand them. (_more gravely._) he said there was no place in heaven nor in purgatory--not even a corner in hell--for the souls who had stood aloof from strife. (_looking steadily into the girl's eyes._) he called them "wretches who never lived," dante did, because they'd never felt the pangs of partizanship. and so they wander homeless on the skirts of limbo among the abortions and off-scourings of creation. jean (_a long breath after a long look. when_ miss levering _has turned away to make her leisurely adieux_ jean's _eyes fall on the open telegram_). aunt ellen, i've got to go to london. (stonor, _re-entering, hears this, but pretends to talk to_ mr. freddy, _&c._) lady john. my dear child! mrs. h. nonsense! is your grandfather worse? jean (_folding the telegram_). no-o. i don't think so. but it's necessary i should go, all the same. mrs. h. go away when mr. stonor---- jean. he said he'd have to leave directly after luncheon. lady john. i'll just see miss levering off, and then i'll come back and talk about it. lord j. (_to_ miss levering). why are you saying goodbye as if you were never coming back? miss l. (_smiling_). one never knows. maybe i shan't come back. (_to_ stonor.) goodbye. (stonor _bows ceremoniously. the others go up laughing._ stonor _comes down_.) jean (_impulsively_). there mayn't be another train! miss levering---- stonor (_standing in front of her_). what if there isn't? i'll take you back in the motor. jean (_rapturously_). _will_ you? (_inadvertently drops the telegram._) i must be there by three! stonor (_picks up the telegram and a handkerchief lying near, glances at the message_). why, it's only an invitation to dine--wednesday! jean. sh! (_takes the telegram and puts it in her pocket._) stonor. oh, i see! (_lower, smiling._) it's rather dear of you to arrange our going off like that. you _are_ a clever little girl! jean. it's not that i was arranging. i want to hear those women in trafalgar square--the suffragettes. stonor (_incredulous, but smiling_). how perfectly absurd! (_looking after_ lady john.) besides, i expect she wouldn't like my carrying you off like that. jean. then she'll have to make an excuse and come too. stonor. ah, it wouldn't be quite the same---- jean (_rapidly thinking it out_). we could get back here in time for dinner. (geoffrey stonor _glances down at the handkerchief still in his hand, and turns it half mechanically from corner to corner._) jean (_absent-mindedly_). mine? stonor (_hastily, without reflection_). no. (_hands it to_ miss levering _as she passes._) yours. (miss levering, _on her way to the lobby with_ lord john _seems not to notice._) jean (_takes the handkerchief to give to her, glancing down at the embroidered corner; stops_). but that's not an l! it's vi----! (geoffrey stonor _suddenly turns his back and takes up the newspaper._) lady john (_from the lobby_). come, vida, since you will go. miss l. yes; i'm coming. [_exit_ miss levering. jean. _i_ didn't know her name was vida; how did you? (stonor _stares silently over the top of his paper_.) curtain. act ii scene: _the north side of the nelson column in trafalgar square. the curtain rises on an uproar. the crowd, which momentarily increases, is composed chiefly of weedy youths and wastrel old men. there are a few decent artisans; three or four "beery" out-o'-works; three or four young women of the domestic servant or strand restaurant cashier class; one aged woman in rusty black peering with faded, wondering eyes, consulting the faces of the men and laughing nervously and apologetically from time to time; one or two quiet-looking, business-like women, thirty to forty; two middle-class men, who stare and whisper and smile. a quiet old man with a lot of unsold sunday papers under one arm stands in an attitude of rapt attention, with the free hand round his deaf ear. a brisk-looking woman of forty-five or so, wearing pince-nez, goes round with a pile of propagandist literature on her arm. many of the men smoking cigarettes--the old ones pipes. on the outskirts of this crowd, of several hundred, a couple of smart men in tall shining hats hover a few moments, single eyeglass up, and then saunter off. against the middle of the column, where it rises above the stone platform, is a great red banner, one supporting pole upheld by a grimy sandwichman, the other by a small, dirty boy of eight. if practicable only the lower portion of the banner need be seen, bearing the final words of the legend_-- "votes for women!" _in immense white letters. it will be well to get, to the full, the effect of the height above the crowd of the straggling group of speakers on the pedestal platform. these are, as the curtain rises, a working-class woman who is waving her arms and talking very earnestly, her voice for the moment blurred in the uproar. she is dressed in brown serge and looks pinched and sallow. at her side is the_ chairman _urging that she be given a fair hearing._ allen trent _is a tall, slim, brown-haired man of twenty-eight, with a slight stoop, an agreeable aspect, well-bred voice, and the gleaming brown eye of the visionary. behind these two, looking on or talking among themselves, are several other carelessly dressed women; one, better turned out than the rest, is quite young, very slight and gracefully built, with round, very pink cheeks, full, scarlet lips, naturally waving brown hair, and an air of childish gravity. she looks at the unruly mob with imperturbable calm. the_ chairman's _voice is drowned._ working woman (_with lean, brown finger out and voice raised shriller now above the tumult_). i've got boys o' me own and we laugh at all sorts o' things, but i should be ashymed and so would they if ever they was to be'yve as you're doin' to-d'y. (_in laughter the noise dies._) people 'ave been sayin' this is a middle-class woman's movement. it's a libel. i'm a workin' woman myself, the wife of a working man. (_voice_: "pore devil!") i'm a poor law guardian and a---- noisy young man. think of that, now--gracious me! (_laughter and interruption._) old newsvendor (_to the noisy young man near him_). oh, shut up, cawn't yer? noisy young man. not fur _you_! voice. go'ome and darn yer old man's stockens! voice. just clean yer _own_ doorstep! working woman. it's a pore sort of 'ousekeeper that leaves 'er doorstep till sunday afternoon. maybe that's when you would do _your_ doorstep. i do mine in the mornin' before you men are awake. old newsvendor. it's true, wot she says!--every word. working woman. you say we women 'ave got no business servin' on boards and thinkin' about politics. wot's _politics_? (_a derisive roar._) it's just 'ousekeepin' on a big scyle. 'oo among you workin' men 'as the most comfortable 'omes? those of you that gives yer wives yer wyges. (_loud laughter and jeers._) { that's it! voices. { wantin' our money. { lord 'igh 'ousekeeper of england. working woman. if it wus only to use fur _our_ comfort, d'ye think many o' you workin' men would be found turnin' over their wyges to their wives? no! wot's the reason thousands do--and the best and the soberest? because the workin' man knows that wot's a pound to _'im_ is twenty shillin's to 'is wife. and she'll myke every penny in every one o' them shillin's _tell_. she gets more 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 poor laws and the 'ole government is just in the syme muddle because the men 'ave tried to do the national 'ousekeepin' without the women. (_roars._) but, like i told you before, it's a libel to say it's only the well-off women wot's wantin' the vote. wot about the , textile workers? wot about the yorkshire tailoresses? i can tell you wot plenty o' the poor women think about it. i'm one of them, and i can tell you we see there's reforms needed. _we ought to 'ave the vote_ (_jeers_), and we know 'ow to appreciate the other women 'oo go to prison fur tryin' to get it fur us! (_with a little final bob of emphasis and a glance over shoulder at the old woman and the young one behind her, she seems about to retire, but pauses as the murmur in the crowd grows into distinct phrases._ "they get their 'air cut free." "naow they don't, that's only us!" "silly suffragettes!" "stop at 'ome!" "'inderin' policemen--mykin' rows in the streets!") voice (_louder than the others_). they sees yer ain't fit t'ave---- other voices. "ha, ha!" "shut up!" "keep quiet, cawn't yer?" (_general uproar._) chairman. you evidently don't know what had to be done by _men_ before the extension of the suffrage in ' . if it hadn't been for demonstrations of violence---- (_his voice is drowned._) working woman (_coming forward again, her shrill note rising clear_). you s'y woman's plyce is 'ome! don't you know there's a third of the women o' 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 got even miseerable 'omes. they 'aven't got any 'omes _at all_. noisy young man. you said _you_ got one. w'y don't you stop in it? working woman. yes, that's like a man. if one o' you is all right, he thinks the rest don't matter. we women---- noisy young man. the lydies! god bless 'em! (_voices drown her and the_ chairman.) old newsvendor (_to_ noisy young man). oh, take that extra 'alf pint 'ome and _sleep it off_! working woman. p'r'aps _your_ 'omes are all right. p'r'aps you aren't livin', old and young, married and single, in one room. i come from a plyce where many fam'lies 'ave to live like that if they're to go on livin' _at all_. if you don't believe me, come and let me show you! (_she spreads out her lean arms._) come with me to canning town!--come with me to bromley--come to poplar and to bow! no. you won't even _think_ about the overworked women and the underfed children and the 'ovels they live in. and you want that we shouldn't think neither---- a vagrant. we'll do the thinkin'. you go 'ome and nuss the byby. working woman. i do nurse my byby! i've nursed seven. what 'ave you done for yours? p'r'aps your children never goes 'ungry, and maybe you're satisfied--though i must say i wouldn't a' thought it from the _look_ o' you. voice. oh, i s'y! working woman. but we women are not satisfied. we don't only want better things for our own children. we want better things for all. _every_ child is our child. we know in our 'earts we oughtn't to rest till we've mothered 'em every one. voice. "women"--"children"--wot about the _men_? are _they_ all 'appy? (_derisive laughter and_ "no! no!" "not precisely." "'appy? lord!") working woman. no, there's lots o' you men i'm sorry for (_shrill voice_: "thanks awfully!"), an' we'll 'elp you if you let us. voice. 'elp us? you tyke the bread out of our mouths. you women are black-leggin' the men! working woman. _w'y_ does any woman tyke less wyges than a man for the same work? only because we can't get anything better. that's part the reason w'y we're yere to-d'y. do you reely think we tyke them there low wyges because we got a _lykin'_ for low wyges? no. we're just like you. we want as much as ever we can get. ("'ear! 'ear!" _and laughter_.) we got a gryte deal to do with our wyges, we women has. we got the children to think about. and w'en we get our rights, a woman's flesh and blood won't be so much cheaper than a man's that employers can get rich on keepin' you out o' work, and sweatin' us. if you men only could see it, we got the _syme_ cause, and if you 'elped us you'd be 'elpin yerselves. voices. "rot!" "drivel." old newsvendor. true as gospel! (_she retires against the banner with the others. there is some applause._) a man (_patronisingly_). well, now, that wusn't so bad--fur a woman. another. n-naw. _not fur a woman._ chairman (_speaking through this last_). miss ernestine blunt will now address you. (_applause, chiefly ironic, laughter, a general moving closer and knitting up of attention._ ernestine blunt _is about twenty-four, but looks younger. she is very downright, not to say pugnacious--the something amusing and attractive about her is there, as it were, against her will, and the more fetching for that. she has no conventional gestures, and none of any sort at first. as she warms to her work she uses her slim hands to enforce her emphasis, but as though unconsciously. her manner of speech is less monotonous than that of the average woman-speaker, but she, too, has a fashion of leaning all her weight on the end of the sentence. she brings out the final word or two with an effort of underscoring, and makes a forward motion of the slim body as if the better to drive the last nail in. she evidently means to be immensely practical--the kind who is pleased to think she hasn't a grain of sentimentality in her composition, and whose feeling, when it does all but master her, communicates itself magnetically to others._ ) miss ernestine blunt. perhaps i'd better begin by explaining a little about our "tactics." (_cries of_ "tactics! we know!" "mykin' trouble!" "public scandal!") to make you understand what we've done, i must remind you of what others have done. perhaps you don't know that women first petitioned parliament for the franchise as long ago as . voice. how do _you_ know? (_she pauses a moment, taken off her guard by the suddenness of the attack._) voice. you wasn't there! voice. that was the trouble. haw! haw! miss e. b. and the petition was presented---- voice. give 'er a 'earin' now she 'as got out of 'er crydle. miss e. b.--presented to the house of commons by that great liberal, john stuart mill. (_voice_: "mill? who is he when he's at home?") bills or resolutions have been before the house on and off for the last thirty-six years. that, roughly, is our history. we found ourselves, towards the close of the year , with no assurance that if we went on in the same way any girl born into the world in this generation would live to exercise the rights of citizenship, though she lived to be a hundred. so we said all this has been in vain. we must try some other way. how did the working man get the suffrage, we asked ourselves? well, we turned up the records, and we _saw_---- voices. "not by scratching people's faces!" ... "disraeli give it 'em!" "dizzy? get out!" "cahnty cahncil scholarships!" "oh, lord, this education!" "chartist riots, she's thinkin' of!" (_noise in the crowd._) miss e. b. but we don't _want_ to follow such a violent example. we would much rather _not_--but if that's the only way we can make the country see we're in earnest, we are prepared to show them. voice. an' they'll show you!--give you another month 'ard. miss e. b. don't think that going to prison has any fears for us. we'd go _for life_ if by doing that we could get freedom for the rest of the women. voices. "hear, hear!" "rot!" "w'y don't the men 'elp ye to get your rights?" miss e. b. here's some one asking why the men don't help. it's partly they don't understand yet--they _will_ before we've done! (_laughter._) partly they don't understand yet what's at stake---- respectable old man (_chuckling_). lord, they're a 'educatin' of us! voice. wot next? miss e. b.--and partly that the bravest man is afraid of ridicule. oh, yes; we've heard a great deal all our lives about the timidity and the sensitiveness of women. and it's true. we _are_ sensitive. but i tell you, ridicule crumples a man up. it steels a woman. we've come to know the value of ridicule. we've educated ourselves so that we welcome ridicule. we owe our sincerest thanks to the comic writers. the cartoonist is our unconscious friend. who cartoons people who are of no importance? what advertisement is so sure of being remembered? poetic young man. i admit that. miss e. b. if we didn't know it by any other sign, the comic papers would tell us _we've arrived_! but our greatest debt of gratitude we owe, to the man who called us female hooligans. (_the crowd bursts into laughter._) we aren't hooligans, but we hope the fact will be overlooked. if everybody said we were nice, well-behaved women, who'd come to hear us? _not the men._ (_roars._) men tell us it isn't womanly for us to care about politics. how do they know what's womanly? it's for women to decide that. let the men attend to being manly. it will take them all their time. voice. are we down-'earted? oh no! miss e. b. and they say it would be dreadful if we got the vote, because then we'd be pitted against men in the economic struggle. but that's come about already. do you know that out of every hundred women in this country eighty-two are wage-earning women? it used to be thought unfeminine for women to be students and to aspire to the arts--that bring fame and fortune. but nobody has ever said it was unfeminine for women to do the heavy drudgery that's badly paid. that kind of work had to be done by _some_body--and the men didn't hanker after it. oh, no. (_laughter and interruption._) a man on the outer fringe. she can _talk_--the little one can. another. oh, they can all "talk." a beery, dirty fellow of fifty. i wouldn't like to be 'er 'usban'. think o' comin' 'ome to _that_! his pal. i'd soon learn 'er! miss e. b. (_speaking through the noise_). oh, no! _let_ the women scrub and cook and wash. that's all right! but if they want to try their hand at the better paid work of the liberal professions--oh, very unfeminine indeed! then there's another thing. now i want you to listen to this, because it's _very_ important. men say if we persist in competing with them for the bigger prizes, they're dreadfully afraid we'd lose the beautiful protecting chivalry that---- yes, i don't wonder you laugh. _we_ laugh. (_bending forward with lit eyes._) but the women i found at the ferry tin works working for five shillings a week--i didn't see them laughing. the beautiful chivalry of the employers of women doesn't prevent them from paying women tenpence a day for sorting coal and loading and unloading carts--doesn't prevent them from forcing women to earn bread in ways worse still. so we won't talk about chivalry. it's being over-sarcastic. we'll just let this poor ghost of chivalry go--in exchange for a little plain justice. voice. if the house of commons won't give you justice, why don't you go to the house of lords? miss e. b. what? voice. better 'urry up. case of early closin'. (_laughter. a man at the back asks the speaker something._) miss e. b. (_unable to hear_). you'll be allowed to ask any question you like at the end of the meeting. new-comer (_boy of eighteen_). oh, is it question time? i s'y, miss, 'oo killed cock robin? (_she is about to resume, but above the general noise the voice of a man at the back reaches her indistinct but insistent. she leans forward trying to catch what he says. while the indistinguishable murmur has been going on_ geoffrey stonor _has appeared on the edge of the crowd, followed by_ jean _and_ lady john _in motor veils._) jean (_pressing forward eagerly and raising her veil_). is she one of them? that little thing! stonor (_doubtfully_). i--i suppose so. jean. oh, ask some one, geoffrey. i'm so disappointed. i did so hope we'd hear one of the--the worst. miss e. b. (_to the interrupter--on the other side_). what? what do you say? (_she screws up her eyes with the effort to hear, and puts a hand up to her ear. a few indistinguishable words between her and the man._) lady john (_who has been studying the figures on the platform through her lorgnon, turns to a working man beside her_). can you tell me, my man, which are the ones that--a--that make the disturbances? working man. the one that's doing the talking--she's the disturbingest o' the lot. jean (_craning to listen_). not that nice little---- working man. don't you be took in, miss. miss e. b. oh, yes--i see. there's a man over here asking---- a young man. _i've_ got a question, too. are--you--married? another (_sniggering_). quick! there's yer chawnce. 'e's a bachelor. (_laughter._) miss e. b. (_goes straight on as if she had not heard_)--man asking: if the women get full citizenship, and a war is declared, will the women fight? poetic young man. no, really--no, really, now! (_the crowd_: "haw! haw!" "yes!" "yes, how about _that?_") miss e. b. (_smiling_). well, you know, some people say the whole trouble about us is that we _do_ fight. but it is only hard necessity makes us do that. we don't _want_ to fight--as men seem to--just for fighting's sake. women are for peace. voice. hear, hear. miss e. b. and when we have a share in public affairs there'll be less likelihood of war. but that's not to say women can't fight. the boer women did. the russian women face conflicts worse than any battlefield can show. (_her voice shakes a little, and the eyes fill, but she controls her emotion gallantly, and dashes on._) but we women know all that is evil, and we're for peace. our part--we're proud to remember it--our part has been to go about after you men in war-time, and--_pick up the pieces_! (_a great shout._) yes--seems funny, doesn't it? you men blow them to bits, and then we come along and put them together again. if you know anything about military nursing, you know a good deal of our work has been done in the face of danger--_but it's always been done_. old newsvendor. that's so. that's so. miss e. b. you complain that more and more we're taking away from you men the work that's always been yours. you can't any longer keep women out of the industries. the only question is upon what terms shall she continue to be in? 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 competing with you, we're willing to leave you your trade in war. _let_ the men take life! we _give_ life! (_her voice is once more moved and proud._) no one will pretend ours isn't one of the dangerous trades either. i won't say any more to you now, because we've got others to speak to you, and a new woman-helper that i want you to hear. (_she retires to the sound of clapping. there's a hurried consultation between her and the_ chairman. _voices in the crowd_: "the little 'un's all right" "ernestine's a corker," &c.) jean (_looking at_ stonor _to see how he's taken it_). well? stonor (_smiling down at her_). well---- jean. nothing reprehensible in what _she_ said, was there? stonor (_shrugs_). oh, reprehensible! jean. it makes me rather miserable all the same. stonor (_draws her hand protectingly through his arm_). you mustn't take it as much to heart as all that. jean. i can't help it--i can't indeed, geoffrey. i shall _never_ be able to make a speech like that! stonor (_taken aback_). i hope not, indeed. jean. why, i thought you said you wanted me----? stonor (_smiling_). to make nice little speeches with composure--so i did! so i---- (_seems to lose his thread as he looks at her._) jean (_with a little frown_). you _said_---- stonor. that you have very pink cheeks? well, i stick to that. jean (_smiling_). sh! don't tell everybody. stonor. and you're the only female creature i ever saw who didn't look a fright in motor things. jean (_melted and smiling_). i'm glad you don't think me a fright. chairman. i will now ask (_name indistinguishable_) to address the meeting. jean (_as she sees_ lady john _moving to one side_). oh, don't go yet, aunt ellen! lady john. go? certainly not. i want to hear another. (_craning her neck._) i can't believe, you know, she was really one of the worst. (_a big, sallow cockney has come forward. his scanty hair grows in wisps on a great bony skull._) voice. that's pilcher. another. 'oo's pilcher? another. if you can't afford a bottle of tatcho, w'y don't you get yer 'air cut. mr. p. (_not in the least discomposed_). i've been addressin' a big meetin' at 'ammersmith this morning, and w'en i told 'em i wus comin' 'ere this awfternoon to speak fur the women--well--then the usual thing began! (_an appreciative roar from the crowd._) in these times if you want peace and quiet at a public meetin'---- (_the crowd fills in the hiatus with laughter._) there was a man at 'ammersmith, too, talkin' about women's sphere bein' 'ome. _'ome_ do you call it? you've got a kennel w'ere you can munch your tommy. you've got a corner w'ere you can curl up fur a few hours till you go out to work again. no, my man, 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 fur you to go on jawin' at those o' the women 'oo want to myke the 'omes a little decenter. voice. if the vote ain't done us any good, 'ow'll it do the women any good? mr. p. look 'ere! any men here belongin' to the labour party? (_shouts and applause._) well, i don't need to tell these 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 use the power you got in your 'and. voice. power! it's those fellers at the bottom o' the street that's got the power. mr. p. it's you, and men like you, that gave it to 'em. you carried the liberals into parliament street on your own shoulders. (_complacent applause._) you believed all their fine words. you never asked yourselves, "_wot's a liberal, anyw'y?_" a voice. he's a jolly good fellow. (_cheers and booing._) mr. p. no, 'e ain't, or if 'e is jolly, it's only because 'e thinks you're such silly codfish you'll go swellin' his majority again. (_laughter, in which_ stonor _joins._) it's enough to make any liberal jolly to see sheep like you lookin' on, proud and 'appy, while you see liberal leaders desertin' liberal principles. (_voices in agreement and protest._) you show me a liberal, and i'll show you a mr. fycing-both-w'ys. yuss. (stonor _moves closer with an amused look._) 'e sheds the light of 'is warm and 'andsome smile on the working man, and round on the other side 'e's tippin' a wink to the great land-owners. that's to let 'em know 'e's standin' between them and the socialists. huh! socialists. yuss, _socialists_! (_general laughter, in which_ stonor _joins._) the liberal, e's the judicial sort o' chap that sits in the middle---- voice. on the fence! mr. p. tories one side--socialists the other. well it ain't always so comfortable in the middle. you're like to get squeezed. now, i s'y to the women, the conservatives don't promise you much but what they promise they _do_! stonor (_to_ jean). this fellow isn't half bad. mr. p. the liberals--they'll promise you the earth, and give yer ... the whole o' nothing. (_roars of approval._) jean. _isn't_ it fun? now, aren't you glad i brought you? stonor (_laughing_). this chap's rather amusing! mr. p. we men 'ave seen it 'appen over and over. but the women can tyke a 'int quicker'n what we can. they won't stand the nonsense men do. only they 'aven't got a fair chawnce even to agitate fur their rights. as i wus 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 'ere to s'y so?" well, i'll tell you w'y. it's because they've 'ad to get the dinner fur you and me, and now they're washin' up the dishes. a voice. d'you think _we_ ought to st'y 'ome and wash the dishes? mr. p. (_laughs good-naturedly_). if they'd leave it to us once or twice per'aps we'd understand a little more about the woman question. i know w'y _my_ wife isn't here. it's because she _knows_ i ain't much use round the 'ouse, and she's 'opin' i can talk to some purpose. maybe she's mistaken. any'ow, here i am to vote for her and all the other women. ("_hear! hear!_" "_oh-h!_") and to tell you men what improvements you can expect to see when women 'as the share in public affairs they _ought_ to 'ave! voice. what do you know about it? you can't even talk grammar. mr. p. (_is dashed a fraction of a moment, for the first and only time_). i'm not 'ere to talk grammar but to talk reform. i ain't defendin' my grammar--but i'll say in pawssing that if my mother 'ad 'ad 'er rights, maybe my grammar would have been better. (stonor _and_ jean _exchange smiles. he takes her arm again and bends his head to whisper something in her ear. she listens with lowered eyes and happy face. the discreet love-making goes on during the next few sentences. interruption. one voice insistent but not clear. the speaker waits only a second and then resumes. "yes, if the women" but he cannot instantly make himself heard. the boyish_ chairman _looks harassed and anxious._ miss ernestine blunt _alert, watchful._) mr. p. wait a bit--'arf a minute, my man! voice. 'oo yer talkin' to? i ain't your man. mr. p. lucky for me! there seems to be a _gentleman_ 'ere who doesn't think women ought to 'ave the vote. voice. _one?_ oh-h! (_laughter._) mr. p. per'aps 'e doesn't know much about women? (_indistinguishable repartee._) oh, the gentleman says 'e's married. well, then, fur the syke of 'is wife we musn't be too sorry 'e's 'ere. no doubt she's s'ying: "'eaven by prysed those women are mykin' a demonstrytion in trafalgar square, and i'll 'ave a little peace and quiet at 'ome for one sunday in my life." (_the crowd laughs and there are jeers for the interrupter--and at the speaker._) (_pointing._) why, _you're_ like the man at 'ammersmith this morning. 'e was awskin' me: "'ow would you like men to st'y at 'ome and do the fam'ly washin'?" (_laughter._) i told 'im i wouldn't advise it. i 'ave too much respect fur--me clo'es. vagrant. it's their place--the women ought to do the washin'. mr. p. i'm not sure you ain't right. for a good many o' you fellas, from the look o' you--you cawn't even wash yerselves. (_laughter._) voice (_threatening_). 'oo are you talkin' to? (_chairman more anxious than before--movement in the crowd._) threatening voice. which of us d'you mean? mr. p. (_coolly looking down_). well, it takes about ten of your sort to myke a man, so you may take it i mean the lot of you. (_angry indistinguishable retorts and the crowd sways._ miss ernestine blunt, _who has been watching the fray with serious face, turns suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end of the platform._ miss blunt _goes_ r. _with alacrity, saying audibly to_ pilcher _as she passes, "here she is," and proceeds to offer her hand helping some one to get up the improvised steps. laughter and interruption in the crowd._) lady john. now, there's another woman going to speak. jean. oh, is she? who? which? i do hope she'll be one of the wild ones. mr. p. (_speaking through this last. glancing at the new arrival whose hat appears above the platform_ r.). that's all right, then. (_turns to the left._) when i've attended to this microbe that's vitiating the air on my right---- (_laughter and interruptions from the crowd._) stonor (_staring_ r., _one dazed instant, at the face of the new arrival, his own changes_). (jean _withdraws her arm from his and quite suddenly presses a shade nearer the platform._ stonor _moves forward and takes her by the arm._) we're going now. jean. not yet--oh, please not yet. (_breathless, looking back._) why i--i do believe---- stonor (_to_ lady john, _with decision_). i'm going to take jean out of this mob. will you come? lady john. what? oh yes, if you think---- (_another look through her glasses._) but isn't that--_surely_ its----!!! (vida levering _comes forward_ r. _she wears a long, plain, dark green dust-cloak. stands talking to_ ernestine blunt _and glancing a little apprehensively at the crowd._) jean. geoffrey! stonor (_trying to draw_ jean _away_). lady john's tired---- jean. but you don't see who it is, geoffrey----! (_looks into his face, and is arrested by the look she finds there._) (lady john _has pushed in front of them amazed, transfixed, with glass up._ geoffrey stonor _restrains a gesture of annoyance, and withdraws behind two big policemen._ jean _from time to time turns to look at him with a face of perplexity._) mr. p. (_resuming through a fire of indistinct interruption_). i'll come down and attend to that microbe while a lady will say a few words to you (_raises his voice_)--if she can myke 'erself 'eard. (pilcher _retires in the midst of booing and cheers._) chairman (_harassed and trying to create a diversion_). some one suggests--and it's such a good idea i'd like you to listen to it-- (_noise dies down._) that a clause shall be inserted in the next suffrage bill that shall expressly reserve to each cabinet minister, and to any respectable man, the power to prevent the franchise being given to the female members of his family on his public declaration of their lack of sufficient intelligence to entitle them to vote. voices. oh! oh! chairman. now, i ask you to listen, as quietly as you can, to a lady who is not accustomed to speaking--a--in trafalgar square--or a ... as a matter of fact, at all. voices. "a dumb lady." "hooray!" "three cheers for the dumb lady!" chairman. a lady who, as i've said, will tell you, if you'll behave yourselves, her impressions of the administration of police-court justice in this country. (jean _looks wondering at_ stonor's _sphinx-like face as_ vida levering _comes to the edge of the platform._) miss l. mr. chairman, men and women---- voices (_off_). speak up. (_she flushes, comes quite to the edge of the platform and raises her voice a little._) miss l. i just wanted to tell you that i was--i was--present in the police-court when the women were charged for creating a disturbance. voice. y' oughtn't t' get mixed up in wot didn't concern you. miss l. i--i---- (_stumbles and stops._) (_talking and laughing increases._ "wot's 'er name?" "mrs. or miss?" "ain't seen this one before.") chairman (_anxiously_). now, see here, men; don't interrupt---- a girl (_shrilly_). i like this one's _'at_. ye can see she ain't one of 'em. miss l. (_trying to recommence_). i---- voice. they're a disgrace--them women be'ind yer. a man with a fatherly air. it's the w'y they goes on as mykes the government keep ye from gettin' yer rights. chairman (_losing his temper_). it's the way _you_ go on that---- (_noise increases._ chairman _drowned, waves his arms and moves his lips._ miss levering _discouraged, turns and looks at_ ernestine blunt _and pantomimes "it's no good. i can't go on."_ ernestine blunt _comes forward, says a word to the_ chairman, _who ceases gyrating, and nods._) miss e. b. (_facing the crowd_). look here. if the government withhold the vote because they don't like the way some of us ask for it--_let them give it to the quiet ones_. does the government want to punish _all_ women because they don't like the manners of a handful? perhaps that's you men's notion of justice. it isn't women's. voices. haw! haw! miss l. yes. th-this is the first time i've ever "gone on," as you call it, but they never gave me a vote. miss e. b. (_with energy_). no! and there are one--two--three--four women on this platform. now, we all want the vote, as you know. well, we'd agree to be disfranchised all our lives, if they'd give the vote to all the other women. voice. look here, you made one speech, give the lady a chawnce. miss e. b. (_retires smiling_). that's _just_ what i wanted _you_ to do! miss l. perhaps you--you don't know--you don't know---- voice (_sarcastic_). 'ow 're we goin' to know if you can't tell us? miss l. (_flushing and smiling_). thank you for that. we couldn't have a better motto. how _are_ you to know if we can't somehow manage to tell you? (_with a visible effort she goes on._) well, i certainly didn't know before that the sergeants and policemen are instructed to deceive the people as to the time such cases are heard. you ask, and you're sent to marlborough police court instead of to marylebone. voice. they ought ter sent yer to 'olloway--do y' good. old newsvendor. you go on, miss, don't mind 'im. voice. wot d'you expect from a pig but a grunt? miss l. you're told the case will be at two o'clock, and it's really called for eleven. well, i took a great deal of trouble, and i didn't believe what i was told-- (_warming a little to her task._) yes, that's almost the first thing we have to learn--to get over our touching faith that, because a man tells us something, it's true. i got to the right court, and i was so anxious not to be late, i was too early. the case before the women's was just coming on. i heard a noise. at the door i saw the helmets of two policemen, and i said to myself: "what sort of crime shall i have to sit and hear about? is this a burglar coming along between the two big policemen, or will it be a murderer? what sort of felon is to stand in the dock before the women whose crime is they ask for the vote?" but, try as i would, i couldn't see the prisoner. my heart misgave me. is it a woman, i wondered? then the policemen got nearer, and i saw--(_she waits an instant_)--a little, thin, half-starved boy. what do you think he was charged with? stealing. what had he been stealing--that small criminal? _milk._ it seemed to me as i sat there looking on, that the men who had the affairs of the world in their hands from the beginning, and who've made so poor a business of it---- voices. oh! oh! pore benighted man! are we down-'earted? _oh_, no! miss l.--so poor a business of it as to have the poor and the unemployed in the condition they're in to-day--when your only remedy for a starving child is to hale him off to the police-court--because he had managed to get a little milk--well, i _did_ wonder that the men refuse to be helped with a problem they've so notoriously failed at. i began to say to myself: "isn't it time the women lent a hand?" a voice. would you have women magistrates? (_she is stumped by the suddenness of the demand._) voices. haw! haw! magistrates! another. women! let 'em prove first they deserve---- a shabby art student (_his hair longish, soft hat, and flowing tie_). they study music by thousands; where's their beethoven? where's their plato? where's the woman shakespeare? another. yes--what 'a' they ever _done_? (_the speaker clenches her hands, and is recovering her presence of mind, so that by the time the_ chairman _can make himself heard with, "now men, give this lady a fair hearing--don't interrupt"--she, with the slightest of gestures, waves him aside with a low "it's all right."_) miss l. (_steadying and raising her voice_). these questions are quite proper! they are often asked elsewhere; and i would like to ask in return: since when was human society held to exist for its handful of geniuses? how many platos are there here in this crowd? a voice (_very loud and shrill_). divil a wan! (_laughter._) miss l. not one. yet that doesn't keep you men off the register. how many shakespeares are there in all england to-day? not one. yet the state doesn't tumble to pieces. railroads and ships are built--homes are kept going, and babies are born. the world goes on! (_bending over the crowd_) it goes on _by virtue of its common people_. voices (_subdued_). hear! hear! miss l. i am not concerned that you should think we women can paint great pictures, or compose immortal music, or write good books. i am content that we should be classed with the common people--who keep the world going. but (_straightening up and taking a fresh start_), i'd like the world to go a great deal better. we were talking about justice. i have been inquiring into the kind of lodging the poorest class of homeless women can get in this town of london. i find that only the men of that class are provided for. some measure to establish rowton houses for women has been before the london county council. they looked into the question "very carefully," so their apologists say. and what did they decide? they decided that _they could do nothing_. lady john (_having forced her way to_ stonor's _side_). is that true? stonor (_speaking through_ miss levering's _next words_). i don't know. miss l. why could that great, all-powerful body do nothing? because, if these cheap and decent houses were opened, they said, the homeless women in the streets would make use of them! you'll think i'm not in earnest. but that was actually the decision and the reason given for it. women that the bitter struggle for existence has forced into a life of horror---- stonor (_sternly to_ lady john). you think this is the kind of thing---- (_a motion of the head towards_ jean.) miss l.--the outcast women might take advantage of the shelter these decent, cheap places offered. but the _men_, i said! are all who avail themselves of lord rowton's hostels, 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 policemen, who at first had been strolling about, have stood during this scene in front of_ geoffrey stonor. _they turn now and walk away, leaving_ stonor _exposed. he, embarrassed, moves uneasily, and_ vida levering's _eye falls upon his big figure. he still has the collar of his motor coat turned up to his ears. a change passes over her face, and her nerve fails her an instant._) miss l. justice and chivalry!! (_she steadies her voice and hurries on_)--they both remind me of what those of you who read the police-court news--(i have begun only lately to do that)--but you've seen the accounts of the girl who's been tried in manchester lately for the murder of her child. not pleasant reading. even if we'd noticed it, we wouldn't speak of it in my world. a few months ago i should have turned away my eyes and forgotten even the headline as quickly as i could. but since that morning in the police-court, i read these things. this, as you'll remember, was about a little working girl--an orphan of eighteen--who crawled with the dead body of her new-born child to her master's back-door, and left the baby there. she dragged herself a little way off and fainted. a few days later she found herself in court, being tried for the murder of her child. her master--a married man--had of course reported the "find" at his back-door to the police, and he had been summoned to give evidence. the girl cried out to him in the open court, "you are the father!" he couldn't deny it. the coroner at the jury's request censured the man, and regretted that the law didn't make him responsible. but he went scot-free. and that girl is now serving her sentence in strangeways gaol. (_murmuring and scraps of indistinguishable comment in the crowd, through which only_ jean's _voice is clear._) jean (_who has wormed her way to_ stonor's _side_). why do you dislike her so? stonor. i? why should you think---- jean (_with a vaguely frightened air_). i never saw you look as you did--as you do. chairman. order, please--give the lady a fair---- miss l. (_signing to him "it's all right"_). men make boast that an english citizen is tried by his peers. what woman is tried by hers? (_a sombre passion strengthens her voice and hurries her on._) a woman is arrested by a man, brought before a man judge, tried by a jury of men, condemned by men, taken to prison by a man, and by a man she's hanged! where in all this were _her_ "peers"? why did men so long ago insist on trial by "a jury of their peers"? so that justice shouldn't miscarry--wasn't it? a man's peers would best understand his circumstances, his temptation, the degree of his guilt. yet there's no such unlikeness between different classes of men as exists between man and woman. what man has the knowledge that makes him a fit judge of woman's deeds at that time of anguish--that hour--(_lowers her voice and bends over the crowd_)--that hour that some woman struggled through to put each man here into the world. i noticed when a previous speaker quoted the labour party you applauded. some of you here--i gather--call yourselves labour men. every woman who has borne a child is a labour woman. no man among you can judge what she goes through in her hour of darkness---- jean (_with frightened eyes on her lover's set, white face, whispers_). geoffrey---- miss l. (_catching her fluttering breath, goes on very low_.)--in that great agony when, even under the best conditions that money and devotion can buy, many a woman falls into temporary mania, and not a few go down to death. in the case of this poor little abandoned working girl, what man can be the fit judge of her deeds in that awful moment of half-crazed temptation? women know of these things as those know burning who have walked through fire. (stonor _makes a motion towards_ jean _and she turns away fronting the audience. her hands go up to her throat as though she suffered a choking sensation. it is in her face that she "knows."_ miss levering _leans over the platform and speaks with a low and thrilling earnestness._) i would say in conclusion to the women here, it's not enough to be sorry for these our unfortunate sisters. we must get the conditions of life made fairer. we women must organise. we must learn to work together. we have all (rich and poor, happy and unhappy) worked so long and so exclusively for _men_, we hardly know how to work for one another. but we must learn. those who can, may give money---- voices (_grumbling_). oh, yes--money! money! miss l. those who haven't pennies to give--even those people aren't so poor they can't give some part of their labour--some share of their sympathy and support. (_turns to hear something the_ chairman _is whispering to her._) jean (_low to_ lady john). oh, i'm glad i've got power! lady john (_bewildered_). power!--_you?_ jean. yes, all that money---- (lady john _tries to make her way to_ stonor.) miss l. (_suddenly turning from the_ chairman _to the crowd_). oh, yes, i hope you'll all join the union. come up after the meeting and give your names. loud voice. you won't get many men. miss l. (_with fire_). then it's to the women i appeal! (_she is about to retire when, with a sudden gleam in her lit eyes, she turns for the last time to the crowd, silencing the general murmur and holding the people by the sudden concentration of passion in her face._) i don't mean to say it wouldn't be better if men and women did this work together--shoulder to shoulder. but the mass of men won't have it so. i only hope they'll realise in time the good they've renounced and the spirit they've aroused. for i know as well as any man could tell me, it would be a bad day for england if all women felt about all men _as i do_. (_she retires in a tumult. the others on the platform close about her. the_ chairman _tries in vain to get a hearing from the excited crowd._) (jean _tries to make her way through the knot of people surging round her._) stonor (_calls_). here!--follow me! jean. no--no--i---- stonor. you're going the wrong way. jean. _this_ is the way i must go. stonor. you can get out quicker on this side. jean. i don't _want_ to get out. stonor. what! where are you going? jean. to ask that woman to let me have the honour of working with her. (_she disappears in the crowd._) curtain. act iii scene: _the drawing-room at old_ mr. dunbarton's _house in eaton square. six o'clock the same evening. as the curtain rises the door_ (l.) _opens and_ jean _appears on the threshold. she looks back into her own sitting-room, then crosses the drawing-room, treading softly on the parquet spaces between the rugs. she goes to the window and is in the act of parting the lace curtains when the folding doors_ (c.) _are opened by the_ butler. jean (_to the servant_). sh! (_she goes softly back to the door she has left open and closes it carefully. when she turns, the_ butler _has stepped aside to admit_ geoffrey stonor, _and departed, shutting the folding doors._ stonor _comes rapidly forward._) (_before he gets a word out._) speak low, please. stonor (_angrily_). i waited about a whole hour for you to come back. (jean _turns away as though vaguely looking for the nearest chair._) if you didn't mind leaving _me_ like that, you might have considered lady john. jean (_pausing_). is she here with you? stonor. no. my place was nearer than this, and she was very tired. i left her to get some tea. we couldn't tell whether you'd be here, or _what_ had become of you. jean. mr. trent got us a hansom. stonor. trent? jean. the chairman of the meeting. stonor. "got us----"? jean. miss levering and me. stonor (_incensed_). miss l---- butler (_opens the door and announces_). mr. farnborough. (_enter_ mr. richard farnborough--_more flurried than ever._) farn. (_seeing_ stonor). at last! you'll forgive this incursion, miss dunbarton, when you hear---- (_turns abruptly back to_ stonor.) they've been telegraphing you all over london. in despair they set me on your track. stonor. who did? what's up? farn. (_lays down his hat and fumbles agitatedly in his breast-pocket_). there was the devil to pay at dutfield last night. the liberal chap tore down from london and took over your meeting! stonor. oh?--nothing about it in the sunday paper _i_ saw. farn. wait till you see the press to-morrow morning! there was a great rally and the beggar made a rousing speech. stonor. what about? farn. abolition of the upper house---- stonor. they were at that when i was at eton! farn. yes. but this new man has got a way of putting things!--the people went mad. (_pompously._) the liberal platform as defined at dutfield is going to make a big difference. stonor (_drily_). you think so. farn. well, your agent says as much. (_opens telegram._) stonor. my---- (_taking telegram._) "try find stonor"--hm! hm! farn. (_pointing_).--"tremendous effect of last night's liberal manifesto ought to be counteracted in to-morrow's papers." (_very earnestly._) you see, mr. stonor, it's a battle-cry we want. stonor (_turns on his heel_). claptrap! farn. (_a little dashed_). well, they've been saying we have nothing to offer but personal popularity. no practical reform. no---- stonor. no truckling to the masses, i suppose. (_walks impatiently away._) farn. (_snubbed_). well, in these democratic days---- (_turns to_ jean _for countenance._) i hope you'll forgive my bursting in like this. (_struck by her face._) but i can see you realise the gravity---- (_lowering his voice with an air of speaking for her ear alone._) it isn't as if he were going to be a mere private member. everybody knows he'll be in the cabinet. stonor (_drily_). it may be a liberal cabinet. farn. nobody thought so up to last night. why, even your brother--but i am afraid i'm seeming officious. (_takes up his hat._) stonor (_coldly_). what about my brother? farn. i met lord windlesham as i rushed out of the carlton. stonor. did he say anything? farn. i told him the dutfield news. stonor (_impatiently_). well? farn. he said it only confirmed his fears. stonor (_half under his breath_). said that, did he? farn. yes. defeat is inevitable, he thinks, unless---- (_pause._) (geoffrey stonor, _who has been pacing the floor, stops but doesn't raise his eyes._) unless you can "manufacture some political dynamite within the next few hours." those were his words. stonor (_resumes his walking to and fro, raises his head and catches sight of_ jean's _white, drawn face. stops short_). you are very tired. jean. no. no. stonor (_to_ farnborough). i'm obliged to you for taking so much trouble. (_shakes hands by way of dismissing farnborough._) i'll see what can be done. farn. (_offering the reply-paid form_). if you'd like to wire i'll take it. stonor (_faintly amused_). you don't understand, my young friend. moves of this kind are not rushed at by responsible politicians. i must have time for consideration. farn. (_disappointed_). oh, well, i only hope someone else won't jump into the breach before you--(_watch in hand_) i tell you. (_to_ jean.) i'll find out what time the newspapers go to press on sunday. goodbye. (_to_ stonor.) i'll be at the club just _in case_ i can be of any use. stonor (_firmly_). no, don't do that. if i should have anything new to say---- farn. (_feverishly_). b-b-but with our party, as your brother said--"heading straight for a vast electoral disaster----" stonor. if i decide on a counterblast i shall simply telegraph to headquarters. goodbye. farn. oh--a--g-goodbye. (_a gesture of "the country's going to the dogs."_) (jean _rings the bell. exit_ farnborough.) stonor (_studying the carpet_). "political dynamite," eh? (_pause._) after all ... women are much more conservative than men--aren't they? (jean _looks straight in front of her, making no attempt to reply._) especially the women the property qualification would bring in. (_he glances at_ jean _as though for the first time conscious of her silence._) you see now (_he throws himself into the chair by the table_) one reason why i've encouraged you to take an interest in public affairs. because people like us don't go screaming about it, is no sign we don't (some of us) see what's on the way. however little they want to, women of our class will have to come into line. all the best things in the world--everything that civilisation has won will be in danger if--when this change comes--the only women who have practical political training are the women of the lower classes. women of the lower classes, and (_his brows knit heavily_)--women inoculated by the socialist virus. jean. geoffrey. stonor (_draws the telegraph form towards him_). let us see, how we shall put it--when the time comes--shall we? (_he detaches a pencil from his watch chain and bends over the paper, writing._) (jean _opens her lips to speak, moves a shade nearer the table and then falls back upon her silent, half-incredulous misery._) stonor (_holds the paper off, smiling_). enough dynamite in that! rather too much, isn't there, little girl? jean. geoffrey, i know her story. stonor. whose story? jean. miss levering's. stonor. _whose?_ jean. vida levering's. (stonor _stares speechless. slight pause._) (_the words escaping from her in a miserable cry_) why did you desert her? stonor (_staggered_). i? _i?_ jean. oh, why did you do it? stonor (_bewildered_). what in the name of---- what has she been saying to you? jean. some one else told me part. then the way you looked when you saw her at aunt ellen's--miss levering's saying you didn't know her--then your letting out that you knew even the curious name on the handkerchief---- oh, i pieced it together---- stonor (_with recovered self-possession_). your ingenuity is undeniable! jean.--and then, when she said that at the meeting about "the dark hour" and i looked at your face--it flashed over me---- oh, _why_ did you desert her? stonor. i _didn't_ desert her. jean. ah-h! (_puts her hands before her eyes._) (stonor _makes a passionate motion towards her, is checked by her muffled voice saying_) i'm glad--i'm glad! (_he stares bewildered._ jean _drops her hands in her lap and steadies her voice._) she went away from you, then? stonor. you don't expect me to enter into---- jean. she went away from you? stonor (_with a look of almost uncontrollable anger_). yes! jean. was that because you wouldn't marry her? stonor. i couldn't marry her--and she knew it. jean. did you want to? stonor (_an instant's angry scrutiny and then turning away his eyes_). i thought i did--_then_. it's a long time ago. jean. and why "couldn't" you? stonor (_a movement of strong irritation cut short_). why are you catechising me? it's a matter that concerns another woman. jean. if you're saying that it doesn't concern me, you're saying--(_her lip trembles_)--that _you_ don't concern me. stonor (_commanding his temper with difficulty_). in those days i--i was absolutely dependent on my father. jean. why, you must have been thirty, geoffrey. stonor (_slight pause_). what? oh--thereabouts. jean. and everybody says you're so clever. stonor. well, everybody's mistaken. jean (_drawing nearer_). it must have been terribly hard---- (stonor _turns towards her._) for you both-- (_he arrests his movement and stands stonily._) that a man like you shouldn't have had the freedom that even the lowest seem to have. stonor. freedom? jean. to marry the woman they choose. stonor. she didn't break off our relations because i couldn't marry her. jean. why was it, then? stonor. you're too young to discuss such a story. (_half turns away._) jean. i'm not so young as she was when---- stonor (_wheeling upon her_). very well, then, if you will have it! the truth is, it didn't seem to weigh upon her, as it seems to on you, that i wasn't able to marry her. jean. why are you so sure of that? stonor. because she didn't so much as hint such a thing when she wrote that she meant to break off the--the---- jean. what made her write like that? stonor (_with suppressed rage_). why _will_ you go on talking of what's so long over and ended? jean. what reason did she give? stonor. if your curiosity has so got the upper hand--_ask her_. jean (_her eyes upon him_). you're afraid to tell me. stonor (_putting pressure on himself to answer quietly_). i still hoped--at _that_ time--to win my father over. she blamed me because (_goes to window and looks blindly out and speaks in a low tone_) if the child had lived it wouldn't have been possible to get my father to--to overlook it. jean (_faintly_). you wanted it _overlooked_? i don't underst---- stonor (_turning passionately back to her_). of course you don't. (_he seizes her hand and tries to draw her to him._) if you did, you wouldn't be the beautiful, tender, innocent child you are---- jean (_has withdrawn her hand and shrunk from him with an impulse--slight as is its expression--so tragically eloquent, that fear for the first time catches hold of him_). i am glad you didn't mean to desert her, geoffrey. it wasn't your fault after all--only some misunderstanding that can be cleared up. stonor. _cleared up?_ jean. yes. cleared up. stonor (_aghast_). you aren't thinking that this miserable old affair i'd as good as forgotten---- jean (_in a horror-struck whisper, with a glance at the door which he doesn't see_). _forgotten!_ stonor. no, no. i don't mean exactly forgotten. but you're torturing me so i don't know what i'm saying. (_he goes closer._) you aren't--jean! you--you aren't going to let it come between you and me! jean (_presses her handkerchief to her lips, and then, taking it away, answers steadily_). i can't make or unmake what's past. but i'm glad, at least, that you didn't _mean_ to desert her in her trouble. you'll remind her of that first of all, won't you? (_moves to the door_, l.) stonor. where are you going? (_raising his voice._) why should i remind anybody of what i want only to forget? jean (_finger on lip_). sh! stonor (_with eyes on the door_). you don't mean that _she's_---- jean. yes. i left her to get a little rest. (_he recoils in an access of uncontrollable rage. she follows him. speechless, he goes down_ r. _to get his hat._) geoffrey, don't go before you hear me. i don't know if what i think matters to you now--but i hope it does. (_with tears._) you can still make me think of you without shrinking--if you will. stonor (_fixes her a moment with his eyes. then sternly_). what is it you are asking of me? jean. to make amends, geoffrey. stonor (_with an outburst_). you poor little innocent! jean. i'm poor enough. but (_locking her hands together_) i'm not so innocent but what i know you must right that old wrong now, if you're ever to right it. stonor. you aren't insane enough to think i would turn round in these few hours and go back to something that ten years ago was ended for ever! why, it's stark, staring madness! jean. no. (_catching on his arm._) what you did ten years ago--_that_ was mad. this is paying a debt. stonor. look here, jean, you're dreadfully wrought up and excited--tired too---- jean. no, not tired--though i've travelled so far to-day. i know you smile at sudden conversions. you think they're hysterical--worse--vulgar. but people must get their revelation how they can. and, geoffrey, if i can't make you see this one of mine--i shall know your love could never mean strength to me. only weakness. and i shall be afraid. so afraid i'll never dare to give you the _chance_ of making me loathe myself. i shall never see you again. stonor. how right _i_ was to be afraid of that vein of fanaticism in you. (_moves towards the door._) jean. certainly you couldn't make a greater mistake than to go away now and think it any good ever to come back. (_he turns._) even if i came to feel different, i couldn't _do_ anything different. i should know all this couldn't be forgotten. i should know that it would poison my life in the end. yours too. stonor (_with suppressed fury_). she has made good use of her time! (_with a sudden thought._) what has changed her? has _she_ been seeing visions too? jean. what do you mean? stonor. why is she intriguing to get hold of a man that, ten years ago, she flatly refused to see, or hold any communication with? jean. "intriguing to get hold of?" she hasn't mentioned you! stonor. _what!_ then how in the name of heaven do you know--that she wants--what you ask? jean (_firmly_). there can't be any doubt about that. stonor (_with immense relief_). you absurd, ridiculous child! then all this is just your own unaided invention. well--i could thank god! (_falls into the nearest chair and passes his handkerchief over his face._) jean (_perplexed, uneasy_). for what are you thanking god? stonor (_trying to think out his plan of action_). suppose--(i'm not going to risk it)--but suppose--(_he looks up and at the sight of_ jean's _face a new tenderness comes into his own. he rises suddenly._) 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 you before i understood. jean (_lifts her eyes brimming_). oh, is that true? (_checks her movement towards him._) loving you has made things clear to me i didn't dream of before. if i could think that because of me you were able to do this---- stonor (_seizes her by the shoulders and says hoarsely_). look here! do you seriously ask me to give up the girl i love--to go and offer to marry a woman that even to think of---- jean. you cared for her once. you'll care about her again. she is beautiful and brilliant--everything. i've heard she could win any man she set herself to---- stonor (_pushing_ jean _from him_). she's bewitched you! jean. geoffrey, geoffrey, you aren't going away like that. this isn't _the end_! stonor (_darkly--hesitating_). i suppose even if she refused me, you'd---- jean. she won't refuse you. stonor. she did once. jean. she didn't refuse to _marry_ you---- (jean _is going to the door_ l.) stonor (_catches her by the arm_). wait!--a---- (_hunting for some means of gaining time._) lady john is waiting all this while for the car to go back with a message. jean. _that's_ not a matter of life and death---- stonor. all the same--i'll go down and give the order. jean (_stopping quite still on a sudden_). very well. (_sits_ c.) you'll come back if you're the man i pray you are. (_breaks into a flood of silent tears, her elbows on the table_ (c.) _her face in her hands._) stonor (_returns, bends over her, about to take her in his arms_). dearest of all the world---- (_door_ l. _opens softly and_ vida levering _appears. she is arrested at sight of_ stonor, _and is in the act of drawing back when, upon the slight noise_, stonor _looks round. his face darkens, he stands staring at her and then with a look of speechless anger goes silently out_ c. jean, _hearing him shut the door, drops her head on the table with a sob._ vida levering _crosses slowly to her and stands a moment silent at the girl's side._) miss l. what is the matter? jean (_lifting her head and drying her eyes_). i--i've been seeing geoffrey. miss l. (_with an attempt at lightness_). is this the effect seeing geoffrey has? jean. you see, i know now (_as_ miss levering _looks quite uncomprehending_)--how he (_drops her eyes_)--how he spoiled some one else's life. miss l. (_quickly_). who tells you that? jean. several people have told me. miss l. well, you should be very careful how you believe what you hear. jean (_passionately_). you _know_ it's true. miss l. i know that it's possible to be mistaken. jean. i see! you're trying to shield him---- miss l. why should i--what is it to me? jean (_with tears_). oh--h, how you must love him! miss l. listen to me---- jean (_rising_). what's the use of your going on denying it? (miss levering, _about to break in, is silenced._) _geoffrey doesn't._ (jean, _struggling to command her feelings, goes to window._ vida levering _relinquishes an impulse to follow, and sits left centre._ jean _comes slowly back with her eyes bent on the floor, does not lift them till she is quite near_ vida. _then the girl's self-absorbed face changes._) oh, don't look like that! i shall bring him back to you! (_drops on her knees beside the other's chair._) miss l. you would be impertinent (_softening_) if you weren't a romantic child. you can't bring him back. jean. yes, he---- miss l. but there's something you _can_ do---- jean. what? miss l. bring him to the point where he recognises that he's in our debt. jean. in _our_ debt? miss l. in debt to women. he can't repay the one he robbed---- jean (_wincing and rising from her knees_). yes, yes. miss l. (_sternly_). no, he can't repay the dead. but there are the living. there are the thousands with hope still in their hearts and youth in their blood. let him help _them_. let him be a friend to women. jean (_rising on a wave of enthusiasm_). yes, yes--i understand. that too! (_the door opens. as_ stonor _enters with_ lady john, _he makes a slight gesture towards the two as much as to say, "you see."_) jean (_catching sight of him_). thank you! lady john (_in a clear, commonplace tone to_ jean). well, you rather gave us the slip. vida, i believe mr. stonor wants to see you for a few minutes (_glances at watch_)--but i'd like a word with you first, as i must get back. (_to_ stonor.) do you think the car--your man said something about re-charging. stonor (_hastily_). oh, did he?--i'll see about it. (_as_ stonor _is going out he encounters the_ butler. _exit_ stonor.) butler. mr. trent has called, miss, to take miss levering to the meeting. jean. bring mr. trent into my sitting-room. i'll tell him--you can't go to-night. [_exeunt_ butler c., jean l. lady john (_hurriedly_). i know, my dear, _you're_ not aware of what that impulsive girl wants to insist on. miss l. yes, i am aware of it. lady john. but it isn't with your sanction, surely, that she goes on making this extraordinary demand. miss l. (_slowly_). i didn't sanction it at first, but i've been thinking it over. lady john. then all i can say is i am greatly disappointed in you. you threw this man over years ago for reasons--whatever they were--that seemed to you good and sufficient. and now you come between him and a younger woman--just to play nemesis, so far as i can make out! miss l. is that what he says? lady john. he says nothing that isn't fair and considerate. miss l. i can see he's changed. lady john. and you're unchanged--is that it? miss l. i've changed even more than he. lady john. but (_pity and annoyance blended in her tone_)--you care about him still, vida? miss l. no. lady john. i see. it's just that you wish to marry somebody---- miss l. oh, lady john, there are no men listening. lady john (_surprised_). no, i didn't suppose there were. miss l. then why keep up that old pretence? lady john. what pre---- miss l. that to marry _at all costs_ is every woman's dearest ambition till the grave closes over her. you and i _know_ it isn't true. lady john. well, but---- oh! it was just the unexpected sight of him bringing it back---- _that_ was what fired you this afternoon! (_with an honest attempt at sympathetic understanding._) of course. the memory of a thing like that can never die--can never even be dimmed--_for the woman_. miss l. i mean her to think so. lady john (_bewildered_). jean! (miss levering _nods._) lady john. and it _isn't_ so? miss l. you don't seriously believe a woman with anything else to think about, comes to the end of ten years still _absorbed_ in a memory of that sort? lady john (_astonished_). you've got over it, then! miss l. if the newspapers didn't remind me i shouldn't remember once a twelvemonth that there was ever such a person as geoffrey stonor in the world. lady john (_with unconscious rapture_). oh, i'm _so_ glad! miss l. (_smiles grimly_). yes, i'm glad too. lady john. and if geoffrey stonor offered you--what's called "reparation"--you'd refuse it? miss l. (_smiles a little contemptuously_). geoffrey stonor! for me he's simply one of the far-back links in a chain of evidence. it's certain i think a hundred times of other women's present unhappiness, to once that i remember that old unhappiness of mine that's past. i think of the nail and chain makers of cradley heath. the sweated girls of the slums. i think of the army of ill-used women whose very existence i mustn't mention---- lady john (_interrupting hurriedly_). then why in heaven's name do you let poor jean imagine---- miss l. (_bending forward_). look--i'll trust you, lady john. i don't suffer from that old wrong as jean thinks i do, but i shall coin her sympathy into gold for a greater cause than mine. lady john. i don't understand you. miss l. jean isn't old enough to be able to care as much about a principle as about a person. but if my half-forgotten pain can turn her generosity into the common treasury---- lady john. what do you propose she shall do, poor child? miss l. use her hold over geoffrey stonor to make him help us! lady john. help you? miss l. the man who served one woman--god knows how many more--very ill, shall serve hundreds of thousands well. geoffrey stonor shall make it harder for his son, harder still for his grandson, to treat any woman as he treated me. lady john. how will he do that? miss l. by putting an end to the helplessness of women. lady john (_ironically_). you must think he has a great deal of power---- miss l. power? yes, men have too much over penniless and frightened women. lady john (_impatiently_). what nonsense! you talk as though the women hadn't their share of human nature. _we_ aren't made of ice any more than the men. miss l. no, but all the same we have more self-control. lady john. than men? miss l. you know we have. lady john (_shrewdly_). i know we mustn't admit it. miss l. for fear they'd call us fishes! lady john (_evasively_). they talk of our lack of self-control--but it's the last thing they _want_ women to have. miss l. oh, we know what they want us to have. so we make shift to have it. if we don't, we go without hope--sometimes we go without bread. lady john (_shocked_). vida--do you mean to say that you---- miss l. i mean to say that men's vanity won't let them see it, but the thing's largely a question of economics. lady john (_shocked_). you _never_ loved him, then! miss l. oh, yes, i loved him--_once_. it was my helplessness turned the best thing life can bring, into a curse for both of us. lady john. i don't understand you---- miss l. oh, being "understood!"--that's too much to expect. when people come to know i've joined the union---- lady john. but you won't---- miss l.--who is there who will resist the temptation to say, "poor vida levering! what a pity she hasn't got a husband and a baby to keep her quiet"? the few who know about me, they'll be equally sure that it's not the larger view of life i've gained--my own poor little story is responsible for my new departure. (_leans forward and looks into_ lady john's _face._) my best friend, she will be surest of all, that it's a private sense of loss, or, lower yet, a grudge----! but i tell you the only difference between me and thousands of women with husbands and babies is that i'm free to say what i think. _they aren't._ lady john (_rising and looking at her watch_). i must get back--my poor ill-used guests. miss l. (_rising_). i won't ring. i think you'll find mr. stonor downstairs waiting for you. lady john (_embarrassed_). oh--a--he will have left word about the car in any case. (miss levering _has opened the door_ (c.). allen trent _is in the act of saying goodbye to_ jean _in the hall._) miss l. well, mr. trent, i didn't expect to see you this evening. trent (_comes and stands in the doorway_). why not? have i ever failed? miss l. lady john, this is one of our allies. he is good enough to squire me through the rabble from time to time. lady john. well, i think it's very handsome of you, after what she said to-day about men. (_shakes hands._) trent. i've no great opinion of most men myself. i might add--or of most women. lady john. oh! well, at any rate i shall go away relieved to think that miss levering's plain speaking hasn't alienated _all_ masculine regard. trent. why should it? lady john. that's right, mr. trent! don't believe all she says in the heat of propaganda. trent. i do believe all she says. but i'm not cast down. lady john (_smiling_). not when she says---- trent (_interrupting_). was there never a mysogynist of my sex who ended by deciding to make an exception? lady john (_smiling significantly_). oh, if _that's_ what you build on! trent. well, why shouldn't a man-hater on your side prove equally open to reason? miss l. that part of the question doesn't concern me. i've come to a place where i realise that the first battles of this new campaign must be fought by women alone. the only effective help men could give--amendment of the law--they refuse. the rest is nothing. lady john. don't be ungrateful, vida. here's mr. trent ready to face criticism in publicly championing you. miss l. it's an illusion that i as an individual need mr. trent. i am quite safe in the crowd. please don't wait for me, and don't come for me again. trent (_flushes_). of course if you'd rather---- miss l. and that reminds me. i was asked to thank you and to tell you, too, that they--the women of the union--they won't need your chairmanship any more--though that, i beg you to believe, has nothing to do with any feeling of mine. trent (_hurt_). of course, i know there must be other men ready--better known men---- miss l. it isn't that. it's simply that they find a man can't keep a rowdy meeting in order as well as a woman. (_he stares._) lady john. you aren't serious? miss l. (_to_ trent). haven't you noticed that all their worst disturbances come when men are in charge? trent. well--a--(_laughs a little ruefully as he moves to the door_) i hadn't connected the two ideas. goodbye. miss l. goodbye. (jean _takes him downstairs, right centre._) lady john (_as_ trent _disappears_). that nice boy's in love with you. (miss levering _simply looks at her._) lady john. goodbye. (_they shake hands._) i wish you hadn't been so unkind to that nice boy! miss l. do you? lady john. yes, for then i would be more certain of your telling geoffrey stonor that intelligent women don't nurse their wrongs and lie in wait to punish them. miss l. you are _not_ certain? lady john (_goes close up to_ vida). are you? (vida _stands with her eyes on the ground, silent, motionless._ lady john, _with a nervous glance at her watch and a gesture of extreme perturbation, goes hurriedly out._ vida _shuts the door. she comes slowly back, sits down and covers her face with her hands. she rises and begins to walk up and down, obviously trying to master her agitation. enter_ geoffrey stonor.) miss l. well, have they primed you? have you got your lesson (_with a little broken laugh_) _by heart_ at last? stonor (_looking at her from immeasurable distance_). i am not sure i understand you. (_pause._) however unpropitious your mood may be--i shall discharge my errand. (_pause. her silence irritates him._) i have promised to offer you what i believe is called "amends." miss l. (_quickly_). you've come to realise, then--after all these years--that you owed me something? stonor (_on the brink of protest, checks himself_). i am not here to deny it. miss l. (_fiercely_). pay, then--_pay_. stonor (_a moment's dread as he looks at her, his lips set. then stonily_). i have promised that, if you exact it, i will. miss l. ah! if i insist you'll "make it all good"! (_quite low._) then don't you know you must pay me in kind? stonor. what do you mean? miss l. give me back what you took from me: my old faith. give me that. stonor. oh, if you mean to make phrases---- (_a gesture of scant patience._) miss l. (_going closer_). or give me back mere kindness--or even tolerance. oh, i don't mean _your_ tolerance! give me back the power to think fairly of my brothers--not as mockers--thieves. stonor. i have not mocked you. and i have asked you---- miss l. something you knew i should refuse! or (_her eyes blaze_) did you dare to be afraid i wouldn't? stonor. i suppose, if we set our teeth, we could---- miss l. i couldn't--not even if i set my teeth. and you wouldn't dream of asking me, if you thought there was the smallest chance. stonor. i can do no more than make you an offer of such reparation as is in my power. if you don't accept it---- (_he turns with an air of "that's done."_) miss l. accept it? no!... go away and live in debt! pay and pay and pay--and find yourself still in debt!--for a thing you'll never be able to give me back. (_lower._) and when you come to die, say to yourself, "i paid all creditors but one." stonor. i'm rather tired, you know, of this talk of debt. if i hear that you persist in it i shall have to---- miss l. what? (_she faces him._) stonor. no. i'll keep to my resolution. (_turning to the door._) miss l. (_intercepting him_). what resolution? stonor. i came here, under considerable pressure, to speak of the future--not to re-open the past. miss l. the future and the past are one. stonor. you talk as if that old madness was mine alone. it is the woman's way. miss l. i know. and it's not fair. men suffer as well as we by the woman's starting wrong. we are taught to think the man a sort of demigod. if he tells her: "go down into hell"--down into hell she goes. stonor. make no mistake. not the woman alone. _they go down together._ miss l. yes, they go down together, but the man comes up alone. as a rule. it is more convenient so--for him. and for the other woman. (_the eyes of both go to_ jean's _door._) stonor (_angrily_). my conscience is clear. i know--and so do you--that most men in my position wouldn't have troubled themselves. i gave myself endless trouble. miss l. (_with wondering eyes_). so you've gone about all these years feeling that you'd discharged every obligation. stonor. not only that. i stood by you with a fidelity that was nothing short of quixotic. if, woman like, you _must_ recall the past--i insist on your recalling it correctly. miss l. (_very low_). you think i don't recall it correctly? stonor. not when you make--other people believe that i deserted you. (_with gathering wrath._) it's a curious enough charge when you stop to consider---- (_checks himself, and with a gesture of impatience sweeps the whole thing out of his way._) miss l. well, when we _do_--just for five minutes out of ten years--when we do stop to consider---- stonor. we remember it was _you_ who did the deserting! since you had to rake the story up, you might have had the fairness to tell the facts. miss l. you think "the facts" would have excused you! (_she sits._) stonor. no doubt you've forgotten them, since lady john tells me you wouldn't remember my existence once a year if the newspapers didn't---- miss l. ah, you minded that! stonor (_with manly spirit_). i minded your giving false impressions. (_she is about to speak, he advances on her._) do you deny that you returned my letters unopened? miss l. (_quietly_). no. stonor. do you deny that you refused to see me--and that, when i persisted, you vanished? miss l. i don't deny any of those things. stonor. why, i had no trace of you for years! miss l. i suppose not. stonor. very well, then. what _could_ i do? miss l. nothing. it was too late to do anything. stonor. it wasn't too late! you knew--since you "read the papers"--that my father died that same year. there was no longer any barrier between us. miss l. oh yes, there was a barrier. stonor. of your own making, then. miss l. i had my guilty share in it--but the barrier (_her voice trembles_)--the barrier was your invention. stonor. it was no "invention." if you had ever known my father---- miss l. oh, the echoes! the echoes! how often you used to say, if i "knew your father!" but you said, too (_lower_)--you called the greatest barrier by another name. stonor. what name? miss l. (_very low_). the child that was to come. stonor (_hastily_). that was before my father died. while i still hoped to get his consent. miss l. (_nods_). how the thought of that all-powerful personage used to terrorise me! what chance had a little unborn child against "the last of the great feudal lords," as you called him. stonor. you _know_ the child would have stood between you and me! miss l. i know the child _did_ stand between you and me! stonor (_with vague uneasiness_). it _did_ stand---- miss l. happy mothers teach their children. mine had to teach me. stonor. you talk as if---- miss l.--teach me that a woman may do a thing for love's sake that shall kill love. (_a silence._) stonor (_fearing and putting from him fuller comprehension, rises with an air of finality_). you certainly made it plain you had no love left for me. miss l. i had need of it all for the child. stonor (_stares--comes closer, speaks hurriedly and very low_). do you mean then that, after all--it lived? miss l. no; i mean that it was sacrificed. but it showed me no barrier is so impassable as the one a little child can raise. stonor (_a light dawning_). was that why you ... was _that_ why? miss l. (_nods, speechless a moment_). day and night there it was!--between my thought of you and me. (_he sits again, staring at her._) when i was most unhappy i would wake, thinking i heard it cry. it was my own crying i heard, but i seemed to have it in my arms. i suppose i was mad. i used to lie there in that lonely farmhouse pretending to hush it. it was so i hushed myself. stonor. i never knew---- miss l. i didn't blame you. you couldn't risk being with me. stonor. you agreed that for both our sakes---- miss l. yes, you had to be very circumspect. you were so well known. your autocratic father--your brilliant political future---- stonor. be fair. _our_ future--as i saw it then. miss l. yes, it all hung on concealment. it must have looked quite simple to you. you didn't know that the ghost of a child that had never seen the light, the frail thing you meant to sweep aside and forget--_have_ swept aside and forgotten--you didn't know it was strong enough to push you out of my life. (_lower with an added intensity._) it can do more. (_leans over him and whispers._) it can push that girl out. (stonor's _face changes._) it can do more still. stonor. are you threatening me? miss l. no, i am preparing you. stonor. for what? miss l. for the work that must be done. either with _your help_--or _that girl's_. (stonor _lifts his eyes a moment._) miss l. one of two things. either her life, and all she has, given to this new service--or a ransom, if i give her up to you. stonor. i see. a price. well----? miss l. (_looks searchingly in his face, hesitates and shakes her head_). even if i could trust you to pay--no, it would be a poor bargain to give her up for anything you could do. stonor (_rising_). in spite of your assumption--she may not be your tool. miss l. you are horribly afraid she is! but you are wrong. don't think it's merely i that have got hold of jean dunbarton. stonor (_angrily_). who else? miss l. the new spirit that's abroad. (stonor _turns away with an exclamation and begins to pace, sentinel-like, up and down before_ jean's _door._) miss l. how else should that inexperienced girl have felt the new loyalty and responded as she did? stonor (_under his breath_). "new" indeed--however little loyal. miss l. loyal above all. but no newer than electricity was when it first lit up the world. it had been there since the world began--waiting to do away with the dark. _so has the thing you're fighting._ stonor (_his voice held down to its lowest register_). the thing i'm fighting is nothing more than one person's hold on a highly sensitive imagination. i consented to this interview with the hope---- (_a gesture of impotence._) it only remains for me to show her your true motive is revenge. miss l. once say that to her and you are lost! (stonor _motionless; his look is the look of a man who sees happiness slipping away._) miss l. i know what it is that men fear. it even seems as if it must be through fear that your enlightenment will come. that is why i see a value in jean dunbarton far beyond her fortune. (stonor _lifts his eyes dully and fixes them on_ vida's _face._) miss l. more than any girl i know--if i keep her from you--that gentle, inflexible creature could rouse in men the old half-superstitious fear---- stonor. "fear?" i believe you are mad. miss l. "mad." "unsexed." these are the words to-day. in the middle ages men cried out "witch!" and burnt her--the woman who served no man's bed or board. stonor. you want to make that poor child believe---- miss l. she sees for herself we've come to a place where we find there's a value in women apart from the value men see in them. you teach us not to look to you for some of the things we need most. if women must be freed by women, we have need of such as--(_her eyes go to_ jean's _door_)--who knows? she may be the new joan of arc. stonor (_aghast_). that _she_ should be the sacrifice! miss l. you have taught us to look very calmly on the sacrifice of women. men tell us in every tongue it's "a necessary evil." (stonor _stands rooted, staring at the ground._) miss l. one girl's happiness--against a thing nobler than happiness for thousands--who can hesitate?--_not jean._ stonor. good god! can't you see that this crazed campaign you'd start her on--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 the goal? miss l. you think we wouldn't be glad to go straight to the goal? stonor. i do. i see you'd much rather punish me and see her revel in a morbid self-sacrifice. miss l. you say i want to punish you only because, like most men, you won't take the trouble to understand what we do want--or how determined we are to have it. you can't kill this new spirit among women. (_going nearer._) and you couldn't make a greater mistake than to think it finds a home only in the exceptional, or the unhappy. it's so strange, geoffrey, to see a man like you as much deluded as the hyde park loafers who say to ernestine blunt, "who's hurt _your_ feelings?" why not realise (_going quite close to him_) this is a thing that goes deeper than personal experience? and yet (_lowering her voice and glancing at the door_), if you take only the narrowest personal view, a good deal depends on what you and i agree upon in the next five minutes. stonor (_bringing her farther away from the door_). you recommend my realising the larger issues. but in your ambition to attach that girl to the chariot wheels of "progress," you quite ignore the fact that people fitter for such work--the men you look to enlist in the end--are ready waiting to give the thing a chance. miss l. men are ready! what men? stonor (_avoiding her eyes, picking his words_). women have themselves to blame that the question has grown so delicate that responsible people shrink--for the moment--from being implicated in it. miss l. we have seen the "shrinking." stonor. without quoting any one else, i might point out that the new antagonism seems to have blinded you to the small fact that i, for one, am not an opponent. miss l. the phrase _has_ a familiar ring. we have heard it from four hundred and twenty others. stonor. i spoke, if i may say so, of some one who would count. some one who can carry his party along with him--or risk a seat in the cabinet. miss l. (_quickly_). did you mean you are ready to do that? stonor. an hour ago i was. miss l. ah!... an hour ago. stonor. exactly. you don't understand men. they can be led. they can't be driven. ten minutes before you came into the room i was ready to say i would throw in my political lot with this reform. miss l. and now...? stonor. now you block my way by an attempt at coercion. by forcing my hand you give my adherence an air of bargain-driving for a personal end. exactly the mistake of the ignorant agitators of your "union," as you call it. you have a great deal to learn. this movement will go forward, not because of the agitation, but in spite of it. there are men in parliament who would have been actively serving the reform to-day ... as actively as so vast a constitutional change---- miss l. (_smiles faintly_). and they haven't done it because---- stonor. because it would have put a premium on breaches of decent behaviour. (_he takes a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket._) look here! miss l. (_flushes with excitement as she reads the telegram_). this is very good. i see only one objection. stonor. objection! miss l. you haven't sent it. stonor. _that_ is your fault. miss l. when did you write this? stonor. just before you came in--when----(_he glances at the door._) miss l. ah! it must have pleased jean--that message. (_offers him back the paper._) (stonor _astonished at her yielding it up so lightly, and remembering_ jean _had not so much as read it. he throws himself heavily into a chair and drops his head in his hands._) miss l. i could drive a hard-and-fast bargain with you, but i think i won't. if _both_ love and ambition urge you on, perhaps----(_she gazes at the slack, hopeless figure with its sudden look of age--goes over silently and stands by his side._) after all, life hasn't been quite fair to you---- (_he raises his heavy eyes._) you fall out of one ardent woman's dreams into another's. stonor. you may as well tell me--do you mean to----? miss l. to keep you and her apart? no. stonor (_for the first time tears come into his eyes. after a moment he holds out his hand_). what can i do for you? (miss levering _shakes her head--speechless._) stonor. for the real you. not the reformer, or the would-be politician--for the woman i so unwillingly hurt. (_as she turns away, struggling with her feeling, he lays a detaining hand on her arm._) you may not believe it, but now that i understand, there is almost nothing i wouldn't do to right that old wrong. miss l. there's nothing to be done. you can never give me back my child. stonor (_at the anguish in_ vida's _face his own has changed_). will that ghost give you no rest? miss l. yes, oh, yes. i see life is nobler than i knew. there is work to do. stonor (_stopping her as she goes towards the folding doors_). why should you think that it's only you, these ten years have taught something to? why not give even a man credit for a willingness to learn something of life, and for being sorry--profoundly sorry--for the pain his instruction has cost others? you seem to think i've taken it all quite 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 know you--were happy again. miss l. oh, happiness! stonor (_significantly_). why shouldn't you find it still. miss l. (_stares an instant_). i see! she couldn't help telling about allen trent--lady john couldn't. stonor. you're one of the people the years have not taken from, but given more to. you are more than ever.... you haven't lost your beauty. miss l. the gods saw it was so little effectual, it wasn't worth taking away. (_she stands looking 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. but the time has come when a woman may look about her, and say, "what general significance has my secret pain? does it 'join on' to anything?" and i find it does. i'm no longer merely a woman who has stumbled on the way. i'm one (_she controls with difficulty the shake in her voice_) who has got up bruised and bleeding, wiped the dust from her hands and the tears from her face, and said to herself not merely, "here's one luckless woman! but--here is a stone of stumbling to many. let's see if it can't be moved out of other women's way." and she calls people to come and help. no mortal man, let alone a woman, _by herself_, can move that rock of offence. but (_with a sudden sombre flame of enthusiasm_) if many help, geoffrey, the thing can be done. stonor (_looks at her with wondering pity_). lord! how you care! miss l. (_touched by his moved face_). don't be so sad. shall i tell you a secret? jean's ardent dreams needn't frighten you, if she has a child. _that_--from the beginning, it was not the strong arm--it was the weakest--the little, little arms that subdued the fiercest of us. (stonor _puts out a pitying hand uncertainly towards her. she does not take it, but speaks with great gentleness._) you will have other children, geoffrey--for me there was to be only one. well, well--(_she brushes her tears away_)--since men alone have tried and failed to make a decent world for the little children to live in--it's as well some of us are childless. (_quietly taking up her hat and cloak._) yes, _we_ are the ones who have no excuse for standing aloof from the fight. stonor. vida! miss l. what? stonor. you've forgotten something. (_as she looks back he is signing the message._) _this._ (_she goes out silently with the "political dynamite" in her hand._) curtain. the gresham press, unwin brothers, limited, woking and london. corrections. the first line indicates the original, the second the correction. p. : we all realise it was a perfectiy lunatic proceeding we all realise it was a perfectly lunatic proceeding p. : the unemployed in the condition they' e the unemployed in the condition they're p. : you aren't going away lik that. you aren't going away like that. none mrs. pankhurst's own story [illustration: e. pankhurst] my own story by emmeline pankhurst [illustration: logo] illustrated london eveleigh nash copyright, , by hearsts's international library co., inc. _all rights reserved, including the translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian._ contents book i the making of a militant chapter page i ii iii iv book ii four years of peaceful militancy chapter page i ii iii iv v vi vii viii book iii the women's revolution chapter page i ii iii iv v vi vii viii ix illustrations portrait of mrs. pankhurst _frontispiece_ facing page mrs. pankhurst addressing a by-election crowd mrs. pankhurst and christabel hiding from the police on the roof garden at clements inn, october, christabel, mrs. drummond and mrs. pankhurst in the dock, first conspiracy trial, october, mrs. pankhurst and miss christabel pankhurst in prison dress inspector wells conducting mrs. pankhurst to the house of commons, june, over , women had been in prison--broad arrows in the parade the head of the deputation on black friday, november, for hours scenes like this were enacted on black friday, november, riot scenes on black friday, november, in this manner thousands of women throughout the kingdom slept in unoccupied houses over census night the argument of the broken window pane a suffragette throwing a bag of flour at mr. asquith in chester re-arrest of mrs. pankhurst at woking, may , mrs. pankhurst and christabel in the garden of christabel's home in paris "arrested at the king's gate!" may, acknowledgment the author wishes to express her deep obligation to rheta childe dorr for invaluable editorial services performed in the preparation of this volume, especially the american edition. foreword the closing paragraphs of this book were written in the late summer of , when the armies of every great power in europe were being mobilised for savage, unsparing, barbarous warfare--against one another, against small and unaggressive nations, against helpless women and children, against civilisation itself. how mild, by comparison with the despatches in the daily newspapers, will seem this chronicle of women's militant struggle against political and social injustice in one small corner of europe. yet let it stand as it was written, with peace--so-called, and civilisation, and orderly government as the background for heroism such as the world has seldom witnessed. the militancy of men, through all the centuries, has drenched the world with blood, and for these deeds of horror and destruction men have been rewarded with monuments, with great songs and epics. the militancy of women has harmed no human life save the lives of those who fought the battle of righteousness. time alone will reveal what reward will be allotted to the women. this we know, that in the black hour that has just struck in europe, the men are turning to their women and calling on them to take up the work of keeping civilisation alive. through all the harvest fields, in orchards and vineyards, women are garnering food for the men who fight, as well as for the children left fatherless by war. in the cities the women are keeping open the shops, they are driving trucks and trams, and are altogether attending to a multitude of business. when the remnants of the armies return, when the commerce of europe is resumed by men, will they forget the part the women so nobly played? will they forget in england how women in all ranks of life put aside their own interests and organised, not only to nurse the wounded, care for the destitute, comfort the sick and lonely, but actually to maintain the existence of the nation? thus far, it must be admitted, there are few indications that the english government are mindful of the unselfish devotion manifested by the women. thus far all government schemes for overcoming unemployment have been directed towards the unemployment of men. the work of women, making garments, etc., has in some cases been taken away. at the first alarm of war the militants proclaimed a truce, which was answered half-heartedly by the announcement that the government would release all suffrage prisoners who would give an undertaking "not to commit further crimes or outrages." since the truce had already been proclaimed, no suffrage prisoner deigned to reply to the home secretary's provision. a few days later, no doubt influenced by representations made to the government by men and women of every political faith--many of them never having been supporters of revolutionary tactics--mr. mckenna announced in the house of commons that it was the intention of the government, within a few days, to release unconditionally, all suffrage prisoners. so ends, for the present, the war of women against men. as of old, the women become the nurturing mothers of men, their sisters and uncomplaining helpmates. the future lies far ahead, but let this preface and this volume close with the assurance that the struggle for the full enfranchisement of women has not been abandoned; it has simply, for the moment, been placed in abeyance. when the clash of arms ceases, when normal, peaceful, rational society resumes its functions, the demand will again be made. if it is not quickly granted, then once more the women will take up the arms they to-day generously lay down. there can be no real peace in the world until woman, the mother half of the human family, is given liberty in the councils of the world. book i the making of a militant mrs. pankhurst's own story chapter i those men and women are fortunate who are born at a time when a great struggle for human freedom is in progress. it is an added good fortune to have parents who take a personal part in the great movements of their time. i am glad and thankful that this was my case. one of my earliest recollections is of a great bazaar which was held in my native city of manchester, the object of the bazaar being to raise money to relieve the poverty of the newly emancipated negro slaves in the united states. my mother took an active part in this effort, and i, as a small child, was entrusted with a lucky bag by means of which i helped to collect money. young as i was--i could not have been older than five years--i knew perfectly well the meaning of the words slavery and emancipation. from infancy i had been accustomed to hear pro and con discussions of slavery and the american civil war. although the british government finally decided not to recognise the confederacy, public opinion in england was sharply divided on the questions both of slavery and of secession. broadly speaking, the propertied classes were pro-slavery, but there were many exceptions to the rule. most of those who formed the circle of our family friends were opposed to slavery, and my father, robert goulden, was always a most ardent abolitionist. he was prominent enough in the movement to be appointed on a committee to meet and welcome henry ward beecher when he arrived in england for a lecture tour. mrs. harriet beecher stowe's novel, "uncle tom's cabin," was so great a favourite with my mother that she used it continually as a source of bedtime stories for our fascinated ears. those stories, told almost fifty years ago, are as fresh in my mind to-day as events detailed in the morning's papers. indeed they are more vivid, because they made a much deeper impression on my consciousness. i can still definitely recall the thrill i experienced every time my mother related the tale of eliza's race for freedom over the broken ice of the ohio river, the agonizing pursuit, and the final rescue at the hands of the determined old quaker. another thrilling tale was the story of a negro boy's flight from the plantation of his cruel master. the boy had never seen a railroad train, and when, staggering along the unfamiliar railroad track, he heard the roar of an approaching train, the clattering car-wheels seemed to his strained imagination to be repeating over and over again the awful words, "catch a nigger--catch a nigger--catch a nigger--" this was a terrible story, and throughout my childhood, whenever i rode in a train, i thought of that poor runaway slave escaping from the pursuing monster. these stories, with the bazaars and the relief funds and subscriptions of which i heard so much talk, i am sure made a permanent impression on my brain and my character. they awakened in me the two sets of sensations to which all my life i have most readily responded: first, admiration for that spirit of fighting and heroic sacrifice by which alone the soul of civilisation is saved; and next after that, appreciation of the gentler spirit which is moved to mend and repair the ravages of war. i do not remember a time when i could not read, nor any time when reading was not a joy and a solace. as far back as my memory runs i loved tales, especially those of a romantic and idealistic character. "pilgrim's progress" was an early favourite, as well as another of bunyan's visionary romances, which does not seem to be as well known, his "holy war." at nine i discovered the odyssey and very soon after that another classic which has remained all my life a source of inspiration. this was carlyle's "french revolution," and i received it with much the same emotion that keats experienced when he read chapman's translation of homer--" ... like some watcher of the skies, when a new planet swims into his ken." i never lost that first impression, and it strongly affected my attitude toward events which were occurring around my childhood. manchester is a city which has witnessed a great many stirring episodes, especially of a political character. generally speaking, its citizens have been liberal in their sentiments, defenders of free speech and liberty of opinion. in the late sixties there occurred in manchester one of those dreadful events that prove an exception to the rule. this was in connection with the fenian revolt in ireland. there was a fenian riot, and the police arrested the leaders. these men were being taken to the jail in a prison van. on the way the van was stopped and an attempt was made to rescue the prisoners. a man fired a pistol, endeavouring to break the lock of the van door. a policeman fell, mortally wounded, and several men were arrested and were charged with murder. i distinctly remember the riot, which i did not witness, but which i heard vividly described by my older brother. i had been spending the afternoon with a young playmate, and my brother had come after tea to escort me home. as we walked through the deepening november twilight he talked excitedly of the riot, the fatal pistol shot, and the slain policeman. i could almost see the man bleeding on the ground, while the crowd swayed and groaned around him. the rest of the story reveals one of those ghastly blunders which justice not infrequently makes. although the shooting was done without any intent to kill, the men were tried for murder and three of them were found guilty and hanged. their execution, which greatly excited the citizens of manchester, was almost the last, if not the last, public execution permitted to take place in the city. at the time i was a boarding-pupil in a school near manchester, and i spent my week-ends at home. a certain saturday afternoon stands out in my memory, as on my way home from school i passed the prison where i knew the men had been confined. i saw that a part of the prison wall had been torn away, and in the great gap that remained were evidences of a gallows recently removed. i was transfixed with horror, and over me there swept the sudden conviction that that hanging was a mistake--worse, a crime. it was my awakening to one of the most terrible facts of life--that justice and judgment lie often a world apart. i relate this incident of my formative years to illustrate the fact that the impressions of childhood often have more to do with character and future conduct than heredity or education. i tell it also to show that my development into an advocate of militancy was largely a sympathetic process. i have not personally suffered from the deprivations, the bitterness and sorrow which bring so many men and women to a realisation of social injustice. my childhood was protected by love and a comfortable home. yet, while still a very young child, i began instinctively to feel that there was something lacking, even in my own home, some false conception of family relations, some incomplete ideal. this vague feeling of mine began to shape itself into conviction about the time my brothers and i were sent to school. the education of the english boy, then as now, was considered a much more serious matter than the education of the english boy's sister. my parents, especially my father, discussed the question of my brothers' education as a matter of real importance. my education and that of my sister were scarcely discussed at all. of course we went to a carefully selected girls' school, but beyond the facts that the head mistress was a gentlewoman and that all the pupils were girls of my own class, nobody seemed concerned. a girl's education at that time seemed to have for its prime object the art of "making home attractive"--presumably to migratory male relatives. it used to puzzle me to understand why i was under such a particular obligation to make home attractive to my brothers. we were on excellent terms of friendship, but it was never suggested to them as a duty that they make home attractive to me. why not? nobody seemed to know. the answer to these puzzling questions came to me unexpectedly one night when i lay in my little bed waiting for sleep to overtake me. it was a custom of my father and mother to make the round of our bedrooms every night before going themselves to bed. when they entered my room that night i was still awake, but for some reason i chose to feign slumber. my father bent over me, shielding the candle flame with his big hand. i cannot know exactly what thought was in his mind as he gazed down at me, but i heard him say, somewhat sadly, "what a pity she wasn't born a lad." my first hot impulse was to sit up in bed and protest that i didn't want to be a boy, but i lay still and heard my parents' footsteps pass on toward the next child's bed. i thought about my father's remark for many days afterward, but i think i never decided that i regretted my sex. however, it was made quite clear that men considered themselves superior to women, and that women apparently acquiesced in that belief. i found this view of things difficult to reconcile with the fact that both my father and my mother were advocates of equal suffrage. i was very young when the reform act of was passed, but i very well remember the agitation caused by certain circumstances attending it. this reform act, known as the household franchise bill, marked the first popular extension of the ballot in england since . under its terms, householders paying a minimum of ten pounds a year rental were given the parliamentary vote. while it was still under discussion in the house of commons, john stuart mill moved an amendment to the bill to include women householders as well as men. the amendment was defeated, but in the act as passed the word "man," instead of the usual "male person," was used. now, under another act of parliament it had been decided that the word "man" always included "woman" unless otherwise specifically stated. for example, in certain acts containing rate-paying clauses, the masculine noun and pronoun are used throughout, but the provisions apply to women rate-payers as well as to men. so when the reform bill with the word "man" in it became law, many women believed that the right of suffrage had actually been bestowed upon them. a tremendous amount of discussion ensued, and the matter was finally tested by a large number of women seeking to have their names placed upon the register as voters. in my city of manchester , women, out of a total of , possible women voters, claimed their votes, and their claim was defended in the law courts by eminent lawyers, including my future husband, dr. pankhurst. of course the women's claim was settled adversely in the courts, but the agitation resulted in a strengthening of the woman-suffrage agitation all over the country. i was too young to understand the precise nature of the affair, but i shared in the general excitement. from reading newspapers aloud to my father i had developed a genuine interest in politics, and the reform bill presented itself to my young intelligence as something that was going to do the most wonderful good to the country. the first election after the bill became law was naturally a memorable occasion. it is chiefly memorable to me because it was the first one in which i ever participated. my sister and i had just been presented with new winter frocks, green in colour, and made alike, after the custom of proper british families. every girl child in those days wore a red flannel petticoat, and when we first put on our new frocks i was struck with the fact that we were wearing red and green--the colours of the liberal party. since our father was a liberal, of course the liberal party ought to carry the election, and i conceived a brilliant scheme for helping its progress. with my small sister trotting after me, i walked the better part of a mile to the nearest polling-booth. it happened to be in a rather rough factory district, but we did not notice that. arrived there, we two children picked up our green skirts to show our scarlet petticoats, and brimful of importance, walked up and down before the assembled crowds to encourage the liberal vote. from this eminence we were shortly snatched by outraged authority in the form of a nursery-maid. i believe we were sent to bed into the bargain, but i am not entirely clear on this point. i was fourteen years old when i went to my first suffrage meeting. returning from school one day, i met my mother just setting out for the meeting, and i begged her to let me go along. she consented, and without stopping to lay my books down i scampered away in my mother's wake. the speeches interested and excited me, especially the address of the great miss lydia becker, who was the susan b. anthony of the english movement, a splendid character and a truly eloquent speaker. she was the secretary of the manchester committee, and i had learned to admire her as the editor of the _women's suffrage journal_, which came to my mother every week. i left the meeting a conscious and confirmed suffragist. i suppose i had always been an unconscious suffragist. with my temperament and my surroundings i could scarcely have been otherwise. the movement was very much alive in the early seventies, nowhere more so than in manchester, where it was organised by a group of extraordinary men and women. among them were mr. and mrs. jacob bright, who were always ready to champion the struggling cause. mr. jacob bright, a brother of john bright, was for many years member of parliament for manchester, and to the day of his death was an active supporter of woman suffrage. two especially gifted women, besides miss becker, were members of the committee. these were mrs. alice cliff scatcherd and miss wolstentholm, now the venerable mrs. wolstentholm-elmy. one of the principal founders of the committee was the man whose wife, in later years, i was destined to become, dr. richard marsden pankhurst. when i was fifteen years old i went to paris, where i was entered as a pupil in one of the pioneer institutions in europe for the higher education of girls. this school, one of the founders of which was madame edmond adam, who was and is still a distinguished literary figure, was situated in a fine old house in the avenue de neuilly. it was under the direction of mlle. marchef-girard, a woman distinguished in education, and who afterward was appointed government inspector of schools in france. mlle. marchef-girard believed that girls' education should be quite as thorough and even more practical than the education boys were receiving at that time. she included chemistry and other sciences in her courses, and in addition to embroidery she had her girls taught bookkeeping. many other advanced ideas prevailed in this school, and the moral discipline which the pupils received was, to my mind, as valuable as the intellectual training. mlle. marchef-girard held that women should be given the highest ideals of honour. her pupils were kept to the strictest principles of truth-telling and candour. myself she understood and greatly benefited by an implicit trust which i am sure i could not have betrayed, even had i felt for her less real affection. my roommate in this delightful school was an interesting young girl of my own age, noemie rochefort, daughter of that great republican, communist, journalist, and swordsman, henri rochefort. this was very shortly after the franco-prussian war, and memories of the empire's fall and of the bloody and disastrous commune were very keen in paris. indeed my roommate's illustrious father and many others were then in exile in new caledonia for participation in the commune. my friend noemie was torn with anxiety for her father. she talked of him constantly, and many were the blood-curdling accounts of daring and of patriotism to which i listened. henri rochefort was, in fact, one of the moving spirits of the republican movement in france, and after his amazing escape in an open boat from new caledonia, he lived through many years of political adventures of the most lively and picturesque character. his daughter and i remained warm friends long after our school-days ended, and my association with her strengthened all the liberal ideas i had previously acquired. i was between eighteen and nineteen when i finally returned from school in paris and took my place in my father's home as a finished young lady. i sympathised with and worked for the woman-suffrage movement, and came to know dr. pankhurst, whose work for woman suffrage had never ceased. it was dr. pankhurst who drafted the first enfranchisement bill, known as the women's disabilities removal bill, and introduced into the house of commons in by mr. jacob bright. the bill advanced to its second reading by a majority vote of thirty-three, but it was killed in committee by mr. gladstone's peremptory orders. dr. pankhurst, as i have already said, with another distinguished barrister, lord coleridge, acted as counsel for the manchester women, who tried in to be placed on the register as voters. he also drafted the bill giving married women absolute control over their property and earnings, a bill which became law in . my marriage with dr. pankhurst took place in . i think we cannot be too grateful to the group of men and women who, like dr. pankhurst, in those early days lent the weight of their honoured names to the suffrage movement in the trials of its struggling youth. these men did not wait until the movement became popular, nor did they hesitate until it was plain that women were roused to the point of revolt. they worked all their lives with those who were organising, educating, and preparing for the revolt which was one day to come. unquestionably those pioneer men suffered in popularity for their feminist views. some of them suffered financially, some politically. yet they never wavered. my married life lasted through nineteen happy years. often i have heard the taunt that suffragists are women who have failed to find any normal outlet for their emotions, and are therefore soured and disappointed beings. this is probably not true of any suffragist, and it is most certainly not true of me. my home life and relations have been as nearly ideal as possible in this imperfect world. about a year after my marriage my daughter christabel was born, and in another eighteen months my second daughter sylvia came. two other children followed, and for some years i was rather deeply immersed in my domestic affairs. i was never so absorbed with home and children, however, that i lost interest in community affairs. dr. pankhurst did not desire that i should turn myself into a household machine. it was his firm belief that society as well as the family stands in need of women's services. so while my children were still in their cradles i was serving on the executive committee of the women's suffrage society, and also on the executive board of the committee which was working to secure the married women's property act. this act having passed in , i threw myself into the suffrage work with renewed energy. a new reform act, known as the county franchise bill, extending the suffrage to farm labourers, was under discussion, and we believed that our years of educational propaganda work had prepared the country to support us in a demand for a women's suffrage amendment to the bill. for several years we had been holding the most splendid meetings in cities all over the kingdom. the crowds, the enthusiasm, the generous response to appeals for support, all these seemed to justify us in our belief that women's suffrage was near. in fact, in , when the county franchise bill came before the country, we had an actual majority in favour of suffrage in the house of commons. but a favourable majority in the house of commons by no means insures the success of any measure. i shall explain this at length when i come to our work of opposing candidates who have avowed themselves suffragists, a course which has greatly puzzled our american friends. the liberal party was in power in , and a great memorial was sent to the prime minister, the right honourable william e. gladstone, asking that a women's suffrage amendment to the county franchise bill be submitted to the free and unbiased consideration of the house. mr. gladstone curtly refused, declaring that if a women's suffrage amendment should be carried, the government would disclaim responsibility for the bill. the amendment was submitted nevertheless, but mr. gladstone would not allow it to be freely discussed, and he ordered liberal members to vote against it. what we call a whip was sent out against it, a note virtually commanding party members to be on hand at a certain hour to vote against the women's amendment. undismayed, the women tried to have an independent suffrage bill introduced, but mr. gladstone so arranged parliamentary business that the bill never even came up for discussion. i am not going to write a history of the woman suffrage movement in england prior to , when the women's social and political union was organised. that history is full of repetitions of just such stories as the one i have related. gladstone was an implacable foe of woman suffrage. he believed that women's work and politics lay in service to men's parties. one of the shrewdest acts of mr. gladstone's career was his disruption of the suffrage organisation in england. he accomplished this by substituting "something just as good," that something being women's liberal associations. beginning in in bristol, these associations spread rapidly through the country and, in , became a national women's liberal federation. the promise of the federation was that by allying themselves with men in party politics, women would soon earn the right to vote. the avidity with which the women swallowed this promise, left off working for themselves, and threw themselves into the men's work was amazing. the women's liberal federation is an organisation of women who believe in the principles of the liberal party. (the somewhat older primrose league is a similar organisation of women who adhere to conservative party principles.) neither of these organisations have woman suffrage for their object. they came into existence to uphold party ideas and to work for the election of party candidates. i am told that women in america have recently allied themselves with political parties, believing, just as we did, that such action would break down opposition to suffrage by showing the men that women possess political ability, and that politics is work for women as well as men. let them not be deceived. i can assure the american women that our long alliance with the great parties, our devotion to party programmes, our faithful work at elections, never advanced the suffrage cause one step. the men accepted the services of the women, but they never offered any kind of payment. as far as i am concerned, i did not delude myself with any false hopes in the matter. i was present when the women's liberal federation came into existence. mrs. gladstone presided, offering the meeting many consolatory words for the absence of "our great leader," mr. gladstone, who of course had no time to waste on a gathering of women. at mrs. jacob bright's request i joined the federation. at this stage of my development i was a member of the fabian society, and i had considerable faith in the permeating powers of its mild socialism. but i was already fairly convinced of the futility of trusting to political parties. even as a child i had begun to wonder at the _naïve_ faith of party members in the promises of their leaders. i well remember my father returning home from political meetings, his face aglow with enthusiasm. "what happened, father?" i would ask, and he would reply triumphantly, "ah! we passed the resolution." "then you'll get your measure through the next session," i predicted. "i won't say that," was the usual reply. "things don't always move as quickly as that. but we passed the resolution." well, the suffragists, when they were admitted into the women's liberal federation must have felt that they had passed their resolution. they settled down to work for the party and to prove that they were as capable of voting as the recently enfranchised farm labourers. of course a few women remained loyal to suffrage. they began again on the old educational lines to work for the cause. not one woman took counsel with herself as to how and why the agricultural labourers had won their franchise. they had won it, as a matter of fact, by burning hay-ricks, rioting, and otherwise demonstrating their strength in the only way that english politicians can understand. the threat to march a hundred thousand men to the house of commons unless the bill was passed played its part also in securing the agricultural labourer his political freedom. but no woman suffragist noticed that. as for myself, i was too young politically to learn the lesson then. i had to go through years of public work before i acquired the experience and the wisdom to know how to wring concessions from the english government. i had to hold public office. i had to go behind the scenes in the government schools, in the workhouses and other charitable institutions; i had to get a close-hand view of the misery and unhappiness of a man-made world, before i reached the point where i could successfully revolt against it. it was almost immediately after the collapse of the woman suffrage movement in that i entered upon this new phase of my career. chapter ii in , a year after the failure of the third women's suffrage bill, my husband, dr. pankhurst, stood as the liberal candidate for parliament in rotherline, a riverside constituency of london. i went through the campaign with him, speaking and canvassing to the best of my ability. dr. pankhurst was a popular candidate, and unquestionably would have been returned but for the opposition of the home-rulers. parnell was in command, and his settled policy was opposition to all government candidates. so, in spite of the fact that dr. pankhurst was a staunch upholder of home rule, the parnell forces were solidly opposed to him, and he was defeated. i remember expressing considerable indignation, but my husband pointed out to me that parnell's policy was absolutely right. with his small party he could never hope to win home rule from a hostile majority, but by constant obstruction he could in time wear out the government, and force it to surrender. that was a valuable political lesson, one that years later i was destined to put into practice. the following year found us living in london, and, as usual, interesting ourselves with labour matters and other social movements. this year was memorable for a great strike of women working in the bryant and may match factories. i threw myself into this strike with enthusiasm, working with the girls and with some women of prominence, among these the celebrated mrs. annie besant. the strike was a successful one, the girls winning substantial improvements in their working conditions. it was a time of tremendous unrest, of labour agitations, of strikes and lockouts. it was a time also when a most stupid reactionary spirit seemed to take possession of the government and the authorities. the salvation army, the socialists, the trade-unionists--in fact, all bodies holding outdoor meetings--were made special objects of attack. as a protest against this policy a law and liberty league was formed in london, and an immense free speech meeting was held in trafalgar square, john burns and cunningham graham being the principal speakers. i was present at this meeting, which resulted in a bloody riot between the police and the populace. the trafalgar square riot is historic, and to it mr. john burns owes, in large part, his subsequent rise to political eminence. both john burns and cunningham graham served prison sentences for the part they played in the riot, but they gained fame, and they did much to establish the right of free speech for english men. english women are still contending for that right. in my last child was born in london. i now had a family of five young children, and for a time i was less active in public work. on the retirement of mrs. annie besant from the london school board i had been asked to stand as candidate for the vacancy, but although i should have enjoyed the work, i decided not to accept this invitation. the next year, however, a new suffrage association, the women's franchise league, was formed, and i felt it my duty to become affiliated with it the league was preparing a new suffrage bill, the provisions of which i could not possibly approve, and i joined with old friends, among whom were mrs. jacob bright, mrs. wolstentholm-elmy, who was a member of the london school board, and mrs. stanton blatch, then resident in england, in an effort to substitute the original bill drafted by dr. pankhurst. as a matter of fact, neither of the bills was introduced into parliament that year. mr. (now lord) haldane, who had the measure in charge, introduced one of his own drafting. it was a truly startling bill, royally inclusive in its terms. it not only enfranchised all women, married and unmarried, of the householding classes, but it made them eligible to all offices under the crown. the bill was never taken seriously by the government, and indeed it was never intended that it should be, as we were later made to understand. i remember going with mrs. stanton blatch to the law courts to see mr. haldane, and to protest against the introduction of a measure that had not the remotest chance of passing. "all, that bill," said haldane, "is for the future." all their woman suffrage bills are intended for the future, a future so remote as to be imperceptible. we were beginning to understand this even in . however, as long as there was a bill, we determined to support it. accordingly, we canvassed the members, distributed a great deal of literature, and organised and addressed meetings. we not only made speeches ourselves, but we induced friendly members of parliament to go on our platforms. one of these meetings, held in an east end radical club, was addressed by mr. haldane and a young man who accompanied him. this young man, sir edward grey, then in the beginning of his career, made an eloquent plea for woman's suffrage. that sir edward grey should, later in life, become a bitter foe of woman's suffrage need astonish no one. i have known many young englishmen who began their political life as suffrage speakers and who later became anti-suffragists or traitorous "friends" of the cause. these young and aspiring statesmen have to attract attention in some fashion, and the espousal of advanced causes, such as labour or women's suffrage, seems an easy way to accomplish that end. well, our speeches and our agitation did nothing at all to assist mr. haldane's impossible bill. it never advanced beyond the first reading. our london residence came to an end in . in that year we returned to our manchester home, and i again took up the work of the suffrage society. at my suggestion the members began to organise their first out-of-door meetings, and we continued these until we succeeded in working up a great meeting that filled free trade hall, and overflowed into and crowded a smaller hall near at hand. this marked the beginning of a campaign of propaganda among working people, an object which i had long desired to bring about. and now began a new and, as i look back on it, an absorbingly interesting stage of my career. i have told how our leaders in the liberal party had advised the women to prove their fitness for the parliamentary franchise by serving in municipal offices, especially the unsalaried offices. a large number of women had availed themselves of this advice, and were serving on boards of guardians, on school boards, and in other capacities. my children now being old enough for me to leave them with competent nurses, i was free to join these ranks. a year after my return to manchester i became a candidate for the board of poor law guardians. several weeks before, i had contested unsuccessfully for a place on the school board. this time, however, i was elected, heading the poll by a very large majority. for the benefit of american readers i shall explain something of the operation of our english poor law. the duty of the law is to administer an act of queen elizabeth, one of the greatest reforms effected by that wise and humane monarch. when elizabeth came to the throne she found england, the merrie england of contemporary poets, in a state of appalling poverty. hordes of people were literally starving to death, in wretched hovels, in the streets, and at the very gates of the palace. the cause of all this misery was the religious reformation under henry viii, and the secession from rome of the english church. king henry, it is known, seized all the church lands, the abbeys and the convents, and gave them as rewards to those nobles and favourites who had supported his policies. but in taking over the church's property the protestant nobles by no means assumed the church's ancient responsibilities of lodging wayfarers, giving alms, nursing the sick, educating youths, and caring for the young and the superannuated. when the monks and the nuns were turned out of their convents these duties devolved on no one. the result, after the brief reign of edward vi and the bloody one of queen mary, was the social anarchy inherited by elizabeth. this great queen and great woman, perceiving that the responsibility for the poor and the helpless rightfully rests on the community, caused an act to be passed creating in the parishes public bodies to deal with local conditions of poverty. the board of poor law guardians disburses for the poor the money coming from the poor rates (taxes), and some additional moneys allowed by the local government board, the president of which is a cabinet minister. mr. john burns is the present incumbent of the office. the board of guardians has control of the institution we call the workhouse. you have, i believe, almshouses, or poorhouses, but they are not quite so extensive as our workhouses, which are all kinds of institutions in one. we had, in my workhouse, a hospital with nine hundred beds, a school with several hundred children, a farm, and many workshops. when i came into office i found that the law in our district, chorlton, was being very harshly administered. the old board had been made up of the kind of men who are known as rate savers. they were guardians, not of the poor but of the rates, and, as i soon discovered, not very astute guardians even of money. for instance, although the inmates were being very poorly fed, a frightful waste of food was apparent. each inmate was given each day a certain weight of food, and bread formed so much of the ration that hardly anyone consumed all of his portion. in the farm department pigs were kept on purpose to consume this surplus of bread, and as pigs do not thrive on a solid diet of stale bread the animals fetched in the market a much lower price than properly fed farm pigs. i suggested that, instead of giving a solid weight of bread in one lump, the loaf be cut in slices and buttered with margarine, each person being allowed all that he cared to eat. the rest of the board objected, saying that our poor charges were very jealous of their rights, and would suspect in such an innovation an attempt to deprive them of a part of their ration. this was easily overcome by the suggestion that we consult the inmates before we made the change. of course the poor people consented, and with the bread that we saved we made puddings with milk and currants, to be fed to the old people of the workhouse. these old folks i found sitting on backless forms, or benches. they had no privacy, no possessions, not even a locker. the old women were without pockets in their gowns, so they were obliged to keep any poor little treasures they had in their bosoms. soon after i took office we gave the old people comfortable windsor chairs to sit in, and in a number of ways we managed to make their existence more endurable. these, after all, were minor benefits. but it does gratify me when i look back and remember what we were able to do for the children of the manchester workhouse. the first time i went into the place i was horrified to see little girls seven and eight years old on their knees scrubbing the cold stones of the long corridors. these little girls were clad, summer and winter, in thin cotton frocks, low in the neck and short sleeved. at night they wore nothing at all, night dresses being considered too good for paupers. the fact that bronchitis was epidemic among them most of the time had not suggested to the guardians any change in the fashion of their clothes. there was a school for the children, but the teaching was of the poorest order. they were forlorn enough, these poor innocents, when i first met them. in five years' time we had changed the face of the earth for them. we had bought land in the country and had built a cottage system home for the children, and we had established for them a modern school with trained teachers. we had even secured for them a gymnasium and a swimming-bath. i may say that i was on the building committee of the board, the only woman member. whatever may be urged against the english poor law system, i maintain that under it no stigma of pauperism need be applied to workhouse children. if they are treated like paupers of course they will be paupers, and they will grow up paupers, permanent burdens on society; but if they are regarded merely as children under the guardianship of the state, they assume quite another character. rich children are not pauperized by being sent to one or another of the free public schools with which england is blest. yet a great many of those schools, now exclusively used for the education of upper middle-class boys, were founded by legacies left to educate the poor--girls as well as boys. the english poor law, properly administered, ought to give back to the children of the destitute what the upper classes have taken from them, a good education on a self-respecting basis. the trouble is, as i soon perceived after taking office, the law cannot, in existing circumstances, do all the work, even for children, that it was intended to do. we shall have to have new laws, and it soon became apparent to me that we can never hope to get them until women have the vote. during the time i served on the board, and for years since then, women guardians all over the country have striven in vain to have the law reformed in order to ameliorate conditions which break the hearts of women to see, but which apparently affect men very little. i have spoken of the little girls i found scrubbing the workhouse floors. there were others at the hateful labour who aroused my keenest pity. i found that there were pregnant women in that workhouse, scrubbing floors, doing the hardest kind of work, almost until their babies came into the world. many of them were unmarried women, very, very young, mere girls. these poor mothers were allowed to stay in the hospital after confinement for a short two weeks. then they had to make a choice of staying in the workhouse and earning their living by scrubbing and other work, in which case they were separated from their babies; or of taking their discharges. they could stay and be paupers, or they could leave--leave with a two-weeks-old baby in their arms, without hope, without home, without money, without anywhere to go. what became of those girls, and what became of their hapless infants? that question was at the basis of the women guardians' demand for a reform of one part of the poor law. that section deals with the little children who are boarded out, not by the workhouse, but by the parents, that parent being almost always the mother. it is from that class of workhouse mothers--mostly young servant girls--which thoughtless people say all working girls ought to be; it is from that class more than from any other that cases of illegitimacy come. those poor little servant girls, who can get out perhaps only in the evening, whose minds are not very cultivated, and who find all the sentiment of their lives in cheap novelettes, fall an easy prey to those who have designs against them. these are the people by whom the babies are mostly put out to nurse, and the mothers have to pay for their keep. of course the babies are very badly protected. the poor law guardians are supposed to protect them by appointing inspectors to visit the homes where the babies are boarded. but, under the law, if a man who ruins a girl pays down a lump sum of twenty pounds, less than a hundred dollars, the boarding home is immune from inspection. as long as a baby-farmer takes only one child at a time, the twenty pounds being paid, the inspectors cannot inspect the house. of course the babies die with hideous promptness, often long before the twenty pounds have been spent, and then the baby-farmers are free to solicit another victim. for years, as i have said, women have tried in vain to get that one small reform of the poor law, to reach and protect all illegitimate children, and to make it impossible for any rich scoundrel to escape future liability for his child because of the lump sum he has paid down. over and over again it has been tried, but it has always failed, because the ones who really care about the thing are mere women. i thought i had been a suffragist before i became a poor law guardian, but now i began to think about the vote in women's hands not only as a right but as a desperate necessity. these poor, unprotected mothers and their babies i am sure were potent factors in my education as a militant. in fact, all the women i came in contact with in the workhouse contributed to that education. very soon after i went on the board i saw that the class of old women who came into the workhouse were in many ways superior to the kind of old men who came into the workhouse. one could not help noticing it. they were, to begin with, more industrious. in fact, it was quite touching to see their industry and patience. old women, over sixty and seventy years of age, did most of the work of that place, most of the sewing, most of the things that kept the house clean and which supplied the inmates with clothing. i found that the old men were different. one could not get very much work out of them. they liked to stop in the oakum picking-room, where they were allowed to smoke; but as to real work, very little was done by our old men. i began to make inquiries about these old women. i found that the majority of them were not women who had been dissolute, who had been criminal, but women who had lead perfectly respectable lives, either as wives and mothers, or as single women earning their own living. a great many were of the domestic-servant class, who had not married, who had lost their employment, and had reached a time of life when it was impossible to get more employment. it was through no fault of their own, but simply because they had never earned enough to save. the average wage of working women in england is less than two dollars a week. on this pittance it is difficult enough to keep alive, and of course it is impossible to save. every one who knows anything about conditions under which our working women live knows that few of them can ever hope to put by enough to keep them in old age. besides, the average working woman has to support others than herself. how can she save? some of our old women were married. many of them, i found, were widows of skilled artisans who had had pensions from their unions, but the pensions had died with the men. these women, who had given up the power to work for themselves, and had devoted themselves to working for their husbands and children, were left penniless. there was nothing for them to do but to go into the workhouse. many of them were widows of men who had served their country in the army or the navy. the men had had pensions from the government, but the pensions had died with them, and so the women were in the workhouse. we shall not in future, i hope, find so many respectable old women in english workhouses. we have an old-age pension law now, which allows old women as well as old men the sum of five shillings--$ . --a week; hardly enough to live on, but enough to enable the poor to keep their old fathers and mothers out of the workhouse without starving themselves or their children. but when i was a poor law guardian there was simply nothing to do with a woman when her life of toil ceased except make a pauper of her. i wish i had space to tell you of other tragedies of women i witnessed while i was on that board. in our out-relief department, which exists chiefly for able-bodied poor and dependent persons, i was brought into contact with widows who were struggling desperately to keep their homes and families together. the law allowed these women relief of a certain very inadequate kind, but for herself and one child it offered no relief except the workhouse. even if the woman had a baby at her breast she was regarded, under the law, as an able-bodied man. women, we are told, should stay at home and take care of their children. i used to astound my men colleagues by saying to them: "when women have the vote they will see that mothers _can_ stay at home and care for their children. you men have made it impossible for these mothers to do that." i am convinced that the enfranchised woman will find many ways in which to lessen, at least, the curse of poverty. women have more practical ideas about relief, and especially of prevention of dire poverty, than men display. i was struck with this whenever i attended the district conferences and the annual poor law union meetings. in our discussions the women showed themselves much more capable, much more resourceful, than the men. i remember two papers which i prepared and which caused considerable discussion. one of these was on the duties of guardians in times of unemployment, in which i pointed out that the government had one reserve of employment for men which could always be used. we have, on our northwest coast, a constant washing away of the fore shore. every once in a while the question of coast reclamation comes up for discussion, but i had never heard any man suggest coast reclamation as a means of giving the unemployed relief. in i suffered an irreparable loss in the death of my husband. his death occurred suddenly and left me with the heavy responsibility of caring for a family of children, the eldest only seventeen years of age. i resigned my place on the board of guardians, and was almost immediately appointed to the salaried office of registrar of births and deaths in manchester. we have registrars of births, deaths and marriages in england, but since the act establishing the last named contains the words "male person," a woman may not be appointed a registrar of marriages. the head of this department of the government is the registrar-general, with offices at somerset house, london, where all vital statistics are returned and all records filed. it was my duty as registrar of births and deaths to act as chief census officer of my district; i was obliged to receive all returns of births and deaths, record them, and send my books quarterly to the office of the registrar-general. my district was in a working-class quarter, and on this account i instituted evening office hours twice a week. it was touching to observe how glad the women were to have a woman registrar to go to. they used to tell me their stories, dreadful stories some of them, and all of them pathetic with that patient and uncomplaining pathos of poverty. even after my experience on the board of guardians, i was shocked to be reminded over and over again of the little respect there was in the world for women and children. i have had little girls of thirteen come to my office to register the births of their babies, illegitimate, of course. in many of these cases i found that the child's own father or some near male relative was responsible for her state. there was nothing that could be done in most cases. the age of consent in england is sixteen years, but a man can always claim that he thought the girl was over sixteen. during my term of office a very young mother of an illegitimate child exposed her baby, and it died. the girl was tried for murder and was sentenced to death. this was afterwards commuted, it is true, but the unhappy child had the horrible experience of the trial and the sentence "to be hanged by the neck, until you are dead." the wretch who was, from the point of view of justice, the real murderer of the baby, received no punishment at all. i needed only one more experience after this one, only one more contact with the life of my time and the position of women, to convince me that if civilisation is to advance at all in the future, it must be through the help of women, women freed of their political shackles, women with full power to work their will in society. in i was asked to stand as a candidate for the manchester school board. the schools were then under the old law, and the school boards were very active bodies. they administered the elementary education act, bought school sites, erected buildings, employed and paid teachers. the school code and the curriculum were framed by the board of education, which is part of the central government. of course this was absurd. a body of men in london could not possibly realise all the needs of boys and girls in remote parts of england. but so it was. as a member of the school board i very soon found that the teachers, working people of the higher grade, were in exactly the same position as the working people of the lower grades. that is, the men had all the advantage. teachers had a representative in the school board councils. of course that representative was a man teacher, and equally of course, he gave preference to the interests of the men teachers. men teachers received much higher salaries than the women, although many of the women, in addition to their regular class work, had to teach sewing and domestic science into the bargain. they received no extra pay for their extra work. in spite of this added burden, and in spite of the lower salaries received, i found that the women cared a great deal more about their work, and a great deal more about the children than the men. it was a winter when there was a great deal of poverty and unemployment in manchester. i found that the women teachers were spending their slender salaries to provide regular dinners for destitute children, and were giving up their time to waiting on them and seeing that they were nourished. they said to me, quite simply: "you see, the little things are too badly off to study their lessons. we have to feed them before we can teach them." well, instead of seeing that women care more for schools and school children than men do and should therefore have more power in education, the parliament of actually passed a law which took education in england entirely out of the hands of women. this law abolished the school board altogether and placed the administration of schools in the hands of the municipalities. certain corporations had formerly made certain grants to technical education--manchester had built a magnificent technical college--and now the corporations had full control of both elementary and secondary education. the law did indeed provide that the corporations should co-opt at least one woman on their education boards. manchester co-opted four women, and at the strong recommendation of the labour party, i was one of the women chosen. at their urgent solicitation i was appointed to the committee on technical instruction, the one woman admitted to this committee. i learned that the manchester technical college, called the second best in europe, spending thousands of pounds annually for technical training, had practically no provision for training women. even in classes where they might easily have been admitted, bakery and confectionery classes and the like, the girls were kept out because the men's trades unions objected to their being educated for such skilled work. it was rapidly becoming clear to my mind that men regarded women as a servant class in the community, and that women were going to remain in the servant class until they lifted themselves out of it. i asked myself many times in those days what was to be done. i had joined the labour party, thinking that through its councils something vital might come, some such demand for the women's enfranchisement that the politicians could not possibly ignore. nothing came. all these years my daughters had been growing up. all their lives they had been interested in women's suffrage. christabel and sylvia, as little girls, had cried to be taken to meetings. they had helped in our drawing-room meetings in every way that children can help. as they grew older we used to talk together about the suffrage, and i was sometimes rather frightened by their youthful confidence in the prospect, which they considered certain, of the success of the movement. one day christabel startled me with the remark: "how long you women have been trying for the vote. for my part, i mean to get it." was there, i reflected, any difference between trying for the vote and getting it? there is an old french proverb, "if youth could know; if age could do." it occurred to me that if the older suffrage workers could in some way join hands with the young, unwearied and resourceful suffragists, the movement might wake up to new life and new possibilities. after that i and my daughters together sought a way to bring about that union of young and old which would find new methods, blaze new trails. at length we thought we had found a way. chapter iii in the summer of --i think it was --susan b. anthony paid a visit to manchester, and that visit was one of the contributory causes that led to the founding of our militant suffrage organisation, the women's social and political union. during miss anthony's visit my daughter christabel, who was very deeply impressed, wrote an article for the manchester papers on the life and works of the venerable reformer. after her departure christabel spoke often of her, and always with sorrow and indignation that such a splendid worker for humanity was destined to die without seeing the hopes of her lifetime realised. "it is unendurable," declared my daughter, "to think of another generation of women wasting their lives begging for the vote. we must not lose any more time. we must act." by this time the labour party, of which i was still a member, had returned mr. keir hardie to parliament, and we decided that the first step in a campaign of action was to make the labour party responsible for a new suffrage bill. at a recent annual conference of the party i had moved a resolution calling upon the members to instruct their own member of parliament to introduce a bill for the enfranchisement of women. the resolution was passed, and we determined to organise a society of women to demand immediate enfranchisement, not by means of any outworn missionary methods, but through political action. it was in october, , that i invited a number of women to my house in nelson street, manchester, for purposes of organisation. we voted to call our new society the women's social and political union, partly to emphasise its democracy, and partly to define its object as political rather than propagandist. we resolved to limit our membership exclusively to women, to keep ourselves absolutely free from any party affiliation, and to be satisfied with nothing but action on our question. deeds, not words, was to be our permanent motto. to such a pass had the women's suffrage cause come in my country that the old leaders, who had done such fine educational work in the past, were now seemingly content with expressions of sympathy and regret on the part of hypocritical politicians. this fact was thrust upon me anew by an incident that occurred almost at the moment of the founding of the women's social and political union. in our parliament no bill has a chance of becoming a law unless it is made a government measure. private members are at liberty to introduce measures of their own, but these rarely reach the second reading, or debatable stage. so much time is given to discussion of government measures that very little time can be given to any private bills. about one day in a week is given over to consideration of private measures, to which, as we say, the government give facilities; and since there are a limited number of weeks in a session, the members, on the opening days of parliament, meet and draw lots to determine who shall have a place in the debates. only these successful men have a chance to speak to their bills, and only those who have drawn early chances have any prospect of getting much discussion on their measures. now, the old suffragists had long since given up hope of obtaining a government suffrage bill, but they clung to a hope that a private member's bill would some time obtain consideration. every year, on the opening day of parliament, the association sent a deputation of women to the house of commons, to meet so-called friendly members and consider the position of the women's suffrage cause. the ceremony was of a most conventional, not to say farcical character. the ladies made their speeches and the members made theirs. the ladies thanked the friendly members for their sympathy, and the members renewed their assurances that they believed in women's suffrage and would vote for it when they had an opportunity to do so. then the deputation, a trifle sad but entirely tranquil, took its departure, and the members resumed the real business of life, which was support of their party's policies. such a ceremony as this i attended soon after the founding of the w. s. p. u. sir charles m'laren was the friendly member who presided over the gathering, and he did his full duty in the matter of formally endorsing the cause of women's suffrage. he assured the delegation of his deep regret, as well as the regret of numbers of his colleagues, that women so intelligent, so devoted, etc., should remain unenfranchised. other members did likewise. the ceremonies drew to a close, but i, who had not been asked to speak, determined to add something to the occasion. "sir charles m'laren," i began abruptly, "has told us that numbers of his colleagues desire the success of the women's suffrage cause. now every one of us knows that at this moment the members of the house of commons are balloting for a place in the debates. will sir charles m'laren tell us if any member is preparing to introduce a bill for women's suffrage? will he tell us what he and the other members will pledge themselves to _do_ for the reform they so warmly endorse?" of course, the embarrassed sir charles was not prepared to tell us anything of the kind, and the deputation departed in confusion and wrath. i was told that i was an interloper, an impertinent intruder. who asked me to say anything? and what right had i to step in and ruin the good impression they had made? no one could tell how many friendly members i had alienated by my unfortunate remarks. i went back to manchester and with renewed energy continued the work of organising for the w. s. p. u. in the spring of i went to the annual conference of the independent labour party, determined if possible to induce the members to prepare a suffrage bill to be laid before parliament in the approaching session. although i was a member of the national administrative council and presumably a person holding some influence in the party, i knew that my plan would be bitterly opposed by a strong minority, who held that the labour party should direct all its efforts toward securing universal adult suffrage for both men and women. theoretically, of course, a labour party could not be satisfied with anything less than universal adult suffrage, but it was clear that no such sweeping reform could be effected at that time, unless indeed the government made it one of their measures. besides, while a large majority of members of the house of commons were pledged to support a bill giving women equal franchise rights with men, it was doubtful whether a majority could be relied upon to support a bill giving adult suffrage, even to men. such a bill, even if it were a government measure, would probably be difficult of passage. after considerable discussion, the national council decided to adopt the original women's enfranchisement bill, drafted by dr. pankhurst, and advanced in to its second reading in the house of commons. the council's decision was approved by an overwhelming majority of the conference. the new session of parliament, so eagerly looked forward to, met on february , . i went down from manchester, and with my daughter sylvia, then a student at the royal college of art, south kensington, spent eight days in the strangers' lobby of the house of commons, working for the suffrage bill. we interviewed every one of the members who had pledged themselves to support a suffrage bill when it should be introduced, but we found not one single member who would agree that his chance in the ballot, if he drew such a chance, should be given to introducing the bill. every man had some other measure he was anxious to further. mr. keir hardie had previously given us his pledge, but his name, as we had feared, was not drawn in the ballot. we next set out to interview all the men whose names had been drawn, and we finally induced mr. bamford slack, who held the fourteenth place, to introduce our bill. the fourteenth place was not a good one, but it served, and the second reading of our bill was set down for friday, may th, the second order of the day. this being the first suffrage bill in eight years, a thrill of excitement animated not only our ranks but all the old suffrage societies. meetings were held, and a large number of petitions circulated. when the day came for consideration on our bill, the strangers' lobby could not hold the enormous gathering of women of all classes, rich and poor, who flocked to the house of commons. it was pitiful to see the look of hope and joy that shone on the faces of many of these women. we knew that our poor little measure had the very slightest chance of being passed. the bill that occupied the first order of the day was one providing that carts travelling along public roads at night should carry a light behind as well as before. we had tried to induce the promoters of this unimportant little measure to withdraw it in the interests of our bill, but they refused. we had tried also to persuade the conservative government to give our bill facilities for full discussion, but they also refused. so, as we fully anticipated, the promoters of the roadway lighting bill were allowed to "talk out" our bill. they did this by spinning out the debate with silly stories and foolish jokes. the members listened to the insulting performance with laughter and applause. when news of what was happening reached the women who waited in the strangers' lobby, a feeling of wild excitement and indignation took possession of the throng. seeing their temper, i felt that the moment had come for a demonstration such as no old-fashioned suffragist had ever attempted. i called upon the women to follow me outside for a meeting of protest against the government. we swarmed out into the open, and mrs. wolstenholm-elmy, one of the oldest suffrage workers in england, began to speak. instantly the police rushed into the crowd of women, pushing them about and ordering them to disperse. we moved on as far as the great statue of richard coeur de lion that guards the entrance to the house of lords, but again the police intervened. finally the police agreed to let us hold a meeting in broad sanctuary, very near the gates of westminster abbey. here we made speeches and adopted a resolution condemning the government's action in allowing a small minority to talk out our bill. this was the first militant act of the w. s. p. u. it caused comment and even some alarm, but the police contented themselves with taking our names. the ensuing summer was spent in outdoor work. by this time the women's social and political union had acquired some valuable accessions, and money began to come to us. among our new members was one who was destined to play an important rôle in the unfolding drama of the militant movement. at the close of one of our meetings at oldham a young girl introduced herself to me as annie kenney, a mill-worker, and a strong suffrage sympathiser. she wanted to know more of our society and its objects, and i invited her and her sister jenny, a board school teacher, to tea the next day. they came and joined our union, a step that definitely changed the whole course of miss kenney's life, and gave us one of our most distinguished leaders and organisers. with her help we began to carry our propaganda to an entirely new public. in lancashire there is an institution known as the wakes, a sort of travelling fair where they have merry-go-rounds, aunt-sallies, and other festive games, side-shows of various kinds, and booths where all kinds of things are sold. every little village has its wakes-week during the summer and autumn, and it is the custom for the inhabitants of the villages to spend the sunday before the opening of the wakes walking among the booths in anticipation of tomorrow's joys. on these occasions the salvation army, temperance orators, venders of quack medicines, pedlars, and others, take advantage of the ready-made audience to advance their propaganda. at annie kenney's suggestion we went from one village to the other, following the wakes and making suffrage speeches. we soon rivalled in popularity the salvation army, and even the tooth-drawers and patent-medicine pedlars. the women's social and political union had been in existence two years before any opportunity was presented for work on a national scale. the autumn of brought a political situation which seemed to us to promise bright hopes for women's enfranchisement. the life of the old parliament, dominated for nearly twenty years by the conservative party, was drawing to an end, and the country was on the eve of a general election in which the liberals hoped to be returned to power. quite naturally the liberal candidates went to the country with perfervid promises of reform in every possible direction. they appealed to the voters to return them, as advocates and upholders of true democracy, and they promised that there should be a government united in favour of people's rights against the powers of a privileged aristocracy. now repeated experiences had taught us that the only way to attain women's suffrage was to commit a government to it. in other words, pledges of support from candidates were plainly useless. they were not worth having. the only object worth trying for was pledges from responsible leaders that the new government would make women's suffrage a part of the official programme. we determined to address ourselves to those men who were likely to be in the liberal cabinet, demanding to know whether their reforms were going to include justice to women. we laid our plans to begin this work at a great meeting to be held in free trade hall, manchester, with sir edward grey as the principal speaker. we intended to get seats in the gallery, directly facing the platform and we made for the occasion a large banner with the words: "will the liberal party give votes for women?" we were to let this banner down over the gallery rails at the moment when our speaker rose to put the question to sir edward grey. at the last moment, however, we had to alter the plan because it was impossible to get the gallery seats we wanted. there was no way in which we could use our large banner, so, late in the afternoon on the day of the meeting, we cut out and made a small banner with the three-word inscription: "votes for women." thus, quite accidentally, there came into existence the present slogan of the suffrage movement around the world. annie kenney and my daughter christabel were charged with the mission of questioning sir edward grey. they sat quietly through the meeting, at the close of which questions were invited. several questions were asked by men and were courteously answered. then annie kenney arose and asked: "if the liberal party is returned to power, will they take steps to give votes for women?" at the same time christabel held aloft the little banner that every one in the hall might understand the nature of the question. sir edward grey returned no answer to annie's question, and the men sitting near her forced her rudely into her seat, while a steward of the meeting pressed his hat over her face. a babel of shouts, cries and catcalls sounded from all over the hall. as soon as order was restored christabel stood up and repeated the question: "will the liberal government, if returned, give votes to women?" again sir edward grey ignored the question, and again a perfect tumult of shouts and angry cries arose. mr. william peacock, chief constable of manchester, left the platform and came down to the women, asking them to write their question, which he promised to hand to the speaker. they wrote: "will the liberal government give votes to working-women? signed, on behalf of the women's social and political union, annie kenney, member of the oldham committee of the card-and blowing-room operatives." they added a line to say that, as one of , organised women textile-workers, annie kenney earnestly desired an answer to the question. mr. peacock kept his word and handed the question to sir edward grey, who read it, smiled, and passed it to the others on the platform. they also read it with smiles, but no answer to the question was made. only one lady who was sitting on the platform tried to say something, but the chairman interrupted by asking lord durham to move a vote of thanks to the speaker. mr. winston churchill seconded the motion, sir edward grey replied briefly, and the meeting began to break up. annie kenney stood up in her chair and cried out over the noise of shuffling feet and murmurs of conversation: "will the liberal government give votes to women?" then the audience became a mob. they howled, they shouted and roared, shaking their fists fiercely at the woman who dared to intrude her question into a man's meeting. hands were lifted to drag her out of her chair, but christabel threw one arm about her as she stood, and with the other arm warded off the mob, who struck and scratched at her until her sleeve was red with blood. still the girls held together and shouted over and over: "the question! the question! answer the question!" six men, stewards of the meeting, seized christabel and dragged her down the aisle, past the platform, other men following with annie kenney, both girls still calling for an answer to their question. on the platform the liberal leaders sat silent and unmoved while this disgraceful scene was taking place, and the mob were shouting and shrieking from the floor. flung into the streets, the two girls staggered to their feet and began to address the crowds, and to tell them what had taken place in a liberal meeting. within five minutes they were arrested on a charge of obstruction and, in christabel's case, of assaulting the police. both were summonsed to appear next morning in a police court, where, after a trial which was a mere farce, annie kenney was sentenced to pay a fine of five shillings, with an alternative of three days in prison, and christabel pankhurst was given a fine of ten shillings or a jail sentence of one week. both girls promptly chose the prison sentence. as soon as they left the court-room i hurried around to the room where they were waiting, and i said to my daughter: "you have done everything you could be expected to do in this matter. i think you should let me pay your fines and take you home." without waiting for annie kenney to speak, my daughter exclaimed: "mother, if you pay my fine i will never go home." before going to the meeting she had said, "we will get our question answered or sleep in prison to-night." i now knew her courage remained unshaken. of course the affair created a tremendous sensation, not only in manchester, where my husband had been so well known and where i had so long held public office, but all over england. the comments of the press were almost unanimously bitter. ignoring the perfectly well-established fact that men in every political meeting ask questions and demand answers of the speakers, the newspapers treated the action of the two girls as something quite unprecedented and outrageous. they generally agreed that great leniency had been shown them. fines and jail-sentences were too good for such unsexed creatures. "the discipline of the nursery" would have been far more appropriate. one birmingham paper declared that "if any argument were required against giving ladies political status and power it had been furnished in manchester." newspapers which had heretofore ignored the whole subject now hinted that while they had formerly been in favour of women's suffrage, they could no longer countenance it. the manchester incident, it was said, had set the cause back, perhaps irrevocably. this is how it set the cause back. scores of people wrote to the newspapers expressing sympathy with the women. the wife of sir edward grey told her friends that she considered them quite justified in the means they had taken. it was stated that winston churchill, nervous about his own candidacy in manchester, visited strangeways gaol, where the two girls were imprisoned, and vainly begged the governor to allow him to pay their fines. on october , when the prisoners were released, they were given an immense demonstration in free-trade hall, the very hall from which they had been ejected the week before. the women's social and political union received a large number of new members. above all, the question of women's suffrage became at once a live topic of comment from one end of great britain to the other. we determined that from that time on the little "votes for women" banners should appear wherever a prospective member of the liberal government rose to speak, and that there should be no more peace until the women's question was answered. we clearly perceived that the new government, calling themselves liberal, were reactionary so far as women were concerned, that they were hostile to women's suffrage, and would have to be fought until they were conquered, or else driven from office. we did not begin to fight, however, until we had given the new government every chance to give us the pledge we wanted. early in december the conservative government had gone out, and sir henry campbell-bannerman, the liberal leader, had formed a new cabinet. on december a great meeting was held in royal albert hall, london, where sir henry, surrounded by his cabinet, made his first utterance as prime minister. previous to the meeting we wrote to sir henry and asked him, in the name of the women's social and political union, whether the liberal government would give women the vote. we added that our representatives would be present at the meeting, and we hoped that the prime minister would publicly answer the question. otherwise we should be obliged publicly to protest against his silence. of course sir henry campbell-bannerman returned no reply, nor did his speech contain any allusion to women's suffrage. so, at the conclusion, annie kenney, whom we had smuggled into the hall in disguise, whipped out her little white calico banner, and called out in her clear, sweet voice: "will the liberal government give women the vote?" at the same moment theresa billington let drop from a seat directly above the platform a huge banner with the words: "will the liberal government give justice to working-women?" just for a moment there was a gasping silence, the people waiting to see what the cabinet ministers would do. they did nothing. then, in the midst of uproar and conflicting shouts, the women were seized and flung out of the hall. this was the beginning of a campaign the like of which was never known in england, or, for that matter, in any other country. if we had been strong enough we should have opposed the election of every liberal candidate, but being limited both in funds and in members we concentrated on one member of the government, mr. winston churchill. not that we had any animus against mr. churchill. we chose him simply because he was the only important candidate standing for constituencies within reach of our headquarters. we attended every meeting addressed by mr. churchill. we heckled him unmercifully; we spoiled his best points by flinging back such obvious retorts that the crowds roared with laughter. we lifted out little white banners from unexpected corners of the hall, exactly at the moment when an interruption was least desired. sometimes our banners were torn from our hands and trodden under foot. sometimes, again, the crowds were with us, and we actually broke up the meeting. we did not succeed in defeating mr. churchill, but he was returned by a very small majority, the smallest of any of the manchester liberal candidates. we did not confine our efforts to heckling mr. churchill. throughout the campaign we kept up the work of questioning cabinet ministers at meetings all over england and scotland. at sun hall, liverpool, addressed by the prime minister, nine women in succession asked the important question, and were thrown out of the hall; this in the face of the fact that sir campbell-bannerman was an avowed suffragist. but we were not questioning him as to his private opinions on the suffrage; we were asking him what his government were willing to do about suffrage. we questioned mr. asquith in sheffield, mr. lloyd-george in altrincham, cheshire, the prime minister again in glasgow, and we interrupted a great many other meetings as well. always we were violently thrown out and insulted. often we were painfully bruised and hurt. what good did it do? we have often been asked that question, even by the women our actions spurred into an activity they had never before thought themselves capable of. for one thing, our heckling campaign made women's suffrage a matter of news--it had never been that before. now the newspapers were full of us. for another thing, we woke up the old suffrage associations. during the general election various groups of non-militant suffragists came back to life and organised a gigantic manifesto in favour of action from the liberal government. among others, the manifesto was signed by the women's co-operative guild with nearly , members; the women's liberal federation, with , members; the scottish women's liberal federation, with , members; the north-of-england weavers' association, with , members; the british women's temperance association, with nearly , members; and the independent labour party with , members. surely it was something to have inspired all this activity. we decided that the next step must be to carry the fight to london, and annie kenney was chosen to be organiser there. with only two pounds, less than ten dollars, in her pocket the intrepid girl set forth on her mission. in about a fortnight i left my official work as registrar in the hands of a deputy and went down to london to see what had been accomplished. to my astonishment i found that annie, working with my daughter sylvia, had organised a procession of women and a demonstration to be held on the opening day of parliament. the confident young things had actually engaged caxton hall, westminster; they had had printed a large number of handbills to announce the meeting, and they were busily engaged in working up the demonstration. mrs. drummond, who had joined the union shortly after the imprisonment of annie kenney and christabel, sent word from manchester that she was coming to help us. she had to borrow the money for her railroad-fare, but she came, and, as ever before and since, her help was invaluable. how we worked, distributing handbills, chalking announcements of the meeting on pavements, calling on every person we knew and on a great many more we knew only by name, canvassing from door to door! at length the opening day of parliament arrived. on february , , occurred the first suffrage procession in london. i think there were between three and four hundred women in that procession, poor working-women from the east end, for the most part, leading the way in which numberless women of every rank were afterward to follow. my eyes were misty with tears as i saw them, standing in line, holding the simple banners which my daughter sylvia had decorated, waiting for the word of command. of course our procession attracted a large crowd of intensely amused spectators. the police, however, made no attempt to disperse our ranks, but merely ordered us to furl our banners. there was no reason why we should not have carried banners but the fact that we were women, and therefore could be bullied. so, bannerless, the procession entered caxton hall. to my amazement it was filled with women, most of whom i had never seen at any suffrage gathering before. our meeting was most enthusiastic, and while annie kenney was speaking, to frequent applause, the news came to me that the king's speech (which is not the king's at all, but the formally announced government programme for the session) had been read, and that there was in it no mention of the women's suffrage question. as annie took her seat i arose and made this announcement, and i moved a resolution that the meeting should at once proceed to the house of commons to urge the members to introduce a suffrage measure. the resolution was carried, and we rushed out in a body and hurried toward the strangers' entrance. it was pouring rain and bitterly cold, yet no one turned back, even when we learned at the entrance that for the first time in memory the doors of the house of commons were barred to women. we sent in our cards to members who were personal friends, and some of them came out and urged our admittance. the police, however, were obdurate. they had their orders. the liberal government, advocates of the people's rights, had given orders that women should no longer set foot in their stronghold. pressure from members proved too great, and the government relented to the extent of allowing twenty women at a time to enter the lobby. through all the rain and cold those hundreds of women waited for hours their turn to enter. some never got in, and for those of us who did there was small satisfaction. not a member could be persuaded to take up our cause. out of the disappointment and dejection of that experience i yet reaped a richer harvest of happiness than i had ever known before. those women had followed me to the house of commons. they had defied the police. they were awake at last. they were prepared to do something that women had never done before--fight for themselves. women had always fought for men, and for their children. now they were ready to fight for their own human rights. our militant movement was established. chapter iv to account for the phenomenal growth of the women's social and political union after it was established in london, to explain why it made such an instant appeal to women hitherto indifferent, i shall have to point out exactly wherein our society differs from all other suffrage associations. in the first place, our members are absolutely single minded; they concentrate all their forces on one object, political equality with men. no member of the w. s. p. u. divides her attention between suffrage and other social reforms. we hold that both reason and justice dictate that women shall have a share in reforming the evils that afflict society, especially those evils bearing directly on women themselves. therefore, we demand, before any other legislation whatever, the elementary justice of votes for women. there is not the slightest doubt that the women of great britain would have been enfranchised years ago had all the suffragists adopted this simple principle. they never did, and even to-day many english women refuse to adopt it. they are party members first and suffragists afterward; or they are suffragists part of the time and social theorists the rest of the time. we further differ from other suffrage associations, or from others existing in , in that we clearly perceived the political situation that solidly interposed between us and our enfranchisement. for seven years we had had a majority in the house of commons pledged to vote favourably on a suffrage bill. the year before, they had voted favourably on one, yet that bill did not become law. why? because even an overwhelming majority of private members are powerless to enact law in the face of a hostile government of eleven cabinet ministers. the private member of parliament was once possessed of individual power and responsibility, but parliamentary usage and a changed conception of statesmanship have gradually lessened the functions of members. at the present time their powers, for all practical purposes, are limited to helping to enact such measures as the government introduces or, in rare instances, private measures approved by the government. it is true that the house can revolt, can, by voting a lack of confidence in the government, force them to resign. but that almost never happens, and it is less likely now than formerly to happen. figureheads don't revolt. this, then, was our situation: the government all-powerful and consistently hostile; the rank and file of legislators impotent; the country apathetic; the women divided in their interests. the women's social and political union was established to meet this situation, and to overcome it. moreover we had a policy which, if persisted in long enough, could not possibly fail to overcome it. do you wonder that we gained new members at every meeting we held? there was little formality about joining the union. any woman could become a member by paying a shilling, but at the same time she was required to sign a declaration of loyal adherence to our policy and a pledge not to work for any political party until the women's vote was won. this is still our inflexible custom. moreover, if at any time a member, or a group of members, loses faith in our policy; if any one begins to suggest, that some other policy ought to be substituted, or if she tries to confuse the issue by adding other policies, she ceases at once to be a member. autocratic? quite so. but, you may object, a suffrage organisation ought to be democratic. well the members of the w. s. p. u. do not agree with you. we do not believe in the effectiveness of the ordinary suffrage organisation. the w. s. p. u. is not hampered by a complexity of rules. we have no constitution and by-laws; nothing to be amended or tinkered with or quarrelled over at an annual meeting. in fact, we have no annual meeting, no business sessions, no elections of officers. the w. s. p. u. is simply a suffrage army in the field. it is purely a volunteer army, and no one is obliged to remain in it. indeed we don't want anybody to remain in it who does not ardently believe in the policy of the army. the foundation of our policy is opposition to a government who refuse votes to women. to support by word or deed a government hostile to woman suffrage is simply to invite them to go on being hostile. we oppose the liberal party because it is in power. we would oppose a unionist government if it were in power and were opposed to woman suffrage. we say to women that as long as they remain in the ranks of the liberal party they give their tacit approval to the government's anti-suffrage policy. we say to members of parliament that as long as they support any of the government's policies they give their tacit approval to the anti-suffrage policy. we call upon all sincere suffragists to leave the liberal party until women are given votes on equal terms with men. we call upon all voters to vote against liberal candidates until the liberal government does justice to women. we did not invent this policy. it was most successfully pursued by mr. parnell in his home rule struggle more than thirty-five years ago. any one who is old enough to remember the stirring days of parnell may recall how, in , the home rulers, by persistently voting against the government in the house of commons, forced the resignation of mr. gladstone and his cabinet. in the general election which followed, the liberal party was again returned to power, but by the slender majority of eighty-four, the home rulers having fought every liberal candidate, even those, who, like my husband, were enthusiastic believers in home rule. in order to control the house and keep his leadership, mr. gladstone was obliged to bring in a government home rule bill. the downfall, through private intrigue, and the subsequent death of parnell prevented the bill from becoming law. for many years afterward the irish nationalists had no leader strong enough to carry on parnell's anti-government policy, but within late years it was resumed by mr. james redmond, with the result that the commons passed a home rule bill. the contention of the old-fashioned suffragists, and of the politicians as well, has always been that an educated public opinion will ultimately give votes to women without any great force being exerted in behalf of the reform. we agree that public opinion must be educated, but we contend that even an educated public opinion is useless unless it is vigorously utilised. the keenest weapon is powerless unless it is courageously wielded. in the year there was an immensely large public opinion in favour of woman suffrage. but what good did that do the cause? we called upon the public for a great deal more than sympathy. we called upon it to demand of the government to yield to public opinion and give women votes. and we declared that we would wage war, not only on all anti-suffrage forces, but on all neutral and non-active forces. every man with a vote was considered a foe to woman suffrage unless he was prepared to be actively a friend. not that we believed that the campaign of education ought to be given up. on the contrary, we knew that education must go on, and in much more vigorous fashion than ever before. the first thing we did was to enter upon a sensational campaign to arouse the public to the importance of woman suffrage, and to interest it in our plans for forcing the government's hands. i think we can claim that our success in this regard was instant, and that it has proved permanent. from the very first, in those early london days, when we were few in numbers and very poor in purse, we made the public aware of the woman suffrage movement as it had never been before. we adopted salvation army methods and went out into the highways and the byways after converts. we threw away all our conventional notions of what was "ladylike" and "good form," and we applied to our methods the one test question, will it help? just as the booths and their followers took religion to the street crowds in such fashion that the church people were horrified, so we took suffrage to the general public in a manner that amazed and scandalised the other suffragists. we had a lot of suffrage literature printed, and day by day our members went forth and held street meetings. selecting a favourable spot, with a chair for a rostrum, one of us would ring a bell until people began to stop to see what was going to happen. what happened, of course, was a lively suffrage speech, and the distribution of literature. soon after our campaign had started, the sound of the bell was a signal for a crowd to spring up as if by magic. all over the neighbourhood you heard the cry: "here are the suffragettes! come on!" we covered london in this way; we never lacked an audience, and best of all, an audience to which the woman-suffrage doctrine was new. we were increasing our favourable public as well as waking it up. besides these street meetings, we held many hall and drawing-room meetings, and we got a great deal of press publicity, which was something never accorded the older suffrage methods. our plans included the introduction of a government suffrage bill at the earliest possible moment, and in the spring of we sent a deputation of about thirty of our members to interview the prime minister, sir henry campbell-bannerman. the prime minister, it was stated, was not at home; so in a few days we sent another deputation. this time the servant agreed to carry our request to the prime minister. the women waited patiently on the doorstep of the official residence, no. downing street, for nearly an hour. then the door opened and two men appeared. one of the men addressed the leader of the deputation, roughly ordering her and the others to leave. "we have sent a message to the prime minister," she replied, "and we are waiting for the answer." "there will be no answer," was the stern rejoinder, and the door closed. "yes, there will be an answer," exclaimed the leader, and she seized the door-knocker and banged it sharply. instantly the men reappeared, and one of them called to a policeman standing near, "take this woman in charge." the order was obeyed, and the peaceful deputation saw its leader taken off to canon row station. instantly the women protested vigorously. annie kenney began to address the crowd that had gathered, and mrs. drummond actually forced her way past the doorkeeper into the sacred residence of the prime minister of the british empire! her arrest and annie's followed. the three women were detained at the police station for about an hour, long enough, the prime minister probably thought, to frighten them thoroughly and teach them not to do such dreadful things again. then he sent them word that he had decided not to prosecute them, but would, on the contrary, receive a deputation from the w. s. p. u., and, if they cared to attend, from other suffrage societies as well. all the suffrage organisations at once began making preparations for the great event. at the same time two hundred members of parliament sent a petition to the prime minister, asking him to receive their committee that they might urge upon him the necessity of a government measure for woman suffrage. sir henry fixed may th as the day on which he would receive a joint deputation from parliament and from the women's suffrage organisations. the w. s. p. u. determined to make the occasion as public as possible, and began preparations for a procession and a demonstration. when the day came we assembled at the foot of the beautiful monument to the warrior-queen, boadicea, that guards the entrance to westminster bridge, and from there we marched to the foreign office. at the meeting eight women spoke in behalf of an immediate suffrage measure, and mr. keir hardie presented the argument for the suffrage members of parliament. i spoke for the w. s. p. u., and i tried to make the prime minister see that no business could be more pressing than ours. i told him that the group of women organised in our union felt so strongly the necessity for women enfranchisement that they were prepared to sacrifice for it everything they possessed, their means of livelihood, their very lives, if necessary. i begged him to make such a sacrifice needless by doing us justice now. what answer do you think sir henry campbell-bannerman made us? he assured us of his sympathy with our cause, his belief in its justice, and his confidence in our fitness to vote. and then he told us to have patience and wait; he could do nothing for us because some of his cabinet were opposed to us. after a few more words the usual vote of thanks was moved, and the deputation was dismissed. i had not expected anything better, but it wrung my heart to see the bitter disappointment of the w. s. p. u. women who had waited in the street to hear from the leaders the result of the deputation. we held a great meeting of protest that afternoon, and determined to carry on our agitation with increased vigor. now that it had been made plain that the government were resolved not to bring in a suffrage bill, there was nothing to do but to continue our policy of waking up the country, not only by public speeches and demonstrations, but by a constant heckling of cabinet ministers. since the memorable occasion when christabel pankhurst and annie kenney were thrown out of sir edward grey's meeting in manchester, and afterward imprisoned for the crime of asking a courteous question, we had not lost an opportunity of addressing the same question to every cabinet minister we could manage to encounter. for this we have been unmercifully criticised, and in a large number of cases most brutally handled. in almost every one of my american meetings i was asked the question, "what good do you expect to accomplish by interrupting meetings?" is it possible that the time-honoured, almost sacred english privilege of interrupting is unknown in america? i cannot imagine a political meeting from which "the voice" was entirely absent. in england it is invariably present. it is considered the inalienable right of the opposition to heckle the speaker and to hurl questions at him which are calculated to spoil his arguments. for instance, when liberals attend a conservative gathering they go prepared to shatter by witticisms and pointed questions all the best effects of the conservative orators. the next day you will read in liberal newspapers headlines like these: "the voice in fine form," "short shrift for tory twaddle," "awkward answers from the enemy's platform." in the body of the article you will learn that "lord x found that the liberals at his meeting were more than a match for him," that "there was continued interruption during sir so-and-so's speech," that "lord m fared badly last night in his encounter with the voice," or that "captain z had the greatest difficulty in making himself heard." in accordance with this custom we heckle cabinet ministers. mr. winston churchill, for example, is speaking. "one great question," he exclaims, "remains to be settled." "and that is woman suffrage," shouts a voice from the gallery. mr. churchill struggles on with his speech: "the men have been complaining of me----" "the women have been complaining of you, too, mr. churchill," comes back promptly from the back of the hall. "in the circumstances what can we do but----" "give votes to women." our object, of course, is to keep woman suffrage in the foreground of interest and to insist on every possible occasion that no other reform advocated is of such immediate importance. from the first the women's interruptions have been resented with unreasoning anger. i remember hearing mr. lloyd-george saying once of a man who interrupted him: "let him remain. i like interruptions. they show that people holding different opinions to mine are present, giving me a chance to convert them." but when suffragists interrupt mr. lloyd-george he says something polite like this: "pay no attention to those cats mewing." some of the ministers are more well bred in their expressions, but all are disdainful and resentful. all see with approval the brutal ejection of the women by the liberal stewards. at one meeting where mr. lloyd-george was speaking, we interrupted with a question, and he claimed the sympathy of the audience on the score that he was a friend to woman suffrage. "then why don't you do something to give votes to women?" was the obvious retort. but mr. lloyd-george evaded this by the counter query: "why don't they go for their enemies? why don't they go for their greatest enemy?" instantly, all over the hall, voices shouted, "asquith! asquith!" for even at that early day it was known that the then chancellor of the exchequer was a stern foe of women's independence. in the summer of , together with other members of the w. s. p. u., i went to northampton, where mr. asquith was holding a large meeting in behalf of the government's education bills. we organised a number of outdoor meetings, and of course prepared to attend mr. asquith's meeting. in conversation with the president of the local women's liberal association, i mentioned the fact that we expected to be put out, and she indignantly declared that such a thing could not happen in northampton, where the women had done so much for the liberal party. i told her that i hoped she would be at the meeting. i had not intended to go myself, my plans being to hold a meeting of my own outside the door. but our members, before mr. asquith began to speak, attempted to question him, and were thrown out with violence. so then, turning my meeting over to them, i slipped quietly into the hall and sat down in the front row of a division set apart for wives and women friends of the liberal leaders. i sat there in silence, hearing men interrupt the speaker and get answers to their questions. at the close of the speech i stood up and, addressing the chairman, said: "i should like to ask mr. asquith a question about education." the chairman turned inquiringly to mr. asquith, who frowningly shook his head. but without waiting for the chairman to say a word, i continued: "mr. asquith has said that the parents of children have a right to be consulted in the matter of their children's education, especially upon such questions as the kind of religious instruction they should receive. women are parents. does not mr. asquith think that women should have the right to control their children's education, as men do, through the vote?" at this point the stewards seized me by the arms and shoulders and rushed me, or rather dragged me, for i soon lost my footing, to the door and threw me out of the building. the effect on the president of the northampton women's liberal association was most salutary. she resigned her office and became a member of the w. s. p. u. perhaps her action was influenced further by the press reports of the incident. mr. asquith was reported as saying, after my ejection, that it was difficult to enter into the minds of people who thought they could serve a cause which professed to appeal to the reason of the electors of the country by disturbing public meetings. apparently he could enter into the minds of the men who disturbed public meetings. to our custom of public heckling of the responsible members of the hostile government we added the practice of sending deputations to them for the purpose of presenting orderly arguments in favour of our cause. after mr. asquith had shown himself so uninformed as to the objects of the suffragists, we decided to ask him to receive a deputation from the w. s. p. u. to our polite letter mr. asquith returned a cold refusal to be interviewed on any subject not connected with his particular office. whereupon we wrote again, reminding mr. asquith that as a member of the government he was concerned with all questions likely to be dealt with by parliament. we said that we urgently desired to put our question before him, and that we would send a deputation to his house hoping that he would feel it his duty to receive us. our first deputation was told that mr. asquith was not at home. he had, in fact, escaped from the house through the back door, and had sped away in a fast motor-car. two days later we sent a larger deputation, of about thirty women, to his house in cavendish square. to be accurate, the deputation got as near the house as the entrance to cavendish square; there the women met a strong force of police, who told them that they would not be permitted to go farther. many of the women were carrying little "votes for women" banners, and these the police tore from them, in some cases with blows and insults. seeing this, the leader of the deputation cried out: "we will go forward. you have no right to strike women like that." the reply, from a policeman near her, was a blow in the face. she screamed with pain and indignation, whereupon the man grasped her by the throat and choked her against the park railings until she was blue in the face. the young woman struggled and fought back, and for this she was arrested on a charge of assaulting the police. three other women were arrested, one because, in spite of the police, she succeeded in ringing mr. asquith's door-bell and another because she protested against the laughter of some ladies who watched the affair from a drawing-room window. she was a poor working-woman, and it seemed to her a terrible thing that rich and protected women should ridicule a cause that to her was so profoundly serious. the fourth woman was taken in charge, because after she had been pushed off the pavement, she dared to step back. charged with disorderly conduct, these women were sentenced to six weeks in the second division. they were given the option of a fine, it is true, but the payment of a fine would have been an acknowledgment of guilt, which made such a course impossible. the leader of the deputation was given a two months' sentence, with the option of a fine of ten pounds. she, too, refused to pay, and was sent to prison; but some unknown friend paid the fine secretly, and she was released before the expiration of her sentence. about the time these things were happening in london, similar violence was offered our women in manchester, where john burns, lloyd-george, and winston churchill, all three cabinet ministers, were addressing a great liberal demonstration. the women were there, as usual, to ask government support for our measure. there, too, they were thrown out of the meeting, and three of them were sent to prison. there are people in england, plenty of them, who will tell you that the suffragettes were sent to prison for destroying property. the fact is that hundreds of women were arrested for exactly such offences as i have described before it ever occurred to any of us to destroy property. we were determined, at the beginning of our movement, that we would make ourselves heard, that we would force the government to take up our question and answer it by action in parliament. perhaps you will see some parallel to our case in the stand taken in massachusetts by the early abolitionists, wendell phillips and william lloyd garrison. they, too, had to fight bitterly, to face insult and arrest, because they insisted on being heard. and they were heard; and so, in time, were we. i think we began to be noticed in earnest after our first success in opposing a liberal candidate. this was in a by-election held at cockermouth in august, . i shall have to explain that a by-election is a local election to fill a vacancy in parliament caused by a death or a resignation. the verdict of a by-election is considered as either an indorsement or a censure of the manner in which the government have fulfilled their pre-election pledges. so we went to cockermouth and told the voters how the liberal party had fulfilled its pledges of democracy and lived up to its avowed belief in the rights of all the people. we told them of the arrests in london and manchester, of the shameful treatment of women in liberal meetings, and we asked them to censure the government who had answered so brutally our demand for a vote. we told them that the only rebuke that the politicians would notice was a lost seat in parliament, and that on that ground we asked them to defeat the liberal candidate. how we were ridiculed! with what scorn the newspapers declared that "those wild women" could never turn a single vote. yet when the election was over it was found that the liberal candidate had lost the seat, which, at the general election a little more than a year before, had been won by a majority of . this time the unionist candidate was returned by a majority of . tremendously elated, we hurried our forces off to another by-election. now the ridicule was turned to stormy abuse. mind you, the liberal government still refused to notice the women's question; they declared through the liberal press that the defeat at cockermouth was insignificant, and that anyhow it wasn't caused by the suffragettes; yet the liberal leaders were furiously angry with the w. s. p. u. many of our members had been liberals, and it was considered by the men that these women were little better than traitors. they were very foolish and ill-advised, into the bargain, the liberals said, because the vote, if won at all, must be gained from the liberal party; and how did the women suppose the liberal party would ever give the vote to open and avowed enemies? this sage argument was used also by the women liberals and the constitutional suffragists. they advised us that the proper way was to work for the party. we retorted that we had done that unsuccessfully for too many years already, and persisted with the opposite method of persuasion. throughout the summer and autumn we devoted ourselves to the by-election work, sometimes actually defeating the liberal candidate, sometimes reducing the liberal majority, and always raising a tremendous sensation and gaining hundreds of new members to the union. in almost every neighbourhood we visited we left the nucleus of a local union, so that before the year was out we had branches all over england and many in scotland and wales. i especially remember a by-election in wales at which mr. samuel evans, who had accepted an officership under the crown, had to stand for re-election. unfortunately no candidate had been brought out against him. so there was nothing for my companions and me to do but make his campaign as lively as possible. mr.--now sir samuel--evans was the man who had incensed women by talking out a suffrage resolution introduced into the house by keir hardie. so we went to two of his meetings and literally talked him out, breaking up the gatherings amid the laughter and cheers of delighted crowds. on october d parliament met for its autumn session, and we led a deputation to the house of commons in another effort to induce the government to take action on woman suffrage. in accordance with orders given the police, only twenty of us were admitted to the strangers' lobby. we sent in for the chief liberal whip, and asked him to take a message to the prime minister, the message being the usual request to grant women the vote that session. we also asked the prime minister if he intended to include the registration of qualified women voters in the provisions of the plural voting bill, then under consideration. the liberal whip came back with the reply that nothing could be done for women that session. [illustration: mrs. pankhurst addressing a by-election crowd] "does the prime minister," i asked, "hold out any hope for the women for any session during this parliament, or at any future time?" the prime minister, you will remember, called himself a suffragist. the liberal whip replied, "no, mrs. pankhurst, the prime minister does not." what would a deputation of unenfranchised men have done in these circumstances--men who knew themselves to be qualified to exercise the franchise, who desperately needed the protection of the franchise, and who had a majority of legislators in favour of giving them the franchise? i hope they would have done at least as much as we did, which was to start a meeting of protest on the spot. the newspapers described our action as creating a disgraceful scene in the lobby of the house of commons, but i think that history will otherwise describe it. one of the women sprang up on a settee and began to address the crowd. in less than a minute she was pulled down, but instantly another woman took her place; and after she had been dragged down, still another sprang to her place, and following her another and another, until the order came to clear the lobby, and we were all forced outside. in the mêlée i was thrown to the floor and painfully hurt. the women, thinking me seriously injured, crowded around me and refused to move until i was able to regain myself. this angered the police, who were still more incensed when they found that the demonstration was continued outside. eleven women were arrested, including mrs. pethick lawrence, our treasurer, mrs. cobden sanderson, annie kenney and three more of our organisers; and they were all sent to holloway for two months. but the strength of our movement was proved by the number of volunteers who immediately came forward to carry on the work. mrs. tuke, now hon. secretary of the w. s. p. u., joined the union at this time. it had not occurred to the authorities that their action would have this effect. they thought to crush the union at a blow, but they gave it the greatest impetus it had yet received. the leaders of the older suffrage organisations for the time forgot their disapproval of our methods, and joined with women writers, physicians, actresses, artists, and other prominent women in denouncing the affair as barbarous. one more thing the authorities failed to take into account. the condition of english prisons was known to be very bad, but when two of our women were made so ill in holloway that they had to be released within a few days, the politicians began to tremble for their prestige. questions were asked in parliament concerning the advisability of treating the suffragettes not as common criminals but as political offenders with the right to confinement in the first division. mr. herbert gladstone, the home secretary, replied to these questions that he had no power to interfere with the magistrates' decisions, and could do nothing in the matter of the suffragettes' punishment. i shall ask you to remember this statement of mr. herbert gladstone's, as later we were able to prove it a deliberate falsehood--although really the falsehood proved itself when the women, by government order, were released from prison when they had served just half their sentences. the reason for this was that an important by-election was being held in the north of england, and we had distributed broadcast throughout the constituency hand bills telling the electors that nine women, including the daughter of richard cobden, were being held as common criminals by the liberal government who were asking for their votes. i took a group of the released prisoners to huddersfield, and they told prison stories to such effect that the liberal majority was reduced by votes. as usual the liberal leaders denied that our work had anything to do with the slender majority by which the party retained the seat, but among our souvenirs is a handbill, one of thousands given out from liberal headquarters: +------------------------------+ | men of huddersfield | | don't be misled | | by socialists, suffragettes | | or tories | | vote for sherwell | +------------------------------+ meanwhile, other demonstrations had taken place before the house of commons, and at christmas time twenty-one suffragettes were in holloway prison, though they had committed no crime. the government professed themselves unmoved, and members of parliament spoke with sneers of the "self-made martyrs." however, a considerable group of members, strongly moved by the passion and unquenchable ardor of this new order of suffragists, met during the last week of the year and formed a committee whose object it was to press upon the government the necessity of giving the franchise to women during that parliament. the committee resolved that its members would work to educate a wider public opinion on the question, and especially to advocate suffrage when addressing meetings in their constituencies, to take parliamentary action on every possible occasion, and to induce as many members of parliament as possible to ballot for the introduction of a suffrage bill or motion next session. our first year in london had borne wonderful fruits. we had grown from a mere handful of women, a "family party" the newspapers had derisively called us, to a strong organisation with branches all over the country, permanent headquarters in clements inn, strand; we had found good financial backing, and above all, we had created a suffrage committee in the house of commons. book ii four years of peaceful militancy chapter i the campaign of began with a women's parliament, called together on february th in caxton hall, to consider the provisions of the king's speech, which had been read in the national parliament on the opening day of the session, february th. the king's speech, as i have explained, is the official announcement of the government's programme for the session. when our women's parliament met at three o'clock on the afternoon of the thirteenth we knew that the government meant to do nothing for women during the session ahead. i presided over the women's meeting, which was marked with a fervency and a determination of spirit at that time altogether unprecedented. a resolution expressing indignation that woman suffrage should have been omitted from the king's speech, and calling upon the house of commons to give immediate facilities to such a measure, was moved and carried. a motion to send the resolution from the hall to the prime minister was also carried. the slogan, "rise up, women," was cried from the platform, the answering shout coming back as from one woman, "now!" with copies of the resolution in their hands, the chosen deputation hurried forth into the february dusk, ready for parliament or prison, as the fates decreed. fate did not leave them very long in doubt. the government, it appeared, had decided that not again should their sacred halls of parliament be desecrated by women asking for the vote, and orders had been given that would henceforth prevent women from reaching even the outer precincts of the house of commons. so when our deputation of women arrived in the neighbourhood of westminster abbey they found themselves opposed by a solid line of police, who, at a sharp order from their chief, began to stride through and through the ranks of the procession, trying to turn the women back. bravely the women rallied and pressed forward a little farther. suddenly a body of mounted police came riding up at a smart trot, and for the next five hours or more, a struggle, quite indescribable for brutality and ruthlessness, went on. the horsemen rode directly into the procession, scattering the women right and left. but still the women would not turn back. again and again they returned, only to fly again and again from the merciless hoofs. some of the women left the streets for the pavements, but even there the horsemen pursued them, pressing them so close to walls and railings that they were obliged to retreat temporarily to avoid being crushed. other strategists took refuge in doorways, but they were dragged out by the foot police and were thrown directly in front of the horses. still the women fought to reach the house of commons with their resolution. they fought until their clothes were torn, their bodies bruised, and the last ounce of their strength exhausted. fifteen of them did actually fight their way through those hundreds on hundreds of police, foot and mounted, as far as the strangers' lobby of the house. here they attempted to hold a meeting, and were arrested. outside, many more women were taken into custody. it was ten o'clock before the last arrest was made, and the square cleared of the crowds. after that the mounted men continued to guard the approaches to the house of commons until the house rose at midnight. the next morning fifty-seven women and two men were arraigned, two and three at a time, in westminster police court. christabel pankhurst was the first to be placed in the dock. she tried to explain to the magistrate that the deputation of the day before was a perfectly peaceful attempt to present a resolution, which, sooner or later, would be presented and acted upon. she assured him that the deputation was but the beginning of a campaign that would not cease until the government yielded to the women's demand. "there can be no going back for us," she declared, "and more will happen if we do not get justice." the magistrate, mr. curtis bennett, who was destined later to try women for that "more," rebuked my daughter sternly, telling her that the government had nothing to do with causing the disorders of the day before, that the women were entirely responsible for what had occurred, and finally, that these disgraceful scenes in the street must cease--just as king canute told the ocean that it must roll out instead of in. "the scenes can be stopped in only one way," replied the prisoner. his sole reply to that was, "twenty shillings or fourteen days," christabel chose the prison sentence, and so did all the other prisoners. mrs. despard, who headed the deputation, and sylvia pankhurst, who was with her, were given three weeks in prison. of course the raid, as it was called, gave the women's social and political union an enormous amount of publicity, on the whole, favourable publicity. the newspapers were almost unanimous in condemning the government for sending mounted troops out against unarmed women. angry questions were asked in parliament, and our ranks once more increased in size and ardour. the old-fashioned suffragists, men as well as women, cried out that we had alienated all our friends in parliament; but this proved to be untrue. indeed, it was found that a liberal member, mr. dickinson, had won the first place in the ballot, and had announced that he intended to use it to introduce a women's suffrage bill. more than this, the prime minister, sir henry campbell-bannerman, promised to give the bill his support. for a time, a very short time, it is true, we felt that the hour of our freedom might be at hand, that our prisoners had perhaps already won us our precious symbol--the vote. soon, however, a number of professed suffragists in the house began to complain that mr. dickinson's bill, practically the original bill, was not "democratic" enough, that it would enfranchise only the women of the upper classes--to which, by the way, most of them belonged. that this was not true had been proved again and again from the municipal registers, which showed a majority of working women's names as qualified householders. the contention was but a shallow excuse, and we knew it. therefore we were not surprised when sir henry campbell-bannerman departed from his pledge of support, and allowed the bill to be talked out. following this event, the second women's parliament assembled, on the afternoon of march , . as before, we adopted a resolution calling upon the government to introduce an official suffrage measure, and again we voted to send the resolution from the hall to the prime minister. lady harberton was chosen to lead the deputation, and instantly hundreds of women sprang up and volunteered to accompany her. this time the police met the women at the door of the hall, and another useless, disgraceful scene of barbarous, brute-force opposition took place. something like one thousand police had been sent out to guard the house of commons from the peaceful invasion of a few hundred women. all afternoon and evening we kept caxton hall open, the women returning every now and again, singly and in small groups, to have their bruises bathed, or their torn clothing repaired. as night fell the crowds in the street grew denser, and the struggle between the women and the police became more desperate. lady harberton, we heard, had succeeded in reaching the entrance to the house of commons, nay, had actually managed to press past the sentries into the lobby, but her resolution had not been presented to the prime minister. she and many others were arrested before the police at last succeeded in clearing the streets, and the dreadful affair was over. the next day, in westminster police court, the magistrate meted out sentences varying from twenty shillings or fourteen days to forty shillings or one month's imprisonment. two of the women, miss woodlock and mrs. chatterton, who had left holloway only a week before, were, as "old offenders," given thirty days without the option of a fine. another woman, mary leigh, was given thirty days because she offended the magistrate's dignity by hanging a "votes for women" banner over the edge of the dock. those of my readers who are unable to connect the word "militancy" with anything milder than arson are invited to reflect that within the first two months of the year the english government sent to prison one hundred and thirty women whose "militancy" consisted merely of trying to carry a resolution from a hall to the prime minister in the house of commons. our crime was called obstructing the police. it will be seen that it was the police who did the obstructing. it may be asked why neither of these deputations was led by me personally. the reason was that i was needed in another capacity, that of leader and supervisor of the suffrage forces in the field to defeat government candidates at by-elections. on the night of the second "riot," while our women were still struggling in the streets, i left london for hexham in northumberland, where by our work the majority of the liberal candidate was reduced by a thousand votes. seven more by-elections followed in rapid succession. our by-election work was such a new thing in english politics that we attracted an enormous amount of attention wherever we went. it was our custom to begin work the very hour we entered a town. if, on our way from the station to the hotel, we encountered a group of men, say, in the market-place, we either stopped and held a meeting on the spot, or else we stayed long enough to tell them when and where our meetings were to be held, and to urge them to attend. the usual first step, after securing lodgings, was to hire a vacant shop, fill the windows with suffrage literature, and fling out our purple, green, and white flag. meanwhile, some of us were busy hiring the best available hall. if we got possession of the battle-ground before the men, we sometimes "cornered" all the good halls and left the candidate nothing but schoolhouses for his indoor meetings. truth to tell, our meetings were so much more popular than theirs that we really needed the larger halls. often, a candidate with the suffragettes for rivals spoke to almost empty benches. the crowds were away listening to the women. naturally, this greatly displeased the politicians, and it scandalised many of the old-fashioned liberal partisans. in one place, i think it was colne valley in yorkshire, an amusing instance of masculine hostility occurred. we had arrived on a day when both conservative and liberal committees were choosing their candidates, and we thought it a good opportunity to hold a series of outdoor meetings. we tried to get a lorry for a rostrum, but the only man in town who had these big vans to let disapproved of suffragettes so violently that he wouldn't let us have one. so we borrowed a chair from a woman shopkeeper, and went at it. soon we had a large crowd and an interested audience. we also got the attention of a number of small boys with pea-shooters, and had to make our speeches under a blistering fire of dried peas. while i was speaking the fire ceased, to my relief--for dried peas sting. i continued my speech with renewed vigor, only to have one of my best points spoiled by roars of laughter from the crowd. i finished somehow, and sat down; and then it was explained to me that the pea-shooters had been financed by one of the prominent liberals of the town, another man who disapproved of our policy of opposing the government. as soon as the ammunition gave out this man furnished the boys with a choice supply of rotten oranges. these were not so easily handled, it appeared, for the very first one went wild, and struck the chivalrous gentleman violently in the neck. this it was that had caused the laughter, and stopped the attack on the women. we met with some pretty rough horse-play, and even with some brutality, in several by-elections, but on the whole we found the men ready, and the women more than ready, to listen to us. we tamed and educated a public that had always been used to violence at elections. we even tamed the boys, who came to the meetings on purpose to skylark. when we were in rutlandshire that spring three schoolboys came to see me and told me, shyly, that they were interested in suffrage. they had had a debate on the subject at their school, and although the decision had been for the other side, all the boys wanted to know more about it. wouldn't i please have a meeting especially for them? of course i consented, and i found my boy audience quite delightful. indeed, i hope they liked me half as well as i did them. all through the spring our by-election work continued with amazing success, although our part in the government losses was rarely admitted by the politicians. the voters knew, however. at an election in suffolk, where we helped to double the unionist vote, the successful candidate, speaking to the crowd from his hotel window, said, "what has been the cause of the great and glorious victory?" instantly the crowd roared, "votes for women!"--"three cheers for the suffragettes!" this was not at all what the successful candidate had intended, but he waved his hand graciously and said, "no doubt the ladies had something to do with it." the newspaper correspondents were not so reluctant to acknowledge our influence. even when they condemned our policy, they were unsparing in their admiration for our energy, and the courage and ardour of our workers. said the correspondent of the london _tribune_, a liberal paper hostile to our tactics: "their staying power, judging them by the standards of men, is extraordinary. by taking afternoon as well as evening meetings, they have worked twice as hard as the men. they are up earlier, they retire just as late. women against men, they are better speakers, more logical, better informed, better phrased, with a surer insight for the telling argument." after a summer spent in strengthening our forces, organising new branches, holding meetings--something like three thousand of these between may and october--invading meetings of cabinet ministers--we managed to do that about once every day--electioneering, and getting up huge demonstrations in various cities, we arrived at the end of the year. in the last months of the year, i directed several hotly contested by-elections, at one of which i met with one of the most serious misadventures of my life. this by-election was held in the division of mid-devon, a stronghold of liberalism. in fact, since its creation in , the seat has never been held by any except a liberal member. the constituency is a large one, divided into eight districts. the population of the towns is a rough and boisterous one, and its devotion, blind and unreasoning, to the liberal party has always reflected the rude spirit of the voters. a unionist woman told me, shortly after my arrival, that my life would be unsafe if i dared openly to oppose the liberal candidate. she had never dared, she assured me, to wear her party colours in public. however, i did speak--in our headquarters at newton abbott, the principal town of the division, at hull, and at bovey tracey. we held meetings twice a day, calling upon the voters to "beat the government in mid-devon, as a message that women must have votes next year." although some of the meetings were turbulent, we were treated with much more consideration than either of the candidates, who, not infrequently, were howled down and put to flight. often the air of their meetings was thick with decayed vegetables and dirty snowballs. we had some rather lively sessions, too. once, at an outdoor meeting, some young roughs dragged our lorry round and round until it seemed that we must be upset, and several times the language hurled at us from the crowd was quite unfit for me to repeat. still, we escaped actual violence until the day of the election, when it was announced that the unionist candidate had won the seat by a majority of twelve hundred and eighty. we knew instantly that the deepest resentment of the liberals would be aroused, but it did not occur to us that the resentment would be directed actively against us. after the declaration at the polls, my companion, mrs. martel, and i started to walk to our lodgings. some of our friends stopped us, and drew our attention to the newly elected unionist member of parliament, who was being escorted from the polling place by a strong guard of police. we were warned that our safety demanded an immediate flight from the town. i laughingly assured our friends that i was never afraid to trust myself in a crowd, and we walked on. suddenly we were confronted by a crowd of young men and boys, clay-cutters from the pits on the edge of town. these young men, who wore the red rosettes of the liberal party, had just heard of their candidate's defeat, and they were mad with rage and humiliation. one of them pointed to us, crying: "they did it! those women did it!" a yell went up from the crowd, and we were deluged with a shower of clay and rotten eggs. we were not especially frightened, but the eggs were unbearable, and to escape them we rushed into a little grocer's shop close at hand. the grocer's wife closed and bolted the door, but the poor grocer cried out that his place would be wrecked. i did not want that to happen, of course, so i asked them to let us out by the back door. they led us out the door, into a small back yard which led into a little lane, whence we expected to make our escape. but when we reached the yard we found that the rowdies, anticipating our move, had surged round the corner, and were waiting for us. they seized mrs. martel first, and began beating her over the head with their fists, but the brave wife of the shopkeeper, hearing the shouts and the oaths of the men, flung open the door and rushed to our rescue. between us we managed to tear mrs. martel from her captors and get her into the house. i expected to get into the house, too, but as i reached the threshold a staggering blow fell on the back of my head, rough hands grasped the collar of my coat, and i was flung violently to the ground. stunned, i must have lost consciousness for a moment, for my next sensation was of cold, wet mud seeping through my clothing. sight returning to me, i perceived the men, silent now, but with a dreadful, lowering silence, closing in a ring around me. in the centre of the ring was an empty barrel, and the horrid thought occurred to me that they might intend putting me in it. a long time seemed to pass, while the ring of men slowly drew closer. i looked at them, in their drab clothes smeared with yellow pit-clay, and they appeared so underfed, so puny and sodden, that a poignant pity for them swept over me. "poor souls," i thought, and then i said suddenly, "are none of you _men_?" then one of the youths darted toward me, and i knew that whatever was going to happen to me was about to begin. at that very moment came shouts, and a rush of police who had fought their way through hostile crowds to rescue us. of course the mob turned tail and fled, and i was carried gently into the shop, which the police guarded for two hours, before it was deemed safe for us to leave in a closed motor-car. it was many months before either mrs. martel or i recovered from our injuries. the rowdies, foiled of their woman prey, went to the conservative club, smashed all the windows in the house, and kept the members besieged there through the night. the next morning the body of a man, frightfully bruised about the head, was found in the mill-race. throughout all this disorder and probable crime, not a man was arrested. contrast this, if you like, with the treatment given our women in london. the king opened parliament in great state on january , . again his speech omitted all mention of woman suffrage, and again the w. s. p. u. issued a call for a women's parliament, for february th, th and th. before it was convened we heard that an excellent place in the ballot had been won by a friend of the movement, mr. stanger, who promised to introduce a suffrage bill, february th was the day fixed for the second reading, and we realised that strong pressure would have to be brought to bear to prevent the bill being wrecked, as the dickinson bill had been the previous year. therefore, on the first day of the women's parliament, almost every woman present volunteered for the deputation, which was to try to carry the resolution to the prime minister. led by two well-known portrait painters, the deputation left caxton hall and proceeded in orderly ranks, four abreast, toward the house of commons. the crowds in the streets were enormous, thousands of sympathisers coming out to help the women, thousands of police determined that the women should not be helped, and thousands of curious spectators. when the struggle was over, fifty women were locked up in police-court cells. the next morning, when the cases were tried, mr. muskett, who prosecuted for the crown, and who was perhaps a little tired of telling the suffragettes that these scenes in the streets must cease, and then seeing them go on exactly as if he had not spoken, made a very severe and terrifying address. he told the women that this time they would be subject to the usual maximum of two months' imprisonment, with the option of a fine of five pounds, but that, in case they ever offended again, the law had worse terrors in store for them. it was proposed to revive, for the benefit of the suffragettes, an act passed in the reign of charles ii, which dealt with "tumultuous petitions, either to the crown or parliament." this act provided that no person should dare to go to the king or to parliament "with any petition, complaint, remonstrance, declaration or other address" accompanied with a number of persons above twelve. a fine of one hundred pounds, or three months' imprisonment, might be imposed under this law. the magistrate then sentenced all but two of the women to be bound over for twelve months, or to serve six weeks in the second division. two other women, "old offenders," were given one month in the third division, or lowest class. all the prisoners, except two who had very ill relatives at home, chose the prison sentence. the next day's session of the women's parliament was one of intense excitement, as the women reviewed the events of the previous day, the trials, and especially the threat to revive the obsolete act of charles ii, an act _which was passed to obstruct the progress of the liberal party, which came into existence under the stuarts, and under the second charles was fighting for its life_. it was an amazing thing that the political descendants of these men were proposing to revive the act to obstruct the advance of the women's cause, fighting for its life under george v and his liberal government. at least, it was evidence that the government were baffled in their attempt to crush our movement. christabel pankhurst, presiding over the second session of the women's parliament, said: "at last it is realized that women are fighting for freedom, as their fathers fought. if they want twelve women, aye, and more than twelve, if a hundred women are wanted to be tried under that act and sent to prison for three months, they can be found." i was not present at this session, nor had i been present at the first one. i was working in a by-election at south leeds, the last of several important by-elections in great industrial centres, where our success was unquestioned, except by the liberal press. the elections had wound up with a great procession, and a meeting of , people on hounslet moor. the most wonderful enthusiasm marked that meeting. i shall never forget what splendid order the people kept, in spite of the fact that no police protection was given us; how the vast crowd parted to let our procession through; how the throngs of mill women kept up a chorus in broad yorkshire: "shall us win? shall us have the vote? we shall!" no wonder the old people shook their beads, and declared that "there had never been owt like it." chapter ii with those brave shouts in my ears, i hurried down to london for the concluding session of the parliament, for i had determined that i must be the first person to challenge the government to carry out their threat to revive the old act of charles ii. i made a long speech to the women that day, telling them something of my experiences of the past months, and how all that i had seen and heard throughout the country had only deepened my conviction of the necessity for women's votes. "i feel," i concluded, "that the time has come when i must act, and i wish to be one of those to carry our resolution to parliament this afternoon. my experience in the country, and especially in south leeds, has taught me things that cabinet ministers, who have not had that experience, do not know, and has made me feel that i must make one final attempt to see them, and to urge them to reconsider their position before some terrible disaster has occurred." amid a good deal of excitement and emotion, we chose the requisite thirteen women, who were prepared to be arrested and tried under the charles ii "tumultuous petitions" act. i had not entirely recovered from the attack made upon me at mid-devon, and my wrenched ankle was still too sensitive to make walking anything but a painful process. seeing me begin almost at once to limp badly, mrs. drummond, with characteristic, blunt kindness, called to a man driving a dog-cart and asked him if he would drive me to the house of commons. he readily agreed, and i mounted to the seat behind him, the other women forming in line behind the cart. we had not gone far when the police, who already surrounded us in great force, ordered me to dismount. of course i obeyed and walked, or rather limped along with my companions. they would have supported me, but the police insisted that we should walk single-file. presently i grew so faint from the pain of the ankle that i called to two of the women, who took hold of my arms and helped me on my way. this was our one act of disobedience to police orders. we moved with difficulty, for the crowd was of incredible size. all around, as far as eye could see, was the great moving, swaying, excited multitude, and surrounding us on all sides were regiments of uniformed police, foot and mounted. you might have supposed that instead of thirteen women, one of them lame, walking quietly along, the town was in the hands of an armed mob. we had progressed as far as the entrance to parliament square, when two stalwart policemen suddenly grasped my arms on either side and told me that i was under arrest. my two companions, because they refused to leave me, were also arrested, and a few minutes later annie kenney and five other women suffered arrest. that night we were released on bail, and the next morning we were arraigned in westminster police court for trial under the charles ii act. but, as it turned out, the authorities, embarrassed by our readiness to test the act, announced that they had changed their minds, and would continue, for the present, to treat us as common street brawlers. this was my first trial, and i listened, with a suspicion that my ears were playing tricks with my reason, to the most astonishing perjuries put forth by the prosecution. i heard that we had set forth from caxton hall with noisy shouts and songs, that we had resorted to the most riotous and vulgar behaviour, knocking off policemen's helmets, assaulting the officers right and left as we marched. our testimony, and that of our witnesses, was ignored. when i tried to speak in my own defence, i was cut short rudely, and was told briefly that i and the others must choose between being bound over or going to prison, in the second division, for six weeks. i remember only vaguely the long, jolting ride across london to holloway prison. we stopped at pentonville, the men's prison, to discharge several men prisoners, and i remember shuddering at the thought of our women, many of them little past girlhood, being haled to prison in the same van with criminal men. arriving at the prison, we groped our way through dim corridors into the reception-ward, where we were lined up against the wall for a superficial medical examination. after that we were locked up in separate cells, unfurnished, except for low, wooden stools. it seemed an endless time before my cell door was opened by a wardress, who ordered me to follow her. i entered a room where another wardress sat at a table, ready to take an inventory of my effects. obeying an order to undress, i took off my gown, then paused. "take off everything," was the next order. "everything?" i faltered. it seemed impossible that they expected me to strip. in fact, they did allow me to take off my last garments in the shelter of a bath-room. i shivered myself into some frightful underclothing, old and patched and stained, some coarse, brown woollen stockings with red stripes, and the hideous prison dress stamped all over with the broad arrow of disgrace. i fished a pair of shoes out of a big basket of shoes, old and mostly mismates. a pair of coarse but clean sheets, a towel, a mug of cold cocoa, and a thick slice of brown bread were given me, and i was conducted to my cell. my first sensations when the door was locked upon me were not altogether disagreeable. i was desperately weary, for i had been working hard, perhaps a little too hard, for several strenuous months. the excitement and fatigue of the previous day, and the indignation i had suffered throughout the trial, had combined to bring me to the point of exhaustion, and i was glad to throw myself on my hard prison bed and close my eyes. but soon the relief of being alone, and with nothing to do, passed from me. holloway prison is a very old place, and it has the disadvantages of old places which have never known enough air and sunshine. it reeks with the odours of generations of bad ventilation, and it contrives to be at once the stuffiest and the draughtiest building i have ever been in. soon i found myself sickening for fresh air. my head began to ache. sleep fled. i lay all night suffering with cold, gasping for air, aching with fatigue, and painfully wide awake. the next day i was fairly ill, but i said nothing about it. one does not expect to be comfortable in prison. as a matter of fact, one's mental suffering is so much greater than any common physical distress that the latter is almost forgotten. the english prison system is altogether mediæval and outworn. in some of its details the system has improved since they began to send the suffragettes to holloway. i may say that we, by our public denunciation of the system, have forced these slight improvements. in the rules were excessively cruel. the poor prisoner, when she entered holloway, dropped, as it were, into a tomb. no letters and no visitors were allowed for the first month of the sentence. think of it--a whole month, more than four weeks, without sending or receiving a single word. one's nearest and dearest may have gone through dreadful suffering, may have been ill, may have died, meantime. one was given plenty of time to imagine all these things, for the prisoner was kept in solitary confinement in a narrow, dimly-lit cell, twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four. solitary confinement is too terrible a punishment to inflict on any human being, no matter what his crime. hardened criminals in the men's prisons, it is said, often beg for the lash instead. picture what it must be to a woman who has committed some small offence, for most of the women who go to holloway are small offenders, sitting alone, day after day, in the heavy silence of a cell--thinking of her children at home--thinking, thinking. some women go mad. many suffer from shattered nerves for a long period after release. it is impossible to believe that any woman ever emerged from such a horror less criminal than when she entered it. two days of solitary confinement, broken each day by an hour of silent exercise in a bitterly cold courtyard, and i was ordered to the hospital. there i thought i should be a little more comfortable. the bed was better, the food a little better, and small comforts, such as warm water for washing, were allowed. i slept a little the first night. about midnight i awoke, and sat up in bed, listening. a woman in the cell next mine was moaning in long, sobbing breaths of mortal pain. she ceased for a few minutes, then moaned again, horribly. the truth flashed over me, turning me sick, as i realised that a life was coming into being, there in that frightful prison. a woman, imprisoned by men's laws, was giving a child to the world. a child born in a cell! i shall never forget that night, nor what i suffered with the birth-pangs of that woman, who, i found later, was simply waiting trial on a charge which was found to be baseless. the days passed very slowly, the nights more slowly still. being in hospital, i was deprived of chapel, and also of work. desperate, at last i begged the wardress for some sewing, and she kindly gave me a skirt of her own to hem, and later some coarse knitting to do. prisoners were allowed a few books, mostly of the "sunday-school" kind. one day i asked the chaplain if there were not some french or german books in the library, and he brought me a treasure, "_autour de mon jardin_," by jules janin. for a few days i was quite happy, reading my book and translating it on the absurd little slate they gave us in lieu of paper and pencil. that slate was, after all, a great comfort. i did all kinds of things with it. i kept a calendar, i wrote all the french poetry i could remember on it, i even recorded old school chorals and old english exercises. it helped wonderfully to pass the endless hours until my release. i even forgot the cold, which was the harder to bear because of the fur coat, which i knew was put away, ticketed with my name. i begged them for the coat, but they wouldn't let me have it. at last the time came when they gave me back all my things, and let me go free. at the door the governor spoke to me, and asked me if i had any complaints to make. "not of you," i replied, "nor of any of the wardresses. only of this prison, and all of men's prisons. we shall raze them to the ground." back in my comfortable home, surrounded by loving friends, i would have rested quietly for a few days, but there was a great meeting that night at albert hall, to mark the close of a week of self-denial to raise money for the year's campaign. women had sold papers, flowers, toys, swept crossings, and sung in the streets for the cause. many women, well known in the world of art and letters, did these things. i felt that i should be doing little if i merely attended the meeting. so i went. my release was not expected until the following morning, and no one thought of my appearing at the meeting. my chairman's seat was decorated with a large placard with the inscription, "mrs. pankhurst's chair." after all the others were seated, the speakers, and hundreds of ex-prisoners. i walked quietly onto the stage, took the placard out of the chair and sat down. a great cry went up from the women as they sprang from their seats and stretched their hands toward me. it was some time before i could see them for my tears, or speak to them for the emotion that shook me like a storm. the next morning i, with the other released prisoners, drove off to peckham, a constituency of london, where the w. s. p. u. members were fighting a vigorous by-election. in open brakes we paraded the streets, dressed in our prison clothes, or exact reproductions of them. naturally, we attracted a great deal of attention and sympathy, and our daily meetings on peckham rye, as their common is known, drew enormous crowds. when polling day came our members were stationed at every polling booth, and many men as they came to the booths told us that they were, for the first time, voting "for the women," by which they meant against the government. that night, amid great excitement, it was made known that the liberal majority of , at the last general election had been turned into a conservative majority of , . letters poured into the newspapers, declaring that the loss of this important liberal seat was due almost entirely to the work of the suffragettes, and many prominent liberals called upon party leaders to start doing something for women before the next general election. the liberal leaders, with the usual perspicacity of politicians, responded not at all. instead they beheld with approval the rise to highest power the arch-enemy of the suffragists, mr. asquith. mr. asquith became prime minister about easter time, , on the resignation, on account of ill health, of sir henry campbell-bannerman. mr. asquith was chosen, not because of any remarkable record of statesmanship, nor yet because of great personal popularity--for he possessed neither--but simply because no better man seemed available just then. he was known as a clever, astute, and somewhat unscrupulous lawyer. he had filled several high offices to the satisfaction of his party, and under sir henry campbell-bannerman had been chancellor of the exchequer, a post which is generally regarded as a stepping-stone to the premiership. the best thing the liberal press found to say of the new premier was that he was a "strong" man. generally in politics this term is used to describe an obstinate man, and this we already knew mr. asquith to be. he was a bluntly outspoken opponent of woman suffrage, and it was sufficiently plain to us that no methods of education or persuasion would ever prove successful where he was concerned. therefore the necessity of action on our part was greater than ever. such an opportunity presented itself at once through changes that took place in the new cabinet. according to english law, all new comers into the cabinet are obliged to resign their seats in parliament and offer themselves to their constituencies for re-election. besides these vacancies there were several others, on account of death or elevations to the peerage. this made necessary a number of by-elections, and the women's social and political union once more went into the field against the liberal candidates. i shall deal no further with these by-elections than is necessary to show the effect of our work on the government, and its subsequent effect on our movement--which was to force us into more and more militancy. i shall leave it to the honest judgment of my readers to place where it ought rightly to be placed the responsibility for those first broken windows. we selected as our first candidate for defeat mr. winston churchill, who was about to appeal to his constituency of north west manchester to sanction his appointment as president of the board of trade. my daughter christabel took charge of this election, and the work of herself and her forces was so successful that mr. churchill lost his seat by votes. all the newspapers acknowledged that it was the suffragettes who had defeated mr. churchill, and one liberal newspaper, the london _daily news_, called upon the party to put a stop to an intolerable state of affairs by granting the women's demand for votes. another seat was immediately secured for mr. churchill, that of dundee, then strongly--in the merely party sense--liberal, and therefore safe. nevertheless, we determined to fight mr. churchill there, to defeat him if possible, and to bring down the liberal majority in any case. i took personal charge of the campaign, holding a very large meeting in kinnaird hall on the evening before mr. churchill's arrival. although he felt absolutely sure of election in this scottish constituency, mr. churchill dreaded the effect of our presence on the liberal women. the second meeting he addressed in dundee was held for women only, and instead of asking for support of the various measures actually on the government's programme, the politician's usual method, he talked about the certainty of securing, within a short time, the parliamentary franchise for women. "no one," he declared, "can be blind to the fact that at the next general election woman suffrage will be a real, practical issue; and the next parliament, i think, ought to see the gratification of the women's claims. i do not exclude the possibility of the suffrage being dealt with in this parliament." mr. churchill earnestly reiterated his claim to be considered a true friend of the women's cause; but when pressed for a pledge that his government would take action, he urged his inability to speak for his colleagues. this specious promise, or rather, prophecy of woman suffrage at some indefinite time, won over a great many of the liberal women, who forthwith went staunchly to work for mr. churchill's election. dundee has a large population of extremely poor people, workers in the jute mills and the marmalade factories. some concessions in the matter of the sugar tax, timely made, and the announcement that the new government meant to establish old age pensions, created an immense wave of liberal enthusiasm that swept mr. churchill into office in spite of our work, which was untiring. we held something like two hundred meetings, and on election eve, five huge demonstrations--four of them in the open air and one which filled a large drill hall. polling day, may th, was very exciting. for every suffragette at the polling-booths there were half a dozen liberal men and women, handing out bills with such legends as "vote for churchill, and never mind the women," and "put churchill in and keep the women out." yet for all their efforts, mr. churchill polled votes less than his liberal predecessor had polled at the general election. in the first seven by-elections following mr. asquith's elevation to the premiership, we succeeded in pulling down the liberal vote by . then something happened to check our progress. mr. asquith received a deputation of liberal members of parliament, who urged him to allow the stanger suffrage bill, which had passed its second reading by a large majority, to be carried into law. mr. asquith replied that he himself did not wish to see women enfranchised, and that it would not be possible for the government to give the required facilities to mr. stanger's bill. he added that he was fully alive to the many defects of the electoral system, and that the government intended, "barring accidents," to bring in a reform bill before the close of that parliament. woman suffrage would have no place in it, but it would be so worded that a woman-suffrage amendment might be added if any member chose to move one. in that case, said mr. asquith, he should not consider it the duty of the government to oppose the amendment if it were approved by a majority of the house of commons--_provided_ that the amendment was on democratic lines, and that it had back of it the support, the strong and undoubted support, of the women of the country as well as the present electorate. one would not suppose that such an evasive utterance as this would be regarded in any quarter as a promise that woman suffrage would be given any real chances of success under the asquith government. that it was, by many, taken quite seriously is but another proof of the gullibility of the party-blinded public. the liberal press lauded mr. asquith's "promise," and called for a truce of militancy in order that the government might have every opportunity to act. said the _star_, in a leader typical of many others: "the meaning of mr. asquith's pledge is plain. woman's suffrage will be passed through the house of commons before the present government goes to the country." as for the women's liberal associations, they were quite delirious with joy. in a conference called for the purpose of passing resolutions of gratitude, lady carlisle said: "this is a glorious day of rejoicing. our great prime minister, all honour to him, has opened a way to us by which we can enter into that inheritance from which we have been too long debarred." at the two following by-elections, the last of the series, enormous posters were exhibited, "premier's great reform bill: votes for women." we tried to tell the electors that the pledge was false on the face of it; that the specious proviso that the amendment be "democratic" left no doubt that the government would cause the rejection of any practical amendment that might be moved. our words fell on deaf ears, and the liberal majorities soared. just a week later mr. asquith was questioned in the house of commons by a slightly alarmed anti-suffragist member. the member asked mr. asquith whether he considered himself pledged to introduce the reform hill during that parliament, whether he meant to allow such a bill to carry a woman-suffrage amendment, if such were moved, and whether, in that case, the suffrage amendment would become part of the government policy. evasive as ever, the prime minister, after some sparring, replied, "my honourable friend has asked me a question with regard to a remote and speculative future." thus was our interpretation of mr. asquith's "promise" justified from his own lips. yet the liberal women still clung to the hope of government action, and the liberal press pretended to cling to it. as for the women's social and political union, we prepared for more work. we had to strike out along a new line, since it was evident that the government could, for a time at least, neutralise our by-election work by more false promises. consistent with our policy, of never going further than the government compelled us to go, we made our first action a perfectly peaceable one. on the day when the stanger bill had reached its second reading in the house, and several days after i had gone to holloway for the first time, mr. herbert gladstone, the home secretary, made a speech which greatly interested the suffragettes. he professed himself a suffragist, and declared that he intended to vote for the bill. nevertheless, he was confident that it could not pass, because of the division in the cabinet, and because it had no political party united either for or against it. woman suffrage, said mr. gladstone, must advance to victory through all the stages that are required for great reforms to mature. first academic discussion, then effective action, was the history of men's suffrage; it must be the same with women's suffrage. "men," declared mr. gladstone, "have learned this lesson and know the necessity for demonstrating the greatness of their movement, and for establishing that _force majeure_ which actuates and arms a government for effective work. that is the task before the supporters of this great movement. looking back at the great political crises in the thirties, the sixties and the eighties, it will be found that the people did not go about in small crowds, nor were they content with enthusiastic meetings in large halls; they assembled in their tens of thousands all over the country. "of course," added mr. gladstone, "it is not to be expected that women can assemble in such masses, but power belongs to masses, and through this power a government can be influenced into more effective action than a government will be likely to take under present conditions." the women's social and political union determined to answer this challenge. if assembling in great masses was all that was necessary to convince the government that woman suffrage had passed the academic stage and now demanded political action, we thought we could undertake to satisfy the most skeptical member of the cabinet. we knew that we could organise a demonstration that would out-rival any of the great franchise demonstrations held by men in the thirties, sixties, and eighties. the largest number of people ever gathered in hyde park was said to have approximated , . we determined to organise a hyde park demonstration of at least , people. sunday, june , , was fixed for the date of this demonstration, and for many months we worked to make it a day notable in the history of the movement. our example was emulated by the non-militant suffragists, who organised a fine procession of their own, about a week before our demonstration. thirteen thousand women, it was said, marched in that procession. on our demonstration we spent, for advertising alone, over a thousand pounds, or five thousand dollars. we covered the hoardings of london and of all the principal provincial cities with great posters bearing portraits of the women who were to preside at the twenty platforms from which speeches were to be made; a map of london, showing the routes by which the seven processions were to advance, and a plan of the hyde park meeting-place were also shown. london, of course, was thoroughly organised. for weeks a small army of women was busy chalking announcements on sidewalks, distributing handbills, canvassing from house to house, advertising the demonstration by posters and sandwich boards carried through the streets. we invited everybody to be present, including both houses of parliament. a few days before the demonstration mrs. drummond and a number of other women hired and decorated a launch and sailed up the thames to the houses of parliament, arriving at the hour when members entertain their women friends at tea on the terrace. everyone left the tables and crowded to the water's edge as the boat stopped, and mrs. drummond's strong, clear voice pealed out her invitation to the cabinet and the members of parliament to join the women's demonstration in hyde park. "come to the park on sunday," she cried. "you shall have police protection, and there will be no arrests, we promise you." an alarmed someone telephoned for the police boats, but as they appeared, the women's boat steamed away. what a day was sunday, june st--clear, radiant, filled with golden sunshine! as i advanced, leading, with the venerable mrs. wolstenholm-elmy, the first of the seven processions, it seemed to me that all london had turned out to witness our demonstration. and a goodly part of london followed the processions. when i mounted my platform in hyde park, and surveyed the mighty throngs that waited there and the endless crowds that were still pouring into the park from all directions, i was filled with amazement not unmixed with awe. never had i imagined that so many people could be gathered together to share in a political demonstration. it was a gay and beautiful as well as an awe-inspiring spectacle, for the white gowns and flower-trimmed hats of the women, against the background of ancient trees, gave the park the appearance of a vast garden in full bloom. the bugles sounded, and the speakers at each of the twenty platforms began their addresses, which could not have been heard by more than half or a third of the vast audience. notwithstanding this, they remained to the end. at five o'clock the bugles sounded again, the speaking ceased, and the resolution calling upon the government to bring in an official woman-suffrage bill without delay was carried at every platform, often without a dissenting vote. then, with a three-times-repeated cry of "votes for women!" from the assembled multitude, the great meeting dispersed. the london _times_ said next day: "its organisers had counted on an audience of , . that expectation was certainly fulfilled, and probably it was doubled, and it would be difficult to contradict any one who asserted that it was trebled. like the distances and the number of the stars, the facts were beyond the threshold of perception." the _daily express_ said: "it is probable that so many people never before stood in one square mass anywhere in england. men who saw the great gladstone meeting years ago said that compared with yesterday's multitude it was as nothing." we felt that we had answered the challenge in mr. gladstone's declaration that "power belongs to the masses," and that through this power the government could be influenced; so it was with real hope that we despatched a copy of the resolution to the prime minister, asking him what answer the government would make to that unparalleled gathering of men and women. mr. asquith replied formally that he had nothing to add to his previous statement--that the government intended, at some indefinite time, to bring in a general reform bill which _might_ be amended to include woman suffrage. our wonderful demonstration, it appeared, had made no impression whatever upon him. chapter iii now we had reached a point where we had to choose between two alternatives. we had exhausted argument. therefore either we had to give up our agitation altogether, as the suffragists of the eighties virtually had done, or else we must act, and go on acting, until the selfishness and the obstinacy of the government was broken down, or the government themselves destroyed. until forced to do so, the government, we perceived, would never give women the vote. we realised the truth of john bright's words, spoken while the reform bill of was being agitated. parliament, john bright then declared, had never been hearty for any reform. the reform act of had been wrested by force from the government of that day, and now before another, he said, could be carried, the agitators would have to fill the streets with people from charing cross to westminster abbey. acting on john bright's advice, we issued a call to the public to join us in holding a huge demonstration, on june th outside the house of commons. we wanted to be sure that the government saw as well as read of our immense following. a public proclamation from the commissioner of police, warning the public not to assemble in parliament square and declaring that the approaches to the houses of parliament must be kept open, was at once issued. we persisted in announcing that the demonstration would take place, and i wrote a letter to mr. asquith telling him that a deputation would wait upon him at half-past four on the afternoon of june th. we held the usual women's parliament in caxton hall, after which mrs. pethick lawrence, eleven other women, and myself, set forth. we met with no opposition from the police, but marched through cheering crowds of spectators to the strangers' entrance to the house of commons. here we were met by a large group of uniformed men commanded by inspector scantlebury, of the police. the inspector, whom i knew personally, stepped forward and demanded officially, "are you mrs. pankhurst, and is this your deputation?" "yes," i replied. "my orders are to exclude you from the house of commons." "has mr. asquith received my letter?" i asked. for answer the inspector drew my letter from his pocket and handed it to me. "did mr. asquith return no message, no kind of reply?" i inquired. "no," replied the inspector. we turned and walked back to caxton hall, to tell the waiting audience what had occurred. we resolved that there was nothing to do but wait patiently until evening, and see how well the public would respond to our call to meet in parliament square. already we knew that the streets were filled with people, and early as it was the crowds were increasing rapidly. at eight we went out in groups from caxton hall, to find parliament square packed with a throng, estimated next day at least , . from the steps of public buildings, from stone copings, from the iron railings of the palace yard, to which they clung precariously, our women made speeches until the police pulled them down and flung them into the moving, swaying, excited crowds. some of the women were arrested, others were merely ordered to move on. mingled cheers and jeers rose from the spectators. some of the men were roughs who had come out to amuse themselves. others were genuinely sympathetic, and tried valiantly to help us to reach the house of commons. again and again the police lines were broken, and it was only as the result of repeated charges by mounted police that the people's attacks were repelled. many members of parliament, including mr. lloyd-george, mr. winston churchill, and mr. herbert gladstone, came out to witness the struggle, which lasted until midnight and resulted in the arrest of twenty-nine women. two of these women were arrested after they had each thrown a stone through a window of mr. asquith's official residence in downing street, the value of the windows being about $ . . this was the first window-breaking in our history. mrs. mary leigh and miss edith new, who had thrown the stones, sent word to me from the police court that, having acted without orders, they would not resent repudiation from headquarters. far from repudiating them, i went at once to see them in their cells, and assured them of my approval of their act. the smashing of windows is a time-honoured method of showing displeasure in a political situation. as one of the newspapers, commenting on the affair, truly said, "when the king and queen dine at apsley on the th inst. they will be entertained in rooms the windows of which the duke of wellington was obliged to protect with iron shutters from the fury of his political opponents." in winchester a few years ago, to give but one instance, a great riot took place as a protest against the removal of a historic gun from one part of the town to another. in the course of this riot windows were broken and other property of various kinds was destroyed, very serious damage being done. no punishment was administered in respect of this riot and the authorities, bowing to public opinion thus riotously expressed, restored the gun to its original situation. window-breaking, when englishmen do it, is regarded as honest expression of political opinion. window-breaking, when englishwomen do it, is treated as a crime. in sentencing mrs. leigh and miss new to two months in the first division, the magistrate used very severe language, and declared that such a thing must never happen again. of course the women assured him that it would happen again. said mrs. leigh: "we have no other course but to rebel against oppression, and if necessary to resort to stronger measures. this fight is going on." the summer of is remembered as one of the most oppressively hot seasons the country had known for years. our prisoners in holloway suffered intensely, some being made desperately ill from the heat, the bad air, and the miserable food. we who spent the summer campaigning suffered also, but in less degree. it was a tremendous relief when the cool days of autumn set in, and it was with renewed vigour that we prepared for the opening day of parliament, which was october th. again we resolved to send a deputation to the prime minister, and again we invited the general public to take part in the demonstration. we had printed thousands of little handbills bearing this inscription: "men and women, help the suffragettes to rush the house of commons, on tuesday evening, october th, at : ." on sunday, october th, we held a large meeting in trafalgar square, my daughter christabel, mrs. drummond and i speaking from the plinth of the nelson monument. mr. lloyd-george, as we afterward learned, was a member of the audience. the police were there, taking ample notes of our speeches. we had not failed to notice that they were watching us daily, dogging our footsteps, and showing in numerous ways that they were under orders to keep track of all our movements. the climax came at noon on october th, when christabel, mrs. drummond and i were each served with an imposing legal document which read, "information has been laid this day by the commissioner of police that you, in the month of october, in the year , were guilty of conduct likely to provoke a breach of the peace by initiating and causing to be initiated, by publishing and causing to be published, a certain handbill, calling upon and inciting the public to do a certain wrongful and illegal act, viz., to rush the house of commons at : p.m. on october th inst." [illustration: mrs. pankhurst and christabel hiding from the police on the roof garden at clements inn _october, _] the last paragraph was a summons to appear at bow street police station that same afternoon at three o'clock. we did not go to bow street police station. we went instead to a crowded "at home" at queen's hall, where it can be imagined that our news created great excitement. the place was surrounded by constables, and the police reporters were on hand to take stenographic reports of everything that was said from the platform. once an excited cry was raised that a police inspector was coming in to arrest us. but the officer merely brought a message that the summons had been adjourned until the following morning. it did not suit our convenience to obey the adjourned summons quite so early, so i wrote a polite note to the police, saying that we would be in our headquarters, no. clements inn, the next evening at six o'clock, and would then be at his disposal. warrants for our arrests were quickly issued, and inspector jarvis was instructed to execute them at once. this he found impossible to do, for mrs. drummond was spending her last day of liberty on private business, while my daughter and i had retreated to another part of clements inn, which is a big, rambling building. there, in the roof-garden of the pethick lawrence's private flat, we remained all day, busy, under the soft blue of the autumn sky, with our work and our preparations for a long absence. at six we walked downstairs, dressed for the street. mrs. drummond arrived promptly, the waiting officers read the warrants, and we all proceeded to bow street in cabs. it was too late for the trial to be held. we asked for bail, but the authorities had no mind to allow us to take part in the "rush" which we had incited, so we were obliged to spend the night in the police station. all night i lay awake, thinking of the scenes which were going on in the streets. the next morning, in a courtroom crowded to its utmost capacity, my daughter rose to conduct her first case at law. she had earned the right to an ll.b. after her name, but as women are not permitted to practise law in england, she had never appeared at the bar in any capacity except that of defendant. now she proposed to combine the two rôles of defendant and lawyer, and conduct the case for the three of us. she began by asking the magistrate not to try the case in that court, but to send it for trial before a judge and jury. we had long desired to take the suffragettes' cases before bodies of private citizens, because we had every reason to suspect that the police-court officials acted under the direct commands of the very persons against whom our agitation was directed. jury trial was denied us; but after the preliminary examination was over the magistrate, mr. curtis bennett, allowed a week's adjournment for preparation of the case. on october st the trial was resumed, with the courtroom as full as before and the press table even more crowded, for it had been widely published that we had actually subpoenaed two members of the government, who had witnessed the scenes on the night of october th. the first witness to enter the box was mr. lloyd-george. christabel examined him at some length as to the meaning and merits of the word rush, and succeeded in making him very uncomfortable--and the charge against ourselves look very flimsy. she then questioned him about the speeches he had heard at trafalgar square, and as to whether there had been any suggestion that property be destroyed or personal violence used. he admitted that the speeches were temperate and the crowds orderly. then christabel suddenly asked, "there were no words used so likely to incite to violence as the advice you gave at swansea, that the women should be ruthlessly flung out of your meeting?" mr. lloyd-george looked black, and answered nothing. the magistrate hastened to the protection of mr. lloyd-george. "this is quite irrelevant," he said. "that was a private meeting." it was a public meeting, and christabel said so. "it was a private meeting _in a sense_," insisted the magistrate. mr. lloyd-george assumed an air of pompous indignation when christabel asked him, "have we not received encouragement from you, and if not from you from your colleagues, to take action of this kind?" mr. lloyd-george rolled his eyes upward as he replied, "i should be very much surprised to hear that, miss pankhurst." "is it not a fact," asked christabel, "that you yourself have set us an example of revolt?" "i never incited a crowd to violence," exclaimed the witness. "not in the welsh graveyard case?" she asked. "no!" he cried angrily. "you did not tell them to break down a wall and disinter a body?" pursued christabel. he could not deny this but, "i gave advice which was found by the court of appeal to be sound legal advice," he snapped, and turned his back as far as he could in the narrow witness-box. mr. herbert gladstone had asked to be allowed to testify early, as he was being detained from important public duties. christabel asked to question one witness before mr. gladstone entered the box. the witness was miss georgiana brackenbury, who had recently suffered six weeks' imprisonment for the cause, and had since met and had a talk with mr. horace smith, the magistrate, who had made to her a most important and damaging admission of the government's interference in suffragists' trials. christabel asked her one question. "did mr. horace smith tell you in sentencing you that he was doing what he had been told to do?" "you must not put that question!" exclaimed the magistrate. but the witness had already answered "yes." there was an excited stir in the courtroom. it had been recorded under oath that a magistrate had admitted that suffragettes were being sentenced not by himself, according to the evidence and according to law, but by the government, for no one could possibly doubt where mr. horace smith's orders came from. mr. gladstone, plump, bald, and ruddy, in no way resembles his illustrious father. he entered the witness-box smiling and confident, but his complacence vanished when christabel asked him outright if the government had not ordered the commissioner of police to take this action against us. of course the magistrate intervened, and mr. gladstone did not answer the question. christabel tried again. "did you instruct mr. horace smith to decide against miss brackenbury, and to send her to prison for six weeks?" that too was objected to, as were all questions on the subject. all through the examination the magistrate constantly intervened to save the cabinet minister from embarrassment, but christabel finally succeeded in making mr. gladstone admit, point by point, that he had said that women could never get the vote because they could not fight for it as men had fought. a large number of witnesses testified to the orderly nature of the demonstration on the th, and then christabel rose to plead. she began by declaring that these proceedings had been taken, as the legal saying is, "in malice and vexation," in order to lame a political enemy. she declared that, under the law, the charge which might properly be brought against us was that of illegal assembly, but the government had not charged us with this offence, because the government desired to keep the case in a police court. "the authorities dare not see this case come before a jury," she declared, "because they know perfectly well that if it were heard before a jury of our countrymen we should be acquitted, just as john burns was acquitted years ago for taking action far more dangerous to the public peace than we have taken. we are deprived of trial by jury. we are also deprived of the right to appeal against the magistrate's decision. very carefully has this procedure been thought out." of the handbill she said: "we do not deny that we issued this bill; none of us three has wished to deny responsibility. we did issue the bill; we did cause it to be circulated; we did put upon it the words 'come and help the suffragettes rush the house of commons.' for these words we do not apologise. it is very well known that we took this action in order to press forward a claim, which, according to the british constitution, we are well entitled to make." in all that the suffragettes had done, in all that they might ever do, declared my daughter, they would only be following in the footsteps of men now in parliament. "mr. herbert gladstone has told us in the speech i read to him that the victory of argument alone is not enough. as we cannot hope to win by force of argument alone, it is necessary to overcome by other means the savage resistance of the government to our claim for citizenship. he says, 'go on, fight as the men did.' and then, when we show our power and get the people to help us, he takes proceedings against us in a manner that would have been disgraceful even in the old days of coercion. then there is mr. lloyd-george, who, if any man has done so, has set us an example. his whole career has been a series of revolts. he has said that if we do not get the vote--mark these words--we should be justified in adopting the methods the men had to adopt, namely, pulling down the hyde park railings." she quoted lord morley as saying of the indian unrest: "'we are in india in the presence of a living movement, and a movement for what? for objects which we ourselves have taught them to think are desirable objects; and unless we can somehow reconcile order with satisfaction of those ideals and aspirations, the fault will not be theirs, it will be ours--it will mark the breakdown of british statesmanship.'--apply those words to our case," she continued. [illustration: christabel, mrs. drummond and mrs. pankhurst in the dock, first conspiracy trial _october, _] "remember that we are demanding of liberal statesmen that which is for us the greatest boon and the most essential right--and if the present government cannot reconcile order with our demand for the vote without delay, it will mark the breakdown of their statesmanship. yes, their statesmanship has broken down already. they are disgraced. it is only in this court that they have the smallest hope of being supported." my daughter had spoken with passion and fervour, and her righteous indignation had moved her to words that caused the magistrate's face to turn an angry crimson. when i rose to address the court i began by assuming an appearance of calmness which i did not altogether feel. i endorsed all that christabel had said of the unfairness of our trial and the malice of the government; i protested against the trial of political offenders in a common police court, and i said that we were not women who would come into the court as ordinary law-breakers. i described mrs. drummond's worthy career as a wife, a mother, and a self-sustaining business woman. i said, "before you decide what is to be done with us, i should like you to hear from me a statement of what has brought me into the dock this morning." and then i told of my life and experiences, many of which i have related in these pages of what i had seen and known as a poor law guardian and a registrar of births and deaths; of how i had learned the burning necessity of changing the status of women, of altering the laws under which they and their children live, and of the essential justice of making women self-governing citizens. "i have seen," i said, "that men are encouraged by law to take advantage of the helplessness of women. many women have thought as i have, and for many, many years have tried, by that influence of which we have been so often reminded, to alter these laws, but we find that influence counts for nothing. when we went to the house of commons we used to be told, when we were persistent, that members of parliament were not responsible to women, they were responsible only to voters, and that their time was too fully occupied to reform those laws, although they agreed that they needed reforming. "we women have presented larger petitions in support of our enfranchisement than were ever presented for any other reform; we have succeeded in holding greater public meetings than men have ever held for any reform, in spite of the difficulty which women have in throwing off their natural diffidence, that desire to escape publicity which we have inherited from generations of our foremothers. we have broken through that. we have faced hostile mobs at street corners, because we were told that we could not have that representation for our taxes that men have won unless we converted the whole of the country to our side. because we have done this, we have been misrepresented, we have been ridiculed, we have had contempt poured upon us, and the ignorant mob have been incited to offer us violence, which we have faced unarmed and unprotected by the safeguards which cabinet ministers enjoy. we have been driven to do this; we are determined to go on with this agitation because we feel in honour bound. just as it was the duty of your forefathers, it is our duty to make the world a better place for women than it is to-day. "lastly, i want to call attention to the self-restraint which was shown by our followers on the night of the th, after we had been arrested. our rule has always been to be patient, exercise self-restraint, show our so-called superiors that we are not hysterical; to use no violence, but rather to offer ourselves to the violence of others. "that is all i have to say to you, sir. we are here, not because we are law-breakers; we are here in our efforts to become law-makers." the burly policemen, the reporters, and most of the spectators were in tears as i finished. but the magistrate, who had listened part of the time with his hand concealing his face, still held that we were properly charged in a common police court as inciters to riot. since we refused to be bound over to keep the peace, he sentenced mrs. drummond and myself to three months' imprisonment, and christabel to ten weeks' imprisonment. it was destined to be a kind of imprisonment the authorities had never yet been called upon to deal with. chapter iv my first act on reaching holloway was to demand that the governor be sent for. when he came i told him that the suffragettes had resolved that they would no longer submit to being treated as ordinary law-breakers. in the course of our trial two cabinet ministers had admitted that we were political offenders, and therefore we should henceforth refuse to be searched or to undress in the presence of the wardresses. for myself i claimed the right, and i hoped the others would do likewise, to speak to my friends during exercise, or whenever i came in contact with them. the governor, after reflection, yielded to the first two demands, but said that he would have to consult the home office before permitting us to break the rule of silence. we were accordingly allowed to change our clothing privately, and, as a further concession, were placed in adjoining cells. this was little advantage to me, however, since within a few days i was removed to a hospital cell, suffering from the illness which prison life always inflicts on me. here the governor visited me with the unwelcome news that the home secretary had refused to allow me the privilege of speech with my fellow prisoners. i asked him if i might, when i was strong enough to walk, take exercise with my friends. to this he assented, and i soon had the joy of seeing my daughter and the other brave comrades, and walking with them in the dismal courtyard of the prison. single file we walked, at a distance of three or four feet from one another, back and forth under the stony eyes of the wardresses. the rough flags of the pavement hurt our feet, shod in heavy, shapeless prison boots. the autumn days were cold and cheerless, and we shivered violently under our scanty cloaks. but of all our hardships the ceaseless silence of our lives was worst. at the end of the second week i decided i would no longer endure it. that afternoon at exercise i suddenly called my daughter by name and bade her stand still until i came up to her. of course she stopped, and when i reached her side we linked arms and began to talk in low tones. a wardress ran up to us, saying: "i shall listen to everything you say." i replied: "you are welcome to do that, but i shall insist on my right to speak to my daughter." another wardress had hastily left the yard, and now she returned with a large number of wardresses. they seized me and quickly removed me to my cell, while the other suffrage prisoners cheered my action at the top of their voices. for their "mutiny" they got three days' solitary confinement, and i, for mine, a much more severe punishment. unrepentant, i told the governor that, in spite of any punishment he might impose on me, i would never again submit to the silence rule. to forbid a mother to speak to her daughter was infamous. for this i was characterised as a "dangerous criminal" and was sent into solitary confinement, without exercise or chapel, while a wardress was stationed constantly at my cell door to see that i communicated with no one. [illustration: mrs. pankhurst and miss christabel pankhurst in prison dress] it was two weeks before i saw any of my friends again, and meantime the health of mrs. drummond had been so seriously impaired that she was released for hospital treatment. my daughter also, i learned, was ill, and in desperation i made application to the board of visiting magistrates to be allowed to see her. after a long conference, during which i was made to wait outside in the corridor, the magistrates returned a refusal, saying that i might renew my application in a month. the answer then, they said, would depend on my conduct. a month! my girl might be dead by that time. my anxiety sent me to bed ill again, but, although i did not know it, relief was already on its way. i had told the visiting magistrates that i would wait until public opinion got within those walls, and this happened sooner than i had dared to hope. mrs. drummond, as soon as she was able to appear in public, and the other suffrage prisoners, as they were released, spread broadcast the story of our mutiny, and of a subsequent one led by miss wallace dunlop, which sent a large number of women into solitary confinement. the suffragettes marched by thousands to holloway, thronging the approaches to the prison street. round and round the prison they marched, singing the women's marseillaise and cheering. faintly the sound came to our ears, infinitely lightening our burden of pain and loneliness. the following week they came again, so we afterwards learned, but this time the police turned them back long before they reached the confines of the prison. the demonstrations, together with a volley of questions asked in the house of commons, told at last. orders came from the home office that i was to see my daughter, and that we were to be allowed to exercise and to talk together for one hour each day. in addition, we were to be permitted the rare privilege of reading a daily newspaper. then, on december th, the day of christabel's release, orders came that i, too, should be discharged, two weeks before the expiration of my sentence. at the welcome breakfast given us, as released prisoners, at lincoln's inn hotel, i told our members that henceforth we should all insist on refusing to abide by ordinary prison rules. we did not propose to break laws and then shirk punishment. we simply meant to assert our right to be recognised as political prisoners. we reached this point after due reflection. we first set ourselves not to complain of prison, not to say anything about it, to avoid it, to keep away from all side issues, to keep along the straight path of political reform, to get the vote; because we knew that when we had won it we could reform prisons and a great many other abuses as well. but now that we had had in the witness box the admission of cabinet ministers that we are political offenders, we should in future demand the treatment given to men political offenders in all civilised countries. "if nations," i said, "are still so governed that they make political offenders, then great britain is going to treat her political offenders as well as political offenders are treated by other nations. if it were the custom to treat political offenders as ordinary offenders against the well-being of society are treated, we should not have complained if we were treated like that; but it is not the international custom to do it, and so, for the dignity of the women of the country, and for the sake of the consciences of the men of the country, and for the sake of our nation amongst the nations of the earth, we are not going to allow the liberal government to treat us like ordinary law-breakers in future." i said the same thing that night in a great meeting held in queen's hall to welcome the released prisoners, and, although we all knew that our determination involved a bitter struggle, our women endorsed it without a moment's hesitation. had they been able to look forward to the events which were even then overshadowing us, could they have foreseen the new forms of suffering and danger that lay in waiting, i am certain that they would still have done the same thing, for our experiences had taught us to dispense with fear. whatever of timidity, of shrinking from pain or hardship any of us had originally possessed, it had all vanished. there were no terrors that we were not now ready to face. the year marks an important point in our struggle, partly because of this decision of ours, never again to submit to be classed with criminals; and partly because in this year we forced the liberal government to go on record, publicly, in regard to the oldest of popular rights, the right of petition. we had long contemplated this step, and now the time seemed ripe for taking it. in the closing days of mr. asquith, speaking on the policy to be carried out in , commented on the various deputations he was obliged at that time to receive. they called on him, he said, "from all quarters and in all causes, on an average of something like two hours on three days in every week." the deputations all asked for different things, and, although all of the things could not possibly be included in the king's speech, mr. asquith was inclined to agree that many of them ought to be included. this declaration from the prime minister that he was constantly receiving deputations of men, and listening favourably to their suggestions of what policies to pursue, aroused in the suffragettes feelings of deep indignation. this in part they expressed on january th, when the first meeting of the cabinet council took place. a small deputation from the w. s. p. u. proceeded to downing street to claim the right to be heard, as men were heard. for knocking at the door of the official residence four of the women, including my sister, mrs. clark, were arrested and sent to prison for one month. a month later the seventh of our women's parliaments was called against this and against the fact that no mention of women had been included in the king's speech. led by mrs. pethick lawrence, lady constance lytton and miss daisy solomon, a deputation of women endeavoured to carry the resolution to the house of commons. they were promptly arrested and, next day, were sent to prison on sentences of from one to two months. the time was rapidly approaching when the legality of these arrests would have to be tested. in june of the year the test was made. it will be remembered that we had endeavoured to force the authorities to make good their threat to charge us under the obsolete charles ii "tumultuous petitions act," which prescribes severe penalties for persons proceeding to parliament in groups of more than twelve for the purpose of presenting petitions. it had been stated that if we were charged under that act our case would be given a hearing before a judge and jury instead of a police magistrate. since this was exactly what we desired to have happen we had sent deputation after deputation of more than twelve persons, but always they were tried in police courts, and were sent to prison often for periods as long as that prescribed in the charles ii act. now we determined to do something still more ambitious; we resolved to test, not the charles ii act, but the constitutional right of the subject to petition the prime minister as the seat of power. the right of petition, which has existed in england since the earliest known period, was written into the bill of rights which became law in on the accession of william and mary. it was, in fact, one of the conditions attaching to the accession of the joint monarchs. according to the bill of rights, "it is the right of subjects to petition the king and all commitments, and prosecutions for such petitionings are illegal." the power of the king having passed almost completely into the hands of parliament, the prime minister now stands where the king's majesty stood in former times. clearly, then, the right of the subject to petition the prime minister cannot be legally denied. thus were we advised, and in order to keep within the strict letter of the law, we accepted the limitations of the right of petition laid down in the charles ii act, and decided that our petition should be carried to the house of commons by small groups of women. again i called together, on the evening of june th, a parliament of women. previously i had written to mr. asquith stating that a deputation of women would wait on him at the house of commons at eight o'clock in the evening. i wrote him further that we were not to be refused, as we insisted upon our constitutional right to be received. to my note the prime minister returned a formal note declining to receive us. nevertheless we continued our preparations, because we knew that the prime minister would continue to decline, but that in the end he would be forced to receive us. an incident which occurred a week before the date of the deputation was destined to have important consequences. miss wallace dunlop went to st. stephen's hall in the house of commons, and marked with printer's ink on the stone work of the hall an extract from the bill of rights. the first time she made the attempt she was interrupted by a policeman, but two days later she succeeded in stamping on the ancient walls the reminder to parliament that women as well as men possess constitutional rights, and that they were proposing to exercise those rights. she was arrested and sentenced to prison for one month, in the third division. the option of a heavy fine was given her, which of course she refused. miss wallace dunlop's prison term began on june d. perhaps her deed had something to do with the unusual interest taken in the approaching deputation, an interest which was shown not only by the public but by many members of parliament. in the house of commons a strong feeling that the women ought this time to be received manifested itself in many questions put to the government. one member even asked leave to move the adjournment of the house on a matter of urgent public importance, namely the danger to the public peace, owing to the refusal of the prime minister to receive the deputation. this was denied, however, and the government mendaciously disclaimed all responsibility for what action the police might take toward the deputation. the home secretary, mr. gladstone, when asked by mr. kier hardie to give instructions that the deputation, if orderly, should be admitted to st. stephen's, replied: "i cannot say what action the police ought to take in the matter." our women's parliament met at half past seven on the evening of june th, and the petition to the prime minister was read and adopted. then our deputation set forth. accompanying me as leader were two highly respectable women of advanced years, mrs. saul solomon, whose husband had been prime minister at the cape, and miss neligan, one of the foremost of the pioneer educators of england. we three and five other women were preceded by miss elsie howey, who, riding fast, went on horse-back to announce our coming to the enormous crowds that filled the streets. she, we afterward learned, progressed as far as the approaches to the house of commons before being turned back by the police. as for the deputation, it pressed on through the crowd as far as st. margaret's church, westminster, where we found a long line of police blocking the road. we paused for a moment, gathering strength for the ordeal of trying to push through the lines, when an unexpected thing happened. an order was given from some one, and instantly the police lines parted, leaving a clear space through which we walked towards the house. we were escorted on our way by inspector wells, and as we passed the crowd broke into vociferous cheering, firmly believing that we were after all to be received. as for myself i did little speculating as to what was about to happen. i simply led my deputation on as far as the entrance to st. stephen's hall. there we encountered another strong force of police commanded by our old acquaintance, inspector scantlebury, who stepped forward and handed me a letter. i opened it and read in aloud to the women. "the prime minister, for the reasons which he has already given in a written reply to their request, regrets that he is unable to receive the proposed deputation." i dropped the note to the ground and said: "i stand upon my rights, as a subject of the king, to petition the prime minister, and i am firmly resolved to stand here until i am received." [illustration: inspector wells conducting mrs. pankhurst to the house of commons _june, _] inspector scantlebury turned away and walked rapidly towards the door of the strangers' entrance. i turned to inspector jarvis, who remained, to several members of parliament and some newspaper men who stood looking on, and begged them to take my message to the prime minister, but no one responded, and the inspector, seizing my arm, began to push me away. i now knew that the deputation would not be received and that the old miserable business of refusing to leave, of being forced backward, and returning again and again until arrested, would have to be re-enacted. i had to take into account that i was accompanied by two fragile old ladies, who, brave as they were to be there at all, could not possibly endure what i knew must follow. i quickly decided that i should have to force an immediate arrest, so i committed an act of technical assault on the person of inspector jarvis, striking him very lightly on the cheek. he said instantly, "i understand why you did that," and i supposed then that we would instantly be taken. but the other police apparently did not grasp the situation, for they began pushing and jostling our women. i said to the inspector: "shall i have to do it again?" and he said "yes." so i struck him lightly a second time, and then he ordered the police to make the arrests. the matter did not end with the arrest of our deputation of eight women. in recurring deputations of twelve the suffragettes again and again pressed forward in vain endeavour to reach the house of commons. in spite of the fact that the crowds were friendly and did everything they could to aid the women, their deputations were broken up by the police and many of the women arrested. by nine o'clock parliament square was empty, an enormous force of mounted police having beaten the people back into victoria street and across westminster bridge. for a short time all looked tranquil, but soon little groups of women, seven or eight at a time, kept appearing mysteriously and making spirited dashes toward the house. this extraordinary procedure greatly exasperated the police, who could not unravel the mystery of where the women came from. as a matter of bygone history the explanation is that the w. s. p. u. had hired thirty offices in the neighborhood, in the shelter of which the women waited until it was time for them to sally forth. it was a striking demonstration of the ingenuity of women opposing the physical force of men, but it served still another purpose. it diverted the attention of the police from another demonstration which was going on. other suffragettes had gone to the official residence of the first lord of the admiralty, to the home office, the treasury and privy council offices, and had registered their contempt for the government's refusal to receive the deputation by the time-honoured method of breaking a window in each place. one hundred and eight women were arrested that night, but instead of submitting to arrests and trial, the women's social and political union announced that they were prepared to prove that the government and not the women had broken the law in refusing to receive the petition. my case, coupled with that of the hon. mrs. haverfield, was selected as a test case for all the others, and lord robert cecil was retained for the defence. mr. muskett, who conducted the case for the prosecution, tried to prove that our women had not gone to the house of commons to present a petition, but this was easily demonstrated to be an unwarranted claim. the speeches of the leader, the official articles published in our newspaper, _votes for women_, and the letters sent to mr. asquith, not to speak of the indisputable facts that every member of the deputation carried a copy of the petition in her hand, furnished evidence enough of the nature of our errand. the whole case of the subject's right of petition was then brought forward for discussion. mr. muskett spoke first, then our council, mr. henle, then lord robert cecil. last of all i spoke, describing the events of june th. i told the magistrate that should he decide that we and not the government had been guilty of an infraction of the law, we should refuse to be bound over, but should all choose to go to prison. in that case we should not submit to being treated like criminals. "there are one hundred and eight of us here to-day," i said, pointing to the benches where my fellow-prisoners sat, "and just as we have thought it is our duty to defy the police in the street, so when we get into prison, as we are political prisoners, we shall do our best to bring back into the twentieth century the treatment of political prisoners which was thought right in the case of william cobbett, and other political offenders of his time." the magistrate, sir albert de rutzen, an elderly, amiable man, rather bewildered by this unprecedented situation, then gave his decision. he agreed with mr. henle and lord robert cecil that the right of petition was clearly guaranteed to every subject, but he thought that when the women were refused permission to enter the house of commons, and when mr. asquith had said that he would not receive them, the women acted wrongly to persist in their demands. he should, therefore, fine them five pounds each, or sentence them to prison for one month in the second division. the sentence would be suspended for the present until learned counsel could obtain a decision from a higher court on the legal point of the right of petition. i then put in a claim for all the prisoners, and asked that all their cases might be held over until the test case was decided, and this was agreed to, except in regard to fourteen women charged with window-breaking. they were tried separately and sent to prison on sentences varying from six weeks to two months. of them later. the appeal against sir albert de rutzen's decision was tried in a divisional court early in december of that year. lord robert cecil again appeared for the defence, and in a masterly piece of argumentation, contended that in england there was and always had been the right of petition, and that the right had always been considered a necessary condition of a free country and a civilised government. the right of petition, he pointed out, had three characteristics: in the first place, it was the right to petition the actual repositories of power; in the second place, it was the right to petition in person; and in the third place, the right must be exercised reasonably. a long list of historical precedents were offered in support of the right to petition in person, but lord robert argued that even if these did not exist, the right was admitted in the charles ii "tumultuous petitions act," which provides "that no person or persons whatsoever shall repair to his majesty or both or either houses of parliament upon pretence of presenting or delivering any petition, complaint, remonstrance, or declaration or other address, accompanied with excessive number of people ..." etc. the bill of rights had specially confirmed the right of petition in so far as the king personally was concerned. "the women," pursued lord robert, "had gone to parliament square on june th in the exercise of a plain constitutional right, and that in going there with a petition they had acted according to the only constitutional method they possessed, being voteless, for the redress of their grievances." if then it were true, as contended, the subject not only possessed the right to petition, but to petition in person, the only point to be considered was whether the right had been exercised reasonably. if persons desired to interview the prime minister, it was surely reasonable to go to the house of commons, and to present themselves at the strangers' entrance. mrs. pankhurst, mrs. haverfield and the others had, as the evidence showed, proceeded along the public highway and had been escorted to the door of the house of commons by an officer of the police, and could not therefore, up to that point, have been acting in an unlawful manner. the police had kept clear a large open space opposite the house of commons, the crowd being kept at a certain distance away. within the open space there were only persons having business in the house of commons, members of the police force and the eight women who formed the deputation. it could not possibly be contended that these eight women had caused an obstruction. it was true that a police officer told them that the prime minister was not in the house of commons, but when one desired an interview with a member of parliament one did not make his request of a casual policeman in the street. moreover, the police did not possess any authority to stop anyone from going into the house of commons. the letter given the women, in which the prime minister said that he could not or would not see them, had been cited. now, had the prime minister, in his letter, said that he could not or would not see the women at that time, that the time was not convenient; but that he would at some future time, at a more convenient time, receive them, that would have been a sufficient answer. the women would not have been justified in refusing to accept such an answer, because the right to petition must be exercised reasonably. but the letter contained an unqualified refusal, and that, if we allow the right of petition to exist, was no answer at all. last of all lord robert argued that if there is a right to petition a member of parliament, then it must be incumbent on the part of a member of parliament to receive the petition, and that no one has a right to interfere with the petitioner. if the eight women were legally justified in presenting their petition, then they were also justified in refusing to obey the orders of the police to leave the place. in an address full of bias, and revealing plainly that he had no accurate knowledge of any of the events that had led up to the case in hand, the lord chief justice delivered judgment. he said that he entirely agreed with lord robert cecil as to the right to present a petition to the prime minister, either as prime minister or as a member of parliament; and he agreed also that petitions to the king should be presented to the prime minister. but the claim of the women, he said, was not merely to present a petition, but to be received in a deputation. he did not think it likely that mr. asquith would have refused to receive a petition from the women, but his refusal to receive the deputation was not unnatural, "in consequence of what we know did happen on previous occasions."[ ] referring to the metropolitan police act of , which provides that it shall be lawful for the commissioner of police to make regulations and to give instructions to the constable for keeping order, and for preventing any obstruction of thoroughfares in the immediate neighbourhood of the house of commons, and the sessional order empowering the police to keep clear the approaches to the house of commons, the lord chief justice decided that i and the other women were guilty of an infraction of the law when we insisted on a right to enter the house of commons. the lord chief justice therefore ruled that our conviction in the lower court had been proper, and our appeal was dismissed with costs. thus was destroyed in england the ancient constitutional right of petition, secured to the people by the bill of rights, and cherished by uncounted generations of englishmen. i say the right was destroyed, for of how much value is a petition which cannot be presented in person? the decision of the high court was appalling to the members of the w. s. p. u., as it closed the last approach, by constitutional means, to our enfranchisement. far from discouraging or disheartening us, it simply spurred us on to new and more aggressive forms of militancy. footnote: [ ] mr. asquith had never, since becoming prime minister, received a deputation of women, nor had he ever received a deputation of the w. s. p. u. so it was absurd of the lord chief justice to speak of "what did happen, on previous occasions." chapter v between the time of the arrest in june and the handing down of the absurd decision of the lord chief justice that although we, as subjects, possessed the right of petition, yet we had committed an offence in exercising that right, nearly six months had passed. in that interval certain grave developments had lifted the militant movement onto a new and more heroic plane. it will be remembered that a week before our deputation to test the charles ii act, miss wallace dunlop had been sent to prison for one month for stamping an extract from the bill of rights on the stone walls of st. stephen's hall. on arriving at holloway on friday evening, july nd, she sent for the governor and demanded of him that she be treated as a political offender. the governor replied that he had no power to alter the sentence of the magistrate, whereupon miss wallace dunlop informed him that it was the unalterable resolution of the suffragettes never again to submit to the prison treatment given to ordinary offenders against the law. therefore she should, if placed in the second division as a common criminal, refuse to touch food until the government yielded her point. it is hardly likely that the government or the prison authorities realised the seriousness of miss wallace dunlop's action, or the heroic mould of the suffragettes' character. at all events the home secretary paid no attention to the letter sent him by the prisoner, in which she explained simply but clearly her motives for her desperate act, and the prison authorities did nothing except seek means of breaking down her resistance. the ordinary prison diet was replaced by the most tempting food, and this instead of being brought to her cell at intervals, was kept there night and day, but always untouched. several times daily the doctor came to feel her pulse and observe her growing weakness. the doctor, as well as the governor and the wardresses argued, coaxed and threatened, but without effect. the week passed without any sign of surrender on the part of the prisoner. on friday the doctor reported that she was rapidly reaching a point at which death might at any time supervene. hurried conferences were carried on between the prison and the home office, and that evening, june th, miss wallace dunlop was sent home, having served one-fourth of her sentence, and having ignored completely all the terms of her imprisonment. on the day of her release the fourteen women who had been convicted of window breaking received their sentences, and learning of miss wallace dunlop's act, they, as they were being taken to holloway in the prison van, held a consultation and agreed to follow her example. arrived at holloway they at once informed the officials that they would not give up any of their belongings, neither would they put on prison clothing, perform prison labour, eat prison food or keep the rule of silence. the governor agreed for the moment to allow them to retain their property and to wear their own clothing, but he told them that they had committed an act of mutiny and that he would have to so charge them at the next visit of the magistrates. the women then addressed petitions to the home secretary, demanding that they be given the prison treatment universally allowed political offenders. they decided to postpone the hunger strike until the home secretary had had time to reply. meanwhile, after a vain appeal for more fresh air, for the weather was stiflingly hot, the women committed one more act of mutiny, they broke the windows of their cells. we learned this from the prisoners themselves. several days after they had gone to prison, my daughter christabel and mrs. tuke, filled with anxiety for their fate, gained admission to an upper story room of a house overlooking the prison. calling at the top of their voices and waving a flag of the union, they succeeded in attracting the prisoners' attention. the women thrust their arms through the broken panes, waving handkerchiefs, votes for women badges, anything they could get hold of, and in a few shouted words told their tale. that same day the visiting magistrates arrived, and the mutineers were sentenced to terms of seven to ten days of solitary confinement in the punishment cells. in these frightful cells, dark, unclean, dripping with moisture, the prisoners resolutely hunger struck. at the end of five days one of the women was reduced to such a condition that the home secretary ordered her released. the next day several more were released, and before the end of the week the last of the fourteen had gained their liberty. the affair excited the greatest sympathy all over england, sympathy which mr. gladstone tried to divert by charging two of the prisoners with kicking and biting the wardresses. in spite of their vigorous denials these two women were sentenced, on these charges, one to ten days and the other to a month in prison. although still very weak from the previous hunger strike, they at once entered upon a second hunger strike, and in three days had to be released. after this each succeeding batch of suffragette prisoners, unless otherwise directed, followed the example of these heroic rebels. the prison officials, seeing their authority vanish, were panic stricken. holloway and other women's prisons throughout the kingdom became perfect dens of violence and brutality. hear the account given by lucy burns of her experience: "we remained quite still when ordered to undress, and when they told us to proceed to our cells we linked arms and stood with our backs to the wall. the governor blew his whistle and a great crowd of wardresses appeared, falling upon us, forcing us apart and dragging us towards the cells. i think i had twelve wardresses for my share, and among them they managed to trip me so that i fell helplessly to the floor. one of the wardresses grasped me by my hair, wound the long braid around her wrist and literally dragged me along the ground. in the cell they fairly ripped the clothing from my back, forcing on me one coarse cotton garment and throwing others on the bed for me to put on myself. left alone exhausted by the dreadful experience i lay for a time gasping and shivering on the floor. by and by a wardress came to the door and threw me a blanket. this i wrapped around me, for i was chilled to the bone by this time. the single cotton garment and the rough blanket were all the clothes i wore during my stay in prison. most of the prisoners refused everything but the blanket. according to agreement we all broke our windows and were immediately dragged off to the punishment cells. there we hunger struck, and after enduring great misery for nearly a week, we were one by one released." how simply they tell it. "after enduring great misery--" but no one who has not gone through the awful experience of the hunger strike can have any idea of how great that misery is. in an ordinary cell it is great enough. in the unspeakable squalor of the punishment cells it is worse. the actual hunger pangs last only about twenty-four hours with most prisoners. i generally suffer most on the second day. after that there is no very desperate craving for food. weakness and mental depression take its place. great disturbances of digestion divert the desire for food to a longing for relief from pain. often there is intense headache, with fits of dizziness, or slight delirium. complete exhaustion and a feeling of isolation from earth mark the final stages of the ordeal. recovery is often protracted, and entire recovery of normal health is sometimes discouragingly slow. the first hunger strike occurred in early july. in the two months that followed scores of women adopted the same form of protest against a government who would not recognise the political character of their offences. in some cases the hunger strikers were treated with unexampled cruelty. delicate women were sentenced, not only to solitary confinement, but to wear handcuffs for twenty-four hours at a stretch. one woman on refusing prison clothes was put into a straightwaistcoat. the irony of all this appears the greater when it is considered that, at this precise time, the leaders of the liberal party in the house of commons were in the midst of their first campaign against the veto power of the lords. on september th a great meeting was held in birmingham, on which occasion mr. asquith was to throw down his challenge to the lords, and to announce that their veto was to be abolished, leaving the people's will paramount in england. of course the suffragettes seized this opportunity for a demonstration. this course was perfectly logical. denied the right of petition, shut out now from every cabinet minister's meeting, the women were forced to take whatever means that remained to urge their cause upon the government. mrs. mary leigh and a group of birmingham members addressed a warning to the public not to attend mr. asquith's meeting as disturbances were likely to happen. from the time that the prime minister and his cabinet left the house of commons until the train drew in to the station at birmingham they were completely surrounded with detectives and policemen. the precautions taken to guard mr. asquith have never been equalled except in the case of the tsar during outbreaks of revolution in russia. from the station he was taken by an underground passage a quarter of a mile in length to his hotel, where he dined in solitary state, after having been carried upstairs in a luggage lift. escorted to the bingley hall by a strong guard of mounted police, he was so fearful of encountering the suffragettes that he entered by a side door. the hall was guarded as for a siege. over the glass roof a thick tarpaulin had been stretched. tall ladders were placed on either side of the building, and firemen's hose were laid in readiness--not to extinguish fires, but to play upon the suffragettes should they appear at an inaccessible spot on the roof. the streets on every hand were barricaded, and police, in regiments, were drawn up to defend the barricades against the onslaughts of the women. nobody was allowed to pass the barricades without showing his entrance tickets to long files of police, and then the ticket holders were squeezed through the narrow doors one by one. their precautions were in vain, for the determined suffragettes found more than one way in which to turn mr. asquith's triumph into a fiasco. although no women gained access to the hall, there were plenty of men sympathisers present, and before the meeting had proceeded far thirteen men had been violently thrown out for reminding the prime minister that "the people" whose right to govern he was professing to uphold, included women as well as men. outside, mingling in the vast crowds, bands of women attacked the barricades, the outer barricades being thrown down in spite of the thousands of police. from the roof of a neighbouring house mrs. leigh and charlotte marsh tore up dozens of slates and threw them on the roof of bingley hall and in the streets below, taking care, however, to strike no one. as mr. asquith drove away the women hurled slates at the guarded motor car. the fire hose was brought forth and the firemen were ordered to turn the water on the women. they refused, to their credit be it said, but the police, infuriated by their failure to keep the peace, did not scruple to play the cold water on the women as they crouched and clung to the dangerous slope of the roof. roughs in the streets flung bricks at them, drawing blood. eventually the women were dragged down by the police and in their dripping garments marched through the streets to the police station. the suffragettes who had rushed the barricades and flung stones at mr. asquith's departing train received sentences from a fortnight to one month, but miss marsh and mrs. leigh were sent to prison for three and four months respectively. all of the prisoners adopted the hunger strike, as we knew they would. several days later we were horrified to read in the newspapers that these prisoners were being forcibly fed by means of a rubber tube thrust into the stomach. members of the union applied at once both at the prison and at the home office to learn the truth of the report, but all information was refused. on the following monday at our request, mr. keir hardie, at question time in the house, insisted on information from the government. mr. masterman, speaking for the home secretary, reluctantly admitted that, in order to preserve the dignity of the government and at the same time save the lives of the prisoners, "hospital treatment" was being administered. "hospital treatment" was the term used to draw attention from one of the most disgusting and brutal expedients ever resorted to by prison authorities. no law allows it except in the case of persons certified to be insane, and even then when the operation is performed by skilled nursing attendants under the direction of skilled medical men, it cannot be called safe. in fact, the asylum cases usually die after a short time. _the lancet_, perhaps the best known medical journal in the language, published a long list of opinions from distinguished physicians and surgeons who condemned the practice as applied to the suffrage prisoners as unworthy of civilisation. one physician told of a case which had come under his observation in which death had occurred almost as soon as the tube had been inserted. another cited a case where the tongue, twisted behind the feeding tube, had, in the struggle, been almost bitten off. cases where food had been injected into the lungs were not unknown. mr. c. mansell-moullin, m.d., f.r.c.s., wrote to _the times_ that as a hospital surgeon of more than thirty years' experience he desired indignantly to protest against the government's term "hospital treatment" in connection with the forcible feeding of women. it was a foul libel, he declared, for violence and brutality have no place in hospitals. a memorial signed by well-known physicians was addressed to the prime minister protesting against the practice of forcible feeding, and pointing out to him in detail the grave dangers attaching to it. so much for medical testimony against a form of brutality which continued and still continues in our english prisons, as a punishment for women who are there for consciences' sake. as for the testimony of the victims, it makes a volume of most revolting sort. mrs. leigh, the first victim, is a woman of sturdy constitution, else she could scarcely have survived the experience. thrown into birmingham prison after the asquith demonstration, she had broken the windows of her cell, and as a punishment was sent to a dark and cold punishment cell. her hands were handcuffed, behind her during the day, and at night in front of her body _with the palms out_. she refused to touch the food that was brought to her, and three days after her arrival she was taken to the doctor's room. what she saw was enough to terrify the bravest. in the centre of the room was a stout chair resting on a cotton sheet. against the wall, as if ready for action stood four wardresses. the junior doctor was also on hand. the senior doctor spoke, saying: "listen carefully to what i have to say. i have orders from my superior officers that you are not to be released even on medical grounds. if you still refrain from food i must take other measures to compel you to take it." mrs. leigh replied that she did still refuse, and she said further that she knew that she could not legally be forcibly fed because an operation could not be performed without the consent of the patient if sane. the doctor repeated that he had his orders and would carry them out. a number of wardresses then fell upon mrs. leigh, held her down and tilted her chair backward. she was so taken by surprise that she could not resist successfully that time. they managed to make her swallow a little food from a feeding cup. later two doctors and the wardresses appeared in her cell, forced mrs. leigh down to the bed and held her there. to her horror the doctors produced a rubber tube, two yards in length, and this he began to stuff up her nostril. the pain was so dreadful that she shrieked again and again. three of the wardresses burst into tears and the junior doctor begged the other to desist. having had his orders from the government, the doctor persisted and the tube was pushed down into the stomach. one of the doctors, standing on a chair and holding the tube high poured liquid food through a funnel almost suffocating the poor victim. "the drums of my ears," she said afterwards, "seemed to be bursting. i could feel the pain to the end of the breast bone. when at last the tube was withdrawn it felt as if the back of my nose and throat were being torn out with it." in an almost fainting condition mrs. leigh was taken back to the punishment cell and laid on her plank bed. the ordeal was renewed day after day. the other prisoners suffered similar experiences. chapter vi the militant movement was at this point when, in october, , i made my first visit to the united states. i shall never forget the excitement of my landing, the first meeting with the american "reporter," an experience dreaded by all europeans. in fact the first few days seemed a bewildering whirl of reporters and receptions, all leading up to my first lecture at carnegie hall on october th. the huge hall was entirely filled, and an enormous crowd of people thronged the streets outside for blocks. with me on the stage were several women whom i had met in europe, and in the chair was an old friend, mrs. stanton blatch, whose early married life had been spent in england. the great crowd before me, however, was made up of strangers, and i could not know how they would respond to my story. when i rose to speak a deep hush fell, but at my first words: "i am what you call a hooligan--" a great shout of warm and sympathetic laughter shook the walls. then i knew that i had found friends in america. and this all the rest of the tour demonstrated. in boston the committee met me with a big grey automobile decorated in the colours of our union, and that night at tremont temple i spoke to an audience of , people all most generous in their responsiveness. in baltimore professors, and students from johns hopkins university acted as stewards of the meeting. i greatly enjoyed my visit to bryn mawr college and to rosemary hall, a wonderful school for girls in connecticut. in chicago, i met, among other notable people, miss jane addams and mrs. ella flagg young, superintendent of schools. my visit to canada will always be remembered, especially toronto, where the mayor, dressed in the chains of his office, welcomed me. i met too the venerable goldwin smith, since dead. everywhere i found the americans kind and keen, and i cannot say too much for the wonderful hospitality they showed me. the women i found were remarkably interested in social welfare. the work of the women's clubs struck me very favourably, and i thought these institutions a perfect basis for a suffrage movement. but at that time, , the suffrage movement in the united states was in a curious state of quiescence. a large number of women with whom i came in contact appeared to think it only just that they should have a vote, but few seemed to realise any actual need of it. some, it is true, were beginning to connect the vote with the reforms for which they were working so unselfishly and so devotedly. it was when talking with the younger women that i came to feel that under the surface of things in america, a strong suffrage movement was stirring. those young women, leaving their splendid colleges to begin life were realising in a very intelligent fashion that they needed and would be obliged to secure for themselves a political status. on december st i sailed on the _mauretania_ for england, and on arriving i learned that the prison sentence which hung over me while the petitions case had been argued, was discharged, some unknown friend having paid my fine while i was on the ocean. the year began with a general election, precipitated by the house of lords' rejection of mr. lloyd-george's budget. the liberal party went to the country with promises of taxes on land values. they promised also abolition of the veto power of the lords, irish home rule, disestablishment of the church of wales, and other reforms. woman suffrage was not directly promised, but mr. asquith pledged that, if retained in office, he would introduce an electoral reform bill which could be amended to include woman suffrage. the unionists under the leadership of mr. balfour, had tariff reform for their programme, and they offered not even a vague promise of a possible suffrage measure. yet we, as usual, went into the constituencies and opposed the liberal party. we had no faith in mr. asquith's pledge, and besides, if we had failed to oppose the party in power we should but have invited mr. asquith and mr. balfour to enter into an agreement not to deal with the suffrage, with the view of keeping the cause permanently outside practical politics. we were in something of the same position as the irish nationalists in , when neither the liberal nor the conservative leaders would include home rule in their programme. the irish opposed the liberal party, with the result that it was returned by such a narrow majority that the liberal government was dependent on the irish vote in parliament in order to remain in office. on this account they were obliged to bring in a home rule bill. the other suffrage societies and many of the liberal women begged us not to oppose the liberal party at this election. we were implored to waive our claim "just this once" in view of the importance of the struggle between the commons and the house of lords over the budget. we replied that the same plea had been made in when we were implored to waive our claim "just this once" on account of the fiscal issue. for women there was only one political issue, we said, and that was the issue of their own enfranchisement. the dispute between the lords and the commons was far less vital than the claims of the people--represented in this case by women--to be admitted to citizenship. from our point of view both houses of parliament were unrepresentative until women had a voice in choosing legislators and influencing law making. we opposed liberal candidates in forty constituencies, and in almost every one of these the liberal majorities were reduced and no less than eighteen seats were wrested from the liberal candidates. it really was a terrible election for the government. mr. asquith travelled from one constituency to another accompanied by a body guard of detectives, and official "chuckers out," whose sole duty was to eject women, and men as well, who interrupted his meetings on the question of votes for women. the halls where he spoke had the windows boarded up or the glass covered with strong wire netting. every thoroughfare leading to the halls was barricaded, traffic was suspended, and large forces of police were on guard. the most extraordinary precautions were taken to protect the prime minister. at one place he went to his meeting strongly guarded and by way of a secret pathway that led through gooseberry bushes and a cabbage patch to a back door. after the meeting he escaped through the same door and was solemnly guided along a path heavily laid with sawdust to deaden his footsteps, to a concealed motor car, where he sat until the crowd had all dispersed. the other ministers had to resort to similar precautions. they lived under the constant protection of body-guards. their meetings were policed in a manner without precedent. of course no women were admitted to their meetings, but they got in just the same. two women hid for twenty-five hours in the rafters of a hall in louth where mr. lloyd-george spoke. they were arrested, but not until after they had made their demonstration. two others hid under a platform for twenty-two hours in order to question the prime minister. i could continue this record almost indefinitely. we had printed a wonderful poster showing the process of forcible feeding, and we used it on hoardings everywhere. we told the electors that the "liberal party," the people's friend, had imprisoned women for the crime of asking for a vote. they were torturing women at that time in holloway. it was splendid ammunition and it told. the liberal party was returned to power, but with their majority over all sections of the house of commons swept away. the asquith government were dependent now for their very existence on the votes of the labour party and the irish nationalists. chapter vii the first months of were occupied by the re-elected government in a struggle to keep control of affairs. a coalition with the irish party, the leaders of which agreed, if the home rule bill were advanced, to stand by the budget. no publicly announced coalition with the labour party was made at that time, keir hardie, at the annual conference of the party, announcing that they would continue to be independent of the government. this was important to us because it meant that the labour party, instead of entering into an agreement to give general support to all government measures, would be free to oppose the government in the event of the continued withholding of a franchise bill. other things combined to make us hopeful that the tide had turned in our favour. it was hinted to us that the government were weary of our opposition and were ready to end the struggle in the only possible way, providing they could do so without appearing to yield to coercion. we therefore, early in february, declared a truce to all militancy. parliament met on february th and the king's speech was read on february st. no mention of women's suffrage was made in the speech nor was any private member successful in winning a place in the ballot for a suffrage bill. however, since the situation, on account of the proposed abolition of the lord's power of veto, was strained and abnormal, we decided to wait patiently for a while. it was confidently expected that another general election would have to be held before the contentions between the two houses of parliament were settled, and this event unquestionably would have occurred, not later than june, but for the unexpected death of king edward vii. this interrupted the strained situation. the passing of the king served as an occasion for the temporary softening of animosities and produced a general disposition to compromise on all troubled issues. the question of women's enfranchisement was taken up again in this spirit, and in a manner altogether creditable to the members with whom the movement originated. a strictly non-party committee on women's suffrage had been established in the house of commons in , mainly through the efforts of miss lydia becker, whom i have mentioned before as the susan b. anthony of the english suffrage movement. in , for reasons not necessary to enumerate, the original committee had been allowed to lapse, the liberal supporters of women's suffrage forming a committee of their own. now, in this period of good feeling, at the suggestion of certain members, led by mr. h. n. brailsford, not himself a member of parliament, formed another non-party body which they called the conciliation committee. its object was declared to be the bringing together of the full strength of suffragists of the house of commons, regardless of party affiliation, and of framing a suffrage measure that could be passed by their united effort. the earl of lytton accepted the chairmanship of the committee and mr. brailsford was made its secretary. the committee consisted of twenty-five liberals, seventeen conservatives, six irish nationalists, and six members of the labour party. under difficulties which i can hardly hope to make clear to american readers the committee laboured to frame a bill which should win the support of all sections of the house. the conservatives insisted on a moderate bill, whilst the liberals were concerned lest the terms of the bill should add to the power of the propertied classes. the original suffrage bill, drafted by my husband. dr. pankhurst, giving the vote to women on equal terms with men, was abandoned, and a bill was drawn up along the lines of the existing municipal franchise law. the basis of the municipal franchise is occupation, and the conciliation bill, as first drafted, proposed to extend the parliamentary vote to women householders, and to women occupiers of business premises paying ten pounds rental and upwards. it was estimated that about ninety-five per cent. of the women who would be enfranchised under the bill were householders. this, in england, does not mean a person occupying a whole house. any one who inhabits even a single room over which he or she exercises full control is a householder. the text of the conciliation bill was submitted to all the suffrage societies and other women's organisations, and it was accepted by every one of them. our official newspaper said editorially: "we of the women's social and political union are prepared to share in this united and peaceful action. the new bill does not give us all that we want, but we are for it if others are also for it." it seemed certain that an overwhelming majority of the house of commons were for the bill, and were prepared to vote it into law. although we knew that it could not possibly pass unless the government agreed that it should, we hoped that the leaders of all parties and the majority of their followers would unite in an agreement that the bill should pass. this settlement by consent is rare in the english parliament, but some extremely important and hard fought measures have been carried thus. the extension of the franchise in is a case in point. the conciliation bill was introduced into the house of commons on june th, , by mr. d. j. shackleton, and was received with the most extraordinary enthusiasm. the newspapers remarked on the feeling of reality which marked the attitude of the house towards the bill. it was plain that the members realised that here was no academic question upon which they were merely to debate and to register their opinions, but a measure which was intended to be carried through all its stages and to be written into english law. the enthusiasm of the house swept all over the kingdom. the medical profession sent in a memorial in its favour, signed by more than three hundred of the most distinguished men and women in the profession. memorials from writers, clergymen, social workers, artists, actors, musicians, were also sent. the women's liberal federation met and unanimously resolved to ask the prime minister to give full facilities to the bill. some advanced spirits in the federation actually proposed to send then and there a deputation to the house of commons with the resolution, but this proposal was rejected as savouring too much of militancy. a request for an interview was sent to mr. asquith, and he replied promising to receive, at an early day, representatives of both the liberal women's federation and of the national union of women's suffrage societies. the joint deputation was received by mr. asquith on june st, and lady m'laren, as a representative of the women's liberal federation, spoke very directly to her party's leader. she said in part: "if you refuse our request we shall have to go to the country and say you, who are against the veto of the house of lords, are placing a veto on the house of commons by refusing to allow a second reading of this bill." mr. asquith replied warily that he could not decide alone on such a serious matter, but would have to consult his cabinet, the majority of whom, he admitted, were suffragists. their decision, he said, would be given in the house of commons. [illustration: over , women had been in prison--broad arrows in the parade] the women's social and political union arranged a demonstration in support of the conciliation bill, the greatest that had, up to that time, been made. it was a national, indeed an inter-national affair in which all the suffrage groups took part, and its massed ranks were so great that the procession required an hour and a half to pass a given point. at the head marched six hundred and seventeen women, white clad and holding long silver staves tipped with the broad arrow. these were the women who had suffered imprisonment for the cause, and all along the line of march they received a tribute of cheers from the public. the immense albert hall, the largest hall in england, although it was packed from orchestra to the highest gallery, was not large enough to hold all the marchers. amid great joy and enthusiasm lord lytton delivered a stirring address in which he confidently predicted the speedy advance of the bill. the women, he declared, had every reason to believe that their enfranchisement was actually at hand. it was true that the time for passing a suffrage bill was ripe. not in fifty years had the way been so clear, because the momentary absence of ordinary legislation left the field open for an electoral reform bill. yet when the prime minister was asked in the house of commons whether he would give the members an early opportunity for discussion, the answer was not encouraging. the government, said mr. asquith, were prepared to give time before the close of the session for full debate and division on second reading, but they could not allow any further facilities. he stated frankly that he personally did not want the bill to pass, but the government realised that the house of commons ought to have an opportunity, if that was their deliberate desire, for effectively dealing with the whole question. this cryptic utterance was taken by the majority of the suffragists, by the press and by the public generally to mean that the government were preparing gracefully to yield to the undoubted desire of the house of commons to pass the bill. but the women's social and political union were doubtful. mr. asquith's remark was ambiguous, and was capable of being interpreted in several ways. it could mean that he was prepared to accept the verdict of the majority and let the bill pass through all its stages. that of course would be the only way to allow the house opportunity effectively to deal with the whole question. on the other hand mr. asquith might be intending to let the bill pass through its debating stages and be afterwards smothered in committee. we feared treachery, but in view of the announcement that the government had set apart july and for debate on the second reading, we preserved a spirit of waiting calm. july th had been fixed as the day for the adjournment of parliament, and if the bill was voted on favourably on the th there would be ample time to take it through its final stages. when a bill passes its second reading it is normally sent upstairs to a grand committee which sits while the house of commons is transacting other business, and thus the committee stage can proceed without special facilities. the bill does not go back to the house until the report stage is reached, at which time the third and last reading occurs. after that the bill goes to the house of lords. a week at most is all that is required for this procedure. a bill may be referred to the whole house, and in this case it cannot be brought up for its committee stage unless it is given special facilities. in our paper and in many public speeches we urged that the members vote to send the bill to a grand committee. some days before the bill reached its second reading it was rumoured that mr. lloyd-george was going to speak against it, but we refused to credit this. unfair to women as mr. lloyd-george had shown himself in various ways, he had consistently posed as a staunch friend of women's suffrage, and we could not believe that he would turn against us at the eleventh hour. mr. winston churchill, whose speech to the women of dundee i quoted in a previous chapter, the promoters of the bill also counted upon, as it was known that he had more than once expressed sympathy with its objects. but when the debates began we found both of these ardent suffragists arrayed against the bill. mr. churchill, after making a conventional anti-suffrage speech, in which he said that women did not need the ballot, and that they really had no grievances, attacked the conciliation bill because the class of women who would be enfranchised under it did not suit him. some women, he conceded, ought to be enfranchised, and he thought the best plan would be to select "some of the best women of all classes" on considerations of property, education and earning capacity. these special franchises would be carefully balanced, "so as not on the whole to give undue advantage to the property vote against the wage earning vote." a more fantastic proposal and one less likely to find favour in the house of commons could not possibly be imagined. mr. churchill's second objection to the bill was that it was anti-democratic! it seemed to us that anything was more democratic than his proposed "fancy" franchises. mr. lloyd-george said that he agreed with everything mr. churchill had said "both relevant and irrelevant." he made the amazing assertion that the conciliation committee that had drafted the bill was a "committee of women meeting outside the house." and that this committee said to the house of commons not only that they must vote for a women's suffrage bill but "you must vote for the particular form upon which we agree, and we will not even allow you to deliberate upon any other form." of course these statements were wholly false. the conciliation bill was drafted by men, and it was introduced because the government had refused to bring in a party measure. the suffragists would have been only too glad to have had the government deliberate on a broader form of suffrage. because they refused to deliberate on any form, this private bill was introduced. this fact was brought forward in the course of mr. lloyd-george's speech. it had been urged, said he, that this bill was better than none at all, but why should that be the alternative? "what is the other?" called out a member, but mr. lloyd-george dodged the question with a careless "well, i cannot say for the present." later on he said: "if the promoters of this bill say that they regard the second reading merely as an affirmation of the principle of women's suffrage, and if they promise that when they re-introduce the bill it will be in a form which will enable the house of commons to move any amendment either for restriction or extension i shall be happy to vote for this bill." mr. philip snowden, replying to this, said: "we will withdraw this bill if the right honourable gentleman, on behalf of the government, or the prime minister himself will undertake to give to this house the opportunity of discussing and carrying through its various stages another form of franchise bill. if we cannot get that, then we shall prosecute this bill." the government made no reply at all to this, and the debate proceeded. thirty-nine speeches were made, the prime minister showing plainly in his speech that he intended to use all his power to prevent the bill becoming law. he began by saying that a franchise measure ought never to be sent to a grand committee, but to one of the whole house. he said also that his conditions, that the majority of women should show beyond any doubt that they desired the franchise, and that the bill be democratic in its terms, had not been complied with. when the division was taken it was seen that the conciliation bill had passed its second reading by a majority of , a larger majority than the government's far famed budget or the house of lords resolution had received. in fact no measure during that parliament had received so great a majority-- members voted for it as against opposed. then the question arose as to which committee should deal with the bill. mr. asquith had said that all franchise bills should go to a committee of the whole house, so that in the division his words moved many sincere friends of the bill to send it there. others understood that this was a mischievous course, but were afraid of incurring the anger of the prime minister. of course all the anti-suffragists voted the same way, and thus the bill went to the whole house. even then the bill could have been advanced to its final reading. the house had time on their hands, as virtually all important legislative work was halted because of the deadlock between the lords and the commons. following the death of the king a conference of leaders of the conservative and the liberal parties had been arranged to adjust the matters at issue, and this conference had not yet reported. hence parliament had little business on hand. the strongest possible pressure was brought to bear upon the government to give facilities to the conciliation bill. a number of meetings were held in support of the bill. the men's political union for women's enfranchisement, the men's league for women's suffrage and the conciliation committee held a joint meeting in hyde park. some of the old school of suffragists held another large meeting in trafalgar square. the women's social and political union, on july rd, which was the anniversary of the day in on which working men, agitating for their vote, had pulled down the hyde park railings, held another enormous demonstration there. a space of half a square mile was cleared, forty platforms erected, and two great processions marched from east and west to the meeting. many other suffrage societies co-operated with us on this occasion. on the very day of that meeting mr. asquith wrote to lord lytton refusing to allow any more time for the bill during that session. those who still had faith that the government could be induced to do justice to women set their hopes on the autumn session of parliament. resolutions urging the government to give the bill facilities during the autumn were sent, not only by the suffrage associations but from many organisations of men. the corporations of thirty-eight cities, including liverpool, manchester, glasgow, dublin and cork, sent resolutions to this effect. cabinet ministers were besieged with requests to receive deputations of women, and since the country was on the verge of a general election, and the liberal party wanted the services of women, their requests could not altogether be ignored. mr. asquith, early in october, received a deputation of women from his own constituency of east fife, but all he had to tell them was that the bill could not be advanced that year. "what about next year?" they asked, and he replied shortly: "wait and see." it had been exceedingly difficult, during these troublous days, to hold all the members of the w. s. p. u. to the truce, and when it became perfectly apparent that the conciliation bill was doomed, war was again declared. at a great meeting held in albert hall on november th, i myself threw down the gage of battle. i said, because i wanted the whole matter to be clearly understood by the public as well as by our members: "this is the last constitutional effort of the women's social and political union to secure the passage of the bill into law. if the bill, in spite of our efforts, is killed by the government, then first of all, i have to say there is an end of the truce. if we are met by the statement that there is no power to secure on the floor of the house of commons time for our measure, then our first step is to say, 'we take it out of your hands, since you fail to help us, and we resume the direction of the campaign ourselves.'" another deputation, i declared, must go to the house of commons to carry a petition to the prime minister. i myself would lead, and if no one cared to follow me i would go alone. instantly, all over the hall, women sprang to their feet crying out, "mrs. pankhurst, i will go with you!" "i will go!" "i will go!" and i knew that our brave women were as ever ready to give themselves, their very lives, if need be, for the cause of freedom. the autumn session convened on friday, november th, and mr. asquith announced that parliament would be adjourned on november th. while his speech was in progress, women, in small groups, to keep within the strict letter of the law, were marching from caxton hall and from the headquarters of the union. [illustration: the head of the deputation on black friday _november, _] how to tell the story of that dreadful day, black friday, as it lives in our memory--how to describe what happened to english women at the behest of an english government, is a difficult task. i will try to tell it as simply and as accurately as possible. the plain facts, baldly stated, i am aware will strain credulity. remember that the country was on the eve of a general election, and that the liberal party needed the help of liberal women. this fact made the wholesale arrest and imprisonment of great numbers of women, who were demanding the passage of the conciliation bill, extremely undesirable from the government's point of view. the women's liberal federations also wanted the passage of the conciliation bill, although they were not ready to fight for it. what the government feared, was that the liberal women would be stirred by our sufferings into refraining from doing election work for the party. so the government conceived a plan whereby the suffragettes were to be punished, were to be turned back and defeated in their purpose of reaching the house, but would not be arrested. orders were evidently given that the police were to be present in the streets, and that the women were to be thrown from one uniformed or ununiformed policeman to another, that they were to be so rudely treated that sheer terror would cause them to turn back. i say orders were given and as one proof of this i can first point out that on all previous occasions the police had first tried to turn back the deputations and when the women persisted in going forward, had arrested them. at times individual policemen had behaved with cruelty and malice toward us, but never anything like the unanimous and wholesale brutality that was shown on black friday. the government very likely hoped that the violence of the police towards the women would be emulated by the crowds, but instead the crowds proved remarkably friendly. they pushed and struggled to make a clear pathway for us, and in spite of the efforts of the police my small deputation actually succeeded in reaching the door of the strangers' entrance. we mounted the steps to the enthusiastic cheers of the multitudes that filled the streets, and we stood there for hours gazing down on a scene which i hope never to look upon again. at intervals of two or three minutes small groups of women appeared in the square, trying to join us at the strangers' entrance. they carried little banners inscribed with various mottoes, "asquith has vetoed our bill," "where there's a bill there's a way," "women's will beats asquith's won't," and the like. these banners the police seized and tore in pieces. then they laid hands on the women and literally threw them from one man to another. some of the police used their fists, striking the women in their faces, their breasts, their shoulders. one woman i saw thrown down with violence three or four times in rapid succession, until at last she lay only half conscious against the curb, and in a serious condition was carried away by kindly strangers. every moment the struggle grew fiercer, as more and more women arrived on the scene. women, many of them eminent in art, in medicine and science, women of european reputation, subjected to treatment that would not have been meted out to criminals, and all for the offence of insisting upon the right of peaceful petition. [illustration: for hours scenes like this were enacted on black friday _november, _] this struggle lasted for about an hour, more and more women successfully pushing their way past the police and gaining the steps of the house. then the mounted police were summoned to turn the women back. but, desperately determined, the women, fearing not the hoofs of the horses or the crushing violence of the police, did not swerve from their purpose. and now the crowds began to murmur. people began to demand why the women were being knocked about; why, if they were breaking the law, they were not arrested; why, if they were not breaking the law, they were not permitted to go on unmolested. for a long time, nearly five hours, the police continued to hustle and beat the women, the crowds becoming more and more turbulent in their defence. then, at last the police were obliged to make arrests. one hundred and fifteen women and four men, most of them bruised and choked and otherwise injured, were arrested. while all this was going on outside the house of commons, the prime minister was obstinately refusing to listen to the counsels of some of the saner and more justice-loving members of the house. keir hardie, sir alfred mondell and others urged mr. asquith to receive the deputation, and lord castlereagh went so far as to move as an amendment to a government proposal, another proposal which would have compelled the government to provide immediate facilities to the conciliation bill. we heard of what was going on, and i sent in for one and another friendly member and made every possible effort to influence them in favour of lord castlereagh's amendment. i pointed to the brutal struggle that was going on in the square, and i begged them to go back and tell the others that it must be stopped. but, distressed as some of them undoubtedly were, they assured me that there was not the slightest chance for the amendment. "is there not a single _man_ in the house of commons," i cried, "one who will stand up for us, who will make the house see that the amendment must go forward?" well, perhaps there were men there, but all save fifty-two put their party loyalty before their manhood, and, because lord castlereagh's proposal would have meant censure of the government, they refused to support it. this did not happen, however, until mr. asquith had resorted to his usual crafty device of a promise of future action. in this instance he promised to make a statement on behalf of the government on the following tuesday. the next morning the suffrage prisoners were arraigned in police court. or rather, they were kept waiting outside the court room while mr. muskett, who prosecuted on behalf of the chief commissioner of police, explained to the astounded magistrate that he had received orders from the home secretary that the prisoners should all be discharged. mr. churchill it was declared, had had the matter under careful consideration, and had decided that "no public advantage would be gained by proceeding with the prosecution, and accordingly no evidence would be given against the prisoners." subdued laughter and, according to the newspapers, some contemptuous booing were raised in the court, and when order was restored the prisoners were brought in in batches and told that they were discharged. on the following tuesday the w. s. p. u. held another meeting of the women's parliament in caxton hall to hear the news from the house of commons. mr. asquith said: "the government will, if they are still in power, give facilities in the next parliament for effectively proceeding with a franchise bill which is so framed as to admit of free amendment." he would not promise that this would be done during the first year of parliament. we had demanded facilities for the conciliation bill, and mr. asquith's promise was too vague and too ambiguous to please us. the parliament now about to be dissolved had lasted a scant ten months. the next one might not last longer. therefore, mr. asquith's promise, as usual, meant nothing at all. i said to the women, "i am going to downing street. come along, all of you." and we went. we found a small force of police in downing street, and we easily broke through their line and would have invaded the prime minister's residence had not reinforcements of police arrived on the scene. mr. asquith himself appeared unexpectedly, and as we thought, very opportunely. before he could have realised what was happening he found himself surrounded by angry suffragettes. he was well hooted and, it is said, well shaken, before he was rescued by the police. as his taxicab rushed away some object struck one of the windows, smashing it. another cabinet minister, mr. birrell, unwittingly got into the midst of the mêlée, and i am obliged to record that he was pretty thoroughly hustled. but it is not true that his leg was injured by the women. his haste to jump into a taxicab resulted in a slightly sprained ankle. that night and the following day windows were broken in the houses of sir edward grey, mr. winston churchill, mr. lewis harcourt and mr. john burns; and also in the official residences of the premier and the chancellor of the exchequer. that week suffragettes were arrested, but all except those charged with window-breaking or assault were discharged. this amazing court action established two things: first, that when the home secretary stated that he had no responsibility for the prosecution and sentencing of suffrage prisoners, he told a colossal falsehood; and second, that the government fully realised that it was bad election tactics to be responsible for the imprisonment of women of good character who were struggling for citizenship. chapter viii almost immediately after the events chronicled in the preceding chapter i sailed for my second tour through the united states. i was delighted to find a thoroughly alive and progressive suffrage movement, where before had existed with most people only an academic theory in favour of equal political rights between men and women. my first meeting, held in brooklyn, was advertised by sandwich women walking through the principal streets of the city, quite like our militant suffragists at home. street meetings, i found, were now daily occurrences in new york. the women's political union had adopted an election policy, and throughout the country as far west as i travelled, i found women awakened to the necessity of political action instead of mere discussion of suffrage. my second visit to america, like my first one, is clouded in my memory with sorrow. very soon after my return to england a beloved sister, mrs. mary clarke died. my sister, who was a most ardent suffragist and a valued worker in the women's social and political union, was one of the women who was shockingly maltreated in parliament square on black friday. she was also one of the women who, a few days later, registered their protest against the government by throwing a stone through the window of an official residence. for this act she was sent to holloway prison for a term of one month. released on december st, it was plain to those who knew her best that her health had suffered seriously from the dreadful experience of black friday and the after experience of prison. she died suddenly on christmas day, to the profound sorrow of all her associates. hers was not the only life that was sacrificed as a result of that day. other deaths occurred, mostly from hearts weakened by overstrain. miss henria williams died on january nd, , from heart failure. miss cecelia wolseley haig was another victim. ill treatment on black friday resulted in her case in a painful illness which ended, after a year of intense suffering, in her death on december st, . it is not possible to publish a full list of all the women who have died or have been injured for life in the course of the suffrage agitation in england. in many cases the details have never been made public, and i do not feel at liberty to record them here. a very celebrated case, which is public property, is that of lady constance lytton, sister of the earl of lytton, who acted as chairman of the conciliation committee. lady constance had twice in gone to prison as a result of suffrage activities, and on both occasions had been given special privileges on account of her rank and family influence. in spite of her protests and her earnest pleadings to be accorded the same treatment as other suffrage prisoners, the snobbish and cowardly authorities insisted in retaining lady constance in the hospital cells and discharging her before the expiration of her sentence. this was done on a plea of her ill health, and it was true that she suffered from a valvular disease of the heart. [illustration: riot scenes on black friday _november, _] smarting under the sense of the injustice done her comrades in this discrimination, lady constance lytton did one of the most heroic deeds to be recorded in the history of the suffrage movement. she cut off her beautiful hair and otherwise disguised herself, put on cheap and ugly clothing, and as "jane warton" took part in a demonstration at newcastle, again suffering arrest and imprisonment. this time the authorities treated her as an ordinary prisoner. without testing her heart or otherwise giving her an adequate medical examination, they subjected her to the horrors of forcible feeding. owing to her fragile constitution she suffered frightful nausea each time, and when on one occasion the doctor's clothing was soiled, he struck her contemptuously on the cheek. this treatment was continued until the identity of the prisoner suddenly became known. she was, of course, immediately released, but she never recovered from the experience, and is now a hopeless invalid.[ ] i want to say right here, that those well-meaning friends on the outside who say that we have suffered these horrors of prison, of hunger strikes and forcible feeding, because we desired to martyrise ourselves for the cause, are absolutely and entirely mistaken. we never went to prison in order to be martyrs. we went there in order that we might obtain the rights of citizenship. we were willing to break laws that we might force men to give us the right to make laws. that is the way men have earned their citizenship. truly says mazzini that the way to reform has always led through prison. the result of the general election, which took place in january, , was that the liberal party was again returned to power. parliament met on january st, but the session formally opened on february th with the reading of the king's speech. the programme for the session included the lords' veto measure, home rule, payment for members of parliament, and the abolishment of plural voting. invalid insurance was also mentioned and certain amendments to the old age pension bill. women's suffrage was not mentioned. nevertheless, we were singularly lucky, the first three places in the ballot being secured by members of the conciliation committee. mr. philips, an irish member, drew the first place, but as the irish party had decided not to introduce any bills that session, he yielded to sir george kemp, who announced that he would use his place for the purpose of taking a second reading debate on the new conciliation bill. the old bill had been entitled: "a bill to give the vote to women occupiers," a title that made amendment difficult. the new bill bore the more flexible title, "a bill to confer the parliamentary franchise on women," thus doing away with one of mr. lloyd-george's most plausible objections to it. the £ occupation clause was omitted, doing away with another objection, that of the possibility of "faggot voting," that is, of a rich man conferring the vote on a family of daughters by the simple expedient of making them tenants of slices of his own property. the conciliation bill now read: " . every woman possessed of a household qualification within the meaning of the representation of the people act ( ) shall be entitled to be registered as a voter, and when registered to vote in the county or borough in which the qualifying premises are situated. " . for the purposes of this act a woman shall not be disqualified by marriage for being registered as a voter, provided that a husband and wife shall not both be registered as voters in the same parliamentary borough or county division." this bill met with even warmer approval than the first one, because it was believed that it would win votes from those members who felt that the original measure had fallen short of being truly democratic. nevertheless, the prime minister showed from the first that he intended to oppose it, as he had all previous suffrage measures. he announced that all fridays up to easter and also all time on tuesdays and wednesdays usually allowed for private members' bills were to be occupied with consideration of government measures. hardly a liberal voice was raised against this arbitrary ruling. the irish members indeed were delighted with it, since it gave the home rule bill an advantage. the labour members seemed complacent, and the rest of the coalition were indifferent. one back bench liberal went so far as to rise and thank the prime minister for the courtesy with which the gagging process was accomplished. there was some show of fight made by the opposition, but conservative indignation was tempered by the reflection that the precedent established might be followed to advantage when their party came into power. sir george kemp then announced that he would take may th for the second reading of the conciliation bill, and the supporters of the bill, according to their various convictions, set to work to further its interests. the conviction of the w. s. p. u. was that mr. asquith's government would never allow the bill to pass until they were actually forced to do so, and we adopted our own methods to secure a definite pledge from the government that they would give facilities to the bill. in april of that year the census was to be taken, and we organised a census resistance on the part of women. according to our law the census of the entire kingdom must be taken every ten years on a designated day. our plan was to reduce the value of the census for statistical purposes by refusing to make the required returns. two ways of resistance presented themselves. the first and most important was direct resistance by occupiers who should refuse to fill in the census papers. this laid the register open to a fine of £ or a month's imprisonment, and thus required the exercise of considerable courage. the second means of resistance was evasion--staying away from home during the entire time that the enumerators were taking the census. we made the announcement of this plan and instantly there ensued a splendid response from women and a chorus of horrified disapproval from the conservative public. the _times_ voiced this disapproval in a leading article, to which i replied, giving our reasons for the protest. "the census," i wrote, "is a numbering of the people. until women count as people for the purpose of representation in the councils of the nation as well as for purposes of taxation, we shall refuse to be numbered." on the subject of laws made by men--without the assistance of women--for the protection of women and children, i have a very special feeling. from my experience as poor law guardian and as registrar of births and deaths, i know how ridiculously, say rather how tragically, these laws fall short of protection. take for instance the vaunted "children's charter" of , the measure which spread mr. lloyd-george's fame throughout the world. a volume could be filled with the mistakes and the cruelties of that act, the object of which is the preservation and improvement of child life. a distinguishing characteristic of the act is that it puts most of the responsibility for neglect of children on the backs of the mothers, who, under the laws of england, have no rights as parents. two or three especially striking cases of this kind came into notice about this time, and gave the census resistance an additional justification. the case of annie woolmore was a very pitiful one. she was arrested and sentenced to holloway for six weeks for neglecting her children. the evidence showed that the woman lived with her husband and children in a miserable hovel, which would have been almost impossible to keep clean even if there had been water in the house. as it was the poor soul, who was in ill health and weakened by deprivation, had to carry all the water she used across a great distance. the children as well as the house were very dirty, it was true, but the children were well nourished and kindly treated. the husband, a labourer, out of work much of the time, testified that his wife "starved herself to feed the kids." yet she had violated the terms of the "children's charter" and she went to prison. i am glad to say that owing to the efforts of suffragists she was pardoned and provided with a better home. another case was that of helen conroy, who was charged with living in one wretched room, with her husband and seven children, the youngest a month old. according to the law the mother was forbidden to have this infant in bed with her overnight, yet part of the charge against her was that the child was found sleeping in a box of damp straw. doubtless she would have preferred a cradle, or even a box of dry straw. but direst poverty made the cradle impossible and the conditions of the tenement kept the straw damp. both parents in this instance were sent to prison for three months at hard labour. the magistrate casually remarked that the house in which these poor people lived had been condemned two years before, but some respectable property owner was still collecting rents from it. another poor mother, evicted from her home because she could not pay the rent, took her four children out into the open country, and when found was sleeping with them in a gravel pit. she was sent to prison for a month and the children went to the workhouse. these sorry mothers, logical results of the subjection of women, are enough in themselves to justify almost any defiance of a government who deny the women the right to work out their destinies in freedom. no pledge having been secured from the prime minister by april st, we carried out, and most successfully, our census resistance. many thousands of women all over the country refused or evaded the returns. i returned my census paper with the words "no vote no census" written across it, and other women followed that example with similar messages. one woman filled in the blank with full information about her one man servant, and added that there were many women but no more persons in her household. in birmingham sixteen women of wealth packed their houses with women resisters. they slept on the floors, on chairs and tables, and even in the baths. the head of a large college threw open the building to women. many women in other cities held all night parties for friends who wished to remain away from home. in some places unoccupied houses were rented for the night by resisters, who lay on the bare boards. some groups of women hired gipsy vans and spent the night on the moors. in london we gave a great concert at queen's hall on census night. many of us walked about trafalgar square until midnight and then repaired to aldwich skating rink, where we amused ourselves until morning. some skated while others looked on, and enjoyed the admirable musical and theatrical entertainment that helped to pass the hours. we had with us a number of the brightest stars in the theatrical world, and they were generous in their contributions. it being sunday night, the chairman had to call on each of the artists for a "speech" instead of a song or other turn. an all-night restaurant near at hand did a big business, and on the whole the resisters had a very good time. the scala theatre was the scene of another all-night entertainment. there was a good deal of curiosity to see what the government would devise in the way of a punishment for the rebellious women, but the government realised the impossibility of taking punitive action, and mr. john burns, who, as head of the local government board, was responsible for the census, announced that they had decided to treat the affair with magnanimity. the number of evasions, he declared, was insignificant. but every one knew that this was the exact reverse of the facts. [illustration: in this manner thousands of women throughout the kingdom slept in unoccupied houses over census night] the conciliation bill was debated on may th and passed its second reading by the enormous majority of . and now the public and a section of the press united in a strong demand that the government yield to the undoubted will of the house and grant facilities to the bill. the conciliation committee sent a deputation of members to the prime minister to remind him of his pre-election promise that the house of commons should have an opportunity of dealing with the whole question of woman suffrage, but they succeeded only in getting his assurance that he had the matter under consideration. late in the month the announcement was made in the house that the government would not grant facilities during that session, but, since the new bill fulfilled the conditions named by the prime minister, and was now capable of amendment, the government recognised it to be their duty to grant facilities in some session of the present parliament. they would be prepared next session, when the bill had been again read for the second time, either as a result of obtaining a good place in the ballot, or (if that did not happen) by a grant of a government day for the purpose, to give a week, which they understood to be the time suggested as reasonable by the promoters for its further stages. this pledge was made in order to deter the w. s. p. u. from making a militant demonstration in connection with the coronation of the king. keir hardie asked if the government would, by means of a closure or otherwise, make certain that the bill would go through in the week, and the prime minister replied, "no, i cannot give an assurance of that kind. after all, it is a problem of the very greatest magnitude." this reply seemed to make the government's pledge practically worthless. the conciliation committee also realised the possibilities of the bill being talked out, and lord lytton wrote to mr. asquith and asked him for assurances that the facilities offered were intended not for academic discussion but for effective opportunity for carrying the bill. he also asked that the week offered should not be construed rigidly but that, providing the committee stage were got through in the time, additional days for the report and third reading stages might be forthcoming. reasonable opportunity for making use of the closure was also asked. to lord lytton's letter the prime minister replied as follows: _my dear lytton_--in reply to your letter on the subject of the women's enfranchisement bill, i would refer you to some observations recently made in a speech at the national liberal club by sir edward grey, which accurately expresses the intention of the government. it follows (to answer your specific inquiries), that the "week" offered will be interpreted with reasonable elasticity, that the government will interpose no reasonable obstacle to the proper use of the closure, and that if (as you suggest) the bill gets through committee in the time proposed, the extra days required for report and third reading will not be refused. the government, though divided in opinion on the merits of the bill, are unanimous in their determination to give effect, not only in the letter but in the spirit, to the promise in regard to facilities which i made on their behalf before the last general election. yours etc., h. h. asquith. sceptical up to this point, the w. s. p. u. was now convinced that the government were sincere in their promise to give the bill full facilities in the following year. we held a joyful mass meeting in queen's hall and i again declared that warfare against the government was at an end. our new policy was the inauguration of a great holiday campaign, with the object of making victory in absolutely certain. electors must be aroused, members of parliament held to their allegiance. women must be organised in order that questions that vitally affect the social welfare of the country might be placed before them. i chose scotland and wales as the scenes of my holiday labours. i may say that our confidence was fully shared by the public at large. the belief in mr. asquith's pledge was accurately reflected in a leader published in _the nation_, which said: "from the moment the prime minister signed the frank and ungrudging letter to lord lytton which appeared in last saturday's newspapers, women became, in all but the legal formality, voters and citizens. for at least two years, if not for longer, nothing has been lacking save a full and fair opportunity for the house of commons to translate its convictions into the precise language of a statute. that opportunity has been promised for next session and promised in terms and under conditions which ensure success." the only thing, as we thought, that we had to fear were wrecking amendments to the bill, and in the new by-election policy which we adopted we worked against all candidates of every party who would refuse to promise, not only to support the conciliation committee to carry the bill, but also to vote against any amendment the committee thought dangerous. we believed that we had covered every possibility of disaster. but we had something yet to learn of the treachery of the asquith ministry and their capacity for cold-blooded lying. mr. lloyd-george from the first was an open enemy of the bill, but since we had no doubt of the sincerity of the prime minister, we could only conclude that mr. lloyd-george had detached himself from the main body of the government and had become the self-constituted leader of the opposition. in an address to a large liberal group mr. lloyd-george advised that liberal members be asked to ballot for a place for a "democratic measure," in order that such a measure might claim the prime minister's pledge for facilities next session. in one or two other speeches he made vague allusions to the possibilities of introducing another suffrage bill. his own idea was to amend the bill to give a vote to wives of all electors--making married women voters in virtue of their husband's qualification. the inevitable effect of such an amendment would be to wreck the bill, since it would have enfranchised about , , women in addition to the million and a half who would benefit by the original terms of the bill. such a wholesale addition to the electorate was never known in england; the number enfranchised by the reform bill of being hardly more than half a million. the reform bill of admitted a million new voters, and that of perhaps two millions. the absurdity of mr. lloyd-george's proposition was such that we did not regard it seriously. we did not allow his opposition to give us serious alarm until a day in august when a welsh member, mr. leif jones, asked the prime minister from the floor of the house, whether he was aware that his promise for facilities for the conciliation bill in the next session was being claimed exclusively for that bill, and asked further for a statement that the promised facilities would be equally granted to any other suffrage bill that might secure a second reading and was capable of amendment. mr. lloyd-george, speaking for the government, replied that they could not undertake to give facilities to more than one bill on the same subject, but that any bill which, satisfying these tests, secured a second reading, would be treated by them as falling within their engagements. astounded at this plain evasion of a sacred promise, lord lytton again wrote to the prime minister, reviewing the entire matter, and asking for another statement of the government's intentions. the following is the text of mr. asquith's reply: _my dear lytton_--i have no hesitation in saying that the promises made by, and on behalf of the government, in regard to giving facilities to the conciliation bill, will be strictly adhered to, both in letter and in spirit. yours sincerely, h. h. asquith. august , . again we were reassured, and our confidence in the premier's pledge remained unshaken throughout the campaign, although mr. lloyd-george continued to throw out hints that the promises of facilities for the bill were altogether illusory. we could not believe him, and when, two months later, i was asked in america: "when will english women vote?" i replied with perfect conviction, "next year." this was in louisville, kentucky, where i attended the annual convention of the national american woman suffrage association. i remember this third visit to the united states with especial pleasure. i was the guest in new york of dr. and mrs. john winters brannan, and through the courtesy of dr. brannan, who is at the head of all the city hospitals, i saw something of the penal system and the institutional life of america. we visited the workhouse and the penitentiary on blackwell's island, and although i am told that these places are not regarded as model institutions, i can assure my readers that they are infinitely superior to the english prisons where women are punished for trying to win their political freedom. in the american prisons, much as they lacked in some essentials, i saw no solitary confinement, no rule of silence, no deadly air of officialdom. the food was good and varied, and above all there was an air of kindness and good feeling between the officials and the prisoners that is almost wholly lacking in england. but, after all, in the united states as in other countries, the problem of the relations between unfranchised women and the state remains unsolved and unsatisfactory. one night my friends took me to that sombre and terrible institution, the night court for women. we sat on the bench with the magistrate, and he very courteously explained everything to us. the whole business was heart-breaking. all the women, with one exception--an old drunkard--were charged with solicitation. most of them were of high type by nature. it all seemed so hopeless, and it was clear that they were victims of an evil system. their conviction was a foregone conclusion. the magistrate said that in most cases the reason for their coming there was economic. one case of a little cigar maker, who said very simply that she only went on the streets when out of work, and that when in work she earned $ a week, was very tragic and touching. i could not keep the night court out of my speeches after that. the whole dreadful injustice of women's lives seemed mirrored in that place. i went as far west as the pacific coast on this visit, spending christmas day in seattle, and for the first time seeing a community where women and men existed on terms of exact equality. it was a delightful experience. as i wrote home to our members, the men of the western states seemed to my eyes eager, earnest, rough men, building a great community in a great hurry, but never have i seen greater respect, courtesy and chivalry shown to women than in that one suffrage state it has been my privilege to visit. i am getting a little ahead of my story, however. it was in november, when i was in the city of minneapolis, that a crushing blow descended on the english suffragists. i learned of this through cabled despatches in the newspapers and from private cables, and was so staggered that i could scarcely command myself sufficiently to fill my immediate engagements. this was the news, that the government had broken their plighted word and had deliberately destroyed the conciliation bill. my first wild thought, on hearing of this act of treachery, was to cancel all engagements and return to england, but my final decision to remain afterwards proved the right one, because the women at home, without a moment's loss of time, struck the answering blow, guided by that insight which has been characteristic of every act of the members of our union. i did not return to england until january , , and by that time great deeds had been done. our movement had entered upon a new and more vigorous stage of militancy. footnote: [ ] lady constance lytton's story has been thrillingly told in her book "prisons and prisoners," heinemann. book iii the women's revolution chapter i parliament had reassembled on october th, , and the first move on the part of the government was, to say the least of it, rather unpropitious. the prime minister submitted two motions, the first one empowering them to take all the time of the house during the remainder of the session, and the second guillotining discussion on the insurance bill so as to force the measure through before christmas. one day only was allotted to the clauses relating to women in that bill. these clauses were notoriously unfair; they provided for sickness insurance of about four million women and unemployment insurance of no women at all. under the provision of the bill eleven million men were ensured against sickness and about two and a half million against unemployment. women were given lower benefits for the same premium as men, and premiums paid out of the family income were credited solely to the men's account. the bill as drafted provided no form of insurance for wives, mothers and daughters who spent their lives at home working for the family. it penalised women for staying in the home, which most men agree is women's only legitimate sphere of action. the amended bill grudgingly allowed aside from maternity benefits, a small insurance, on rather difficult terms, for workingmen's wives. thus the re-elected government's first utterance to women was one of contempt; and this was followed, on november th, by the almost incredible announcement that the government intended, at the next session, to introduce a manhood suffrage bill. this announcement was not made in the house of commons, but to a deputation of men from the people's suffrage federation, a small group of people who advocated universal adult suffrage. the deputation, which was very privately arranged for, was received by mr. asquith, and the then master of elibank (chief liberal whip). the spokesman asked mr. asquith to bring in a government measure for universal adult suffrage, including adult women. the prime minister replied that the government had pledged facilities for the conciliation bill, which was as far as they were prepared to go in the matter of women's suffrage. but, he added, the government intended in the next session to introduce and to pass through all its stages a genuine reform bill which would sweep away existing qualifications for the franchise, and substitute a single qualification of residence. the bill would apply to adult males only, but it would be so framed as to be open to a woman suffrage amendment in case the house of commons desired to make that extension and amendment. this portentous announcement came like a bolt from the blue, and there was strong condemnation of the government's treachery to women. said the _saturday review_: with absolutely no demand, no ghost of a demand, for more votes for men, and with--beyond all cavil--a very strong demand for votes for women, the government announce their manhood suffrage bill and carefully evade the other question! for a naked, avowed plan of gerrymandering no government surely ever did beat this one. the _daily mail_ said that the "policy which mr. asquith proposes is absolutely indefensible." and the _evening standard and globe_ said: "we are no friends of female suffrage, but anything more contemptible than the attitude assumed by the government it is difficult to imagine." if the government hoped to deceive any one by their dishonest reference to the possibility of a woman suffrage amendment, they were disappointed. said the _evening news_: mr. asquith's bombshell will blow the conciliation bill to smithereens, for it is impossible to have a manhood suffrage for men and a property qualification for women. true, the premier consents to leave the question of women's suffrage to the house, but he knows well enough what the decision of the house will be. the conciliation bill had a chance, but the larger measure has none at all. i have quoted these newspaper leaders to show you that our opinion of the government's action was shared even by the press. universal suffrage in a country where women are in a majority of one million is not likely to happen in the lifetime of any reader of this volume, and the government's generous offer of a possible amendment was nothing more than a gratuitous insult to the suffragists. the truce, naturally, came to an abrupt end. the w. s. p. u. wrote to the prime minister, saying that consternation had been aroused by the government's announcement, and that it had been decided accordingly to send a deputation representing the women's social and political union to wait upon himself and the chancellor of the exchequer, on the evening of november st. the purpose of the deputation was to demand that the proposed manhood suffrage bill be abandoned, and that in its place should be introduced a government measure giving equal franchise rights to men and women. a similar letter was despatched to mr. lloyd-george. six times before on occasions of crisis had the w. s. p. u. requested an interview with mr. asquith, and each time they had been refused. this time the prime minister replied that he had decided to receive a deputation of the various suffrage societies on november th, "including your own society, if you desire it." it was proposed that each society appoint four representatives as members of the deputation which would be received by the prime minister and the chancellor of the exchequer. nine suffrage societies sent representatives to the meeting, our own representatives being christabel pankhurst, mrs. pethick lawrence, miss annie kenney, lady constance lytton and miss elizabeth robins. christabel and mrs. lawrence spoke for the union, and they did not hesitate to accuse the two ministers to their faces of having grossly tricked and falsely misled women. mr. asquith, in his reply to the deputation, resented these imputations. he had kept his pledge, he insisted, in regard to the conciliation bill. he was perfectly willing to give facilities to the bill, if the women preferred that to an amendment to his reform bill. moreover, he denied that he had made any new announcement. as far back as he had distinctly declared that the government regarded it as a sacred duty to bring forward a manhood suffrage bill before that parliament came to an end. it was true that the government did not carry out that binding obligation, and it was also true that until the present time nothing more was ever said about a manhood suffrage bill, but that was not the government's fault. the crisis of the lord's veto, had momentarily displaced the bill. now he merely proposed to fulfil his promise made in , and also his promise about giving facilities to the conciliation bill. he was ready to keep both promises. well he knew that those promises were incompatible, that the fulfilment of both was therefore impossible, and christabel told him so bluntly and fearlessly. "we are not satisfied," she warned him, and the prime minister said acidly: "i did not expect to satisfy _you_." the reply of the w. s. p. u. was immediate and forceful. led by mrs. pethick lawrence, our women went out with stones and hammers and broke hundreds of windows in the home office, the war and foreign offices, the board of education, the privy council office, the board of trade, the treasury, somerset house, the national liberal club, several post offices, the old banqueting hall, the london and south western bank, and a dozen other buildings, including the residence of lord haldane and mr. john burns. two hundred and twenty women were arrested and about of them sent to prison for terms varying from a week to two months. one individual protest deserves mention because of its prophetic character. in december miss emily wilding davison was arrested for attempting to set fire to a letter box at parliament street post office. in court miss davison said that she did it as a protest against the government's treachery, and as a demand that women's suffrage be included in the king's speech. "the protest was meant to be serious," she said, "and so i adopted a serious course. in past agitation for reform the next step after window-breaking was incendiarism, in order to draw the attention of the private citizens to the fact that this question of reform was their concern as well as that of women." miss davison received the severe sentence of six months' imprisonment for her deed. to this state of affairs i returned from my american tour. i had the comfort of reflecting that my imprisoned comrades were being accorded better treatment than the early prisoners had known. since early in some concessions had been granted, and some acknowledgment of the political character of our offences had been made. during the brief period when these scant concessions to justice were allowed, the hunger strike was abandoned and prison was robbed of its worst horror, forcible feeding. the situation was bad enough, however, and i could see that it might easily become a great deal worse. we had reached a stage at which the mere sympathy of members of parliament, however sincerely felt, was no longer of the slightest use. reminding our members this, in the first speeches made after returning to england i asked them to prepare themselves for more action. if women's suffrage was not included in the next king's speech we should have to make it absolutely impossible for the government to touch the question of the franchise. the king's speech, when parliament met in february, , alluded to the franchise question in very general terms. proposals, it was stated, would be brought forward for the amendment of the law with respect to the franchise and the registration of electors. this might be construed to mean that the government were going to introduce a manhood suffrage bill or a bill for the abolition of plural voting, which had been suggested in some quarters as a substitute for the manhood suffrage bill. no precise statement of the government's intentions was made, and the whole franchise question was left in a cloud of uncertainty. mr. agg gardner, a unionist member of the conciliation committee, drew the third place in the ballot, and he announced that he should reintroduce the conciliation bill. this interested us very slightly, for knowing its prospect of success to have been destroyed, for we were done with the conciliation bill forever. nothing less than a government measure would henceforth satisfy the w. s. p. u., because it had been clearly demonstrated that only a government measure would be allowed to pass the house of commons. with sublime faith, or rather with a deplorable lack of political insight, the women's liberal federation and the national union of women's suffrage societies professed full confidence in the proposed amendment to a manhood suffrage bill, but we knew how futile was that hope. we saw that the only course to take was to offer determined opposition to any measure of suffrage that did not include as an integral part, equal suffrage for men and women. on february th we held a large meeting of welcome to a number of released prisoners who had served two and three months for the window breaking demonstration that had taken place in the previous november. at this meeting we candidly surveyed the situation and agreed on a course of action which we believed would be sufficiently strong to prevent the government from advancing their threatened franchise bill. i said on this occasion: "we don't want to use any weapons that are unnecessarily strong. if the argument of the stone, that time-honoured official political argument, is sufficient, then we will never use any stronger argument. and that is the weapon and the argument that we are going to use next time. and so i say to every volunteer on our demonstration, 'be prepared to use that argument.' i am taking charge of the demonstration, and that is the argument i am going to use. i am not going to use it for any sentimental reason, i am going to use it because it is the easiest and the most readily understood. why should women go to parliament square and be battered about and insulted, and most important of all, produce less effect than when we throw stones? we tried it long enough. we submitted for years patiently to insult and assault. women had their health injured. women lost their lives. we should not have minded if that had succeeded, but that did not succeed, and we have made more progress with less hurt to ourselves by breaking glass than ever we made when we allowed them to break our bodies. "after all, is not a woman's life, is not her health, are not her limbs more valuable than panes of glass? there is no doubt of that, but most important of all, does not the breaking of glass produce more effect upon the government? if you are fighting a battle, that should dictate your choice of weapons. well, then, we are going to try this time if mere stones will do it. i do not think it will ever be necessary for us to arm ourselves as chinese women have done, but there are women who are prepared to do that if it should be necessary. in this union we don't lose our heads. we only go as far as we are obliged to go in order to win, and we are going forward with this next protest demonstration in full faith that this plan of campaign, initiated by our friends whom we honour to-night, will on this next occasion prove effective." ever since militancy took on the form of destruction of property the public generally, both at home and abroad, has expressed curiosity as to the logical connection between acts such as breaking windows, firing pillar boxes, et cetera, and the vote. only a complete lack of historical knowledge excuses that curiosity. for every advance of men's political freedom has been marked with violence and the destruction of property. usually the advance has been marked by war, which is called glorious. sometimes it has been marked by riotings, which are deemed less glorious but are at least effective. that speech of mine, just quoted, will probably strike the reader as one inciting to violence and illegal action, things as a rule and in ordinary circumstances quite inexcusable. well, i will call the reader's attention to what was, in this connection, a rather singular coincidence. at the very hour when i was making that speech, advising my audience of the political necessity of physical revolt, a responsible member of the government, in another hall, in another city, was telling his audience precisely the same thing. this cabinet minister, the right honourable c. e. h. hobhouse, addressing a large anti-suffrage meeting in his constituency of bristol, said that the suffrage movement was not a political issue because its adherents had failed to prove that behind this movement existed a large public demand. he declared that "in the case of the suffrage demand there has not been the kind of popular sentimental uprising which accounted for nottingham castle in or the hyde park railings in . there has not been a great ebullition of popular feeling." the "popular sentimental uprising" to which mr. hobhouse alluded was the burning to the ground of the castle of the anti-suffrage duke of newcastle, and of colwick castle, the country seat of another of the leaders of the opposition against the franchise bill. the militant men of that time did not select uninhabited buildings to be fired. they burned both these historic residences over their owners' heads. indeed, the wife of the owner of colwick castle died as a result of shock and exposure on that occasion. no arrests were made, no men imprisoned. on the contrary the king sent for the premier, and begged the whig ministers favourable to the franchise bill not to resign, and intimated that this was also the wish of the lords who had thrown out the bill. molesworth's history of england says: these declarations were imperatively called for. the danger was imminent and the ministers knew it and did all that lay in their power to tranquillise the people, and to assure them that the bill was only delayed and not finally defeated. for a time the people believed this, but soon they lost patience, and seeing signs of a renewed activity on the part of the anti-suffragists, they became aggressive again. bristol, the very city in which mr. hobhouse made his speech, was set on fire. the militant reformers burned the new gaol, the toll houses, the bishop's palace, both sides of queen's square, including the mansion house, the custom house, the excise office, many warehouses, and other private property, the whole valued at over £ , --five hundred thousand dollars. it was as a result of such violence, and in fear of more violence, that the reform bill was hurried through parliament and became law in june, . our demonstration, so mild by comparison with english men's political agitation, was announced for march th, and the announcement created much public alarm. sir william byles gave notice that he would "ask the secretary of state for the home department whether his attention had been drawn to a speech by mrs. pankhurst last friday night, openly and emphatically inciting her hearers to violent outrage and the destruction of property, and threatening the use of firearms if stones did not prove sufficiently effective; and what steps he proposes to take to protect society from this outbreak of lawlessness." the question was duly asked, and the home secretary replied that his attention had been called to the speech, but that it would not be desirable in the public interest to say more than this at present. whatever preparations the police department were making to prevent the demonstration, they failed because, while as usual, we were able to calculate exactly what the police department were going to do, they were utterly unable to calculate what we were going to do. we had planned a demonstration for march th, and this one we announced. we planned another demonstration for march st, but this one we did not announce. late in the afternoon of friday, march st, i drove in a taxicab, accompanied by the hon. secretary of the union, mrs. tuke and another of our members, to no. downing street, the official residence of the prime minister. it was exactly half past five when we alighted from the cab and threw our stones, four of them, through the window panes. as we expected we were promptly arrested and taken to cannon row police station. the hour that followed will long be remembered in london. at intervals of fifteen minutes relays of women who had volunteered for the demonstration did their work. the first smashing of glass occurred in the haymarket and piccadilly, and greatly startled and alarmed both pedestrians and police. a large number of the women were arrested, and everybody thought that this ended the affair. but before the excited populace and the frustrated shop owners' first exclamation had died down, before the police had reached the station with their prisoners, the ominous crashing and splintering of plate glass began again, this time along both sides of regent street and the strand. a furious rush of police and people towards the second scene of action ensued. while their attention was being taken up with occurrences in this quarter, the third relay of women began breaking the windows in oxford circus and bond street. the demonstration ended for the day at half past six with the breaking of many windows in the strand. the _daily mail_ gave this graphic account of the demonstration: from every part of the crowded and brilliantly lighted streets came the crash of splintered glass. people started as a window shattered at their side; suddenly there was another crash in front of them; on the other side of the street; behind--everywhere. scared shop assistants came running out to the pavements; traffic stopped; policemen sprang this way and that; five minutes later the streets were a procession of excited groups, each surrounding a woman wrecker being led in custody to the nearest police station. meanwhile the shopping quarter of london had plunged itself into a sudden twilight. shutters were hurriedly fitted; the rattle of iron curtains being drawn came from every side. guards of commissionaires and shopmen were quickly mounted, and any unaccompanied lady in sight, especially if she carried a hand bag, became an object of menacing suspicion. at the hour when this demonstration was being made a conference was being held at scotland yard to determine what should be done to prevent the smashing of windows on the coming monday night. but we had not announced the hour of our march th protest. i had in my speech simply invited women to assemble in parliament square on the evening of march th, and they accepted the invitation. said the _daily telegraph_: by six o'clock the neighbourhood houses of parliament were in a stage of siege. shop keepers in almost every instance barricaded their premises, removed goods from the windows and prepared for the worst. a few minutes before six o'clock a huge force of police, amounting to nearly three thousand constables, was posted in parliament square, whitehall, and streets adjoining, and large reserves were gathered in westminster hall and scotland yard. by half past eight whitehall was packed from end to end with police and public. mounted constables rode up and down whitehall keeping the people on the move. at no time was there any sign of danger.... the demonstration had taken place in the morning, when a hundred or more women walked quietly into knightsbridge and walking singly along the streets demolished nearly every pane of glass they passed. taken by surprise the police arrested as many as they could reach, but most of the women escaped. [illustration: the argument of the broken window pane] for that two days' work something like two hundred suffragettes were taken to the various police stations, and for days the long procession of women streamed through the courts. the dismayed magistrates found themselves facing, not only former rebels, but many new ones, in some cases, women whose names, like that of dr. ethel smyth, the composer, were famous throughout europe. these women, when arraigned, made clear and lucid statements of their positions and their motives, but magistrates are not schooled to examine motives. they are trained to think only of laws and mostly of laws protecting property. their ears are not tuned to listen to words like those spoken by one of the prisoners, who said: "we have tried every means--processions and meetings--which were of no avail. we have tried demonstrations, and now at last we have to break windows. i wish i had broken more. i am not in the least repentant. our women are working in far worse condition than the striking miners. i have seen widows struggling to bring up their children. only two out of every five are fit to be soldiers. what is the good of a country like ours? england is absolutely on the wane. you only have one point of view, and that is the men's, and while men have done the best they could, they cannot go far without the women and the women's views. we believe the whole is in a muddle too horrible to think of." the coal miners were at that time engaging in a terrible strike, and the government, instead of arresting the leaders, were trying to come to terms of peace with them. i reminded the magistrate of this fact, and i told him that what the women had done was but a fleabite by comparison with the miners' violence. i said further: "i hope our demonstration will be enough to show the government that the women's agitation is going on. if not, if you send me to prison, i will go further to show that women who have to help pay the salaries of cabinet ministers, and your salary too, sir, are going to have some voice in the making of the laws they have to obey." i was sentenced to two months' imprisonment. others received sentences ranging from one week to two months, while those who were accused of breaking glass above five pounds in value, were committed for trial in higher courts. they were sent to prison on remand, and when the last of us were behind the grim gates, not only holloway but three other women's prisons were taxed to provide for so many extra inmates. it was a stormy imprisonment for most of us. a great many of the women had received, in addition to their sentences, "hard labour," and this meant that the privileges at that time accorded to suffragettes, as political offenders, were withheld. the women adopted the hunger strike as a protest, but as the hint was conveyed to me that the privileges would be restored, i advised a cessation of the strike. the remand prisoners demanded that i be allowed to exercise with them, and when this was not answered they broke the windows of their cells. the other suffrage prisoners, hearing the sound of shattered glass, and the singing of the marseillaise, immediately broke their windows. the time had long gone by when the suffragettes submitted meekly to prison discipline. and so passed the first days of my imprisonment. chapter ii the panic stricken government did not rest content with the imprisonment of the window breakers. they sought, in a blind and blundering fashion, to perform the impossible feat of wrecking at a blow the entire militant movement. governments have always tried to crush reform movements, to destroy ideas, to kill the thing that cannot die. without regard to history, which shows that no government have ever succeeded in doing this, they go on trying in the old, senseless way. for days before the two demonstrations described in the last chapter our headquarters in clement's inn had been under constant observation by the police, and on the evening of march th an inspector of police and a large force of detectives suddenly descended on the place, with warrants for the arrest of christabel pankhurst and mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence, who with mrs. tuke and myself were charged with "conspiring to incite certain persons to commit malicious damage to property." when the officers entered they found mr. pethick lawrence at work in his office, and mrs. pethick lawrence in her flat upstairs. my daughter was not in the building. the lawrences, after making brief preparations drove in a taxicab to bow street station, where they spent the night. the police remained in possession of the offices, and detectives were despatched to find and arrest christabel. but that arrest never took place. christabel pankhurst eluded the entire force of detectives and uniformed police, trained hunters of human prey. christabel had gone home, and at first, on hearing of the arrest of mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence, had taken her own arrest for granted. a little reflection however showed her the danger in which the union would stand if completely deprived of its accustomed leadership, and seeing that it was her duty to avoid arrest, she quietly left the house. she spent that night with friends who, next morning, helped her to make the necessary arrangements and saw her safely away from london. the same night she reached paris, where she has since remained. my relief, when i learned of her flight, was very great, because i knew that whatever happened to the lawrences and myself, the movement would be wisely directed, this in spite of the fact that the police remained in full possession of headquarters. the offices in clement's inn were thoroughly ransacked by the police, in a determined effort to secure evidence of conspiracy. they went through every desk, file and cabinet, taking away with them two cab loads of books and papers, including all my private papers, photographs of my children in infancy, and letters sent me by my husband long ago. some of these i never saw again. the police also terrorised the printer of our weekly newspaper, and although the paper came out as usual, about a third of its columns were left blank. the headlines, however, with the ensuing space mere white paper produced a most dramatic effect. "history teaches" read one headline to a blank space, plainly indicating that the government were not willing to let the public know some of the things that history teaches. "women's moderation" suggested that the destroyed paragraph called for comparison of the women's window breaking with men's greater violence in the past. most eloquent of all was the editorial page, absolutely blank except for the headline, "a challenge!" and the name at the foot of the last column, christabel pankhurst. what words could have breathed a prouder defiance, a more implacable resolve? christabel was gone, out of the clutches of the government, yet she remained in complete possession of the field. for weeks the search for her went relentlessly on. police searched every railway station, every train, every sea port. the police of every city in the kingdom were furnished with her portrait. every amateur sherlock holmes in england joined with the police in finding her. she was reported in a dozen cities, including new york. but all the time she was living quietly in paris, in daily communication with the workers in london, who within a few days were once more at their appointed tasks. my daughter has remained in france ever since. meanwhile, i found myself in the anomalous position of a convicted offender serving two months' prison sentence, and of a prisoner on remand waiting to be charged with a more serious offence. i was in very bad health, having been placed in a damp and unwarmed third division cell, the result being an acute attack of bronchitis. i addressed a letter to the home secretary, telling him of my condition, and urging the necessity of liberty to recover my health and to prepare my case for trial. i asked for release on bail, the plain right of a remand prisoner, and i offered if bail were granted now to serve the rest of my two months' sentence later on. the sole concessions granted me, however, were removal to a better cell and the right to see my secretary and my solicitor, but only in the presence of a wardress and a member of the prison clerical staff. on march th mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence, mrs. tuke and myself were brought up for preliminary hearing on the charge of having, on november , , and on various other dates "conspired and combined together unlawfully and maliciously to commit damage, etc." the case opened on march th in a crowded courtroom in which i saw many friends. mr. bodkin, who appeared for the prosecution, made a very long address, in which he endeavoured to prove that the women's social and political union was a highly developed organisation of most sinister character. he produced much documentary evidence, some of it of such amusing character that the court rocked with stifled laughter, and the judge was obliged to conceal his smiles behind his hand. mr. bodkin cited our code book with the assistance of which we were able to communicate private messages. his voice sank to a scandalised half whisper as he stated the fact that we had presumed to include the sacred persons of the government in our private code. "we find," said mr. bodkin portentously, "that public men in the service of his majesty as members of the cabinet are tabulated here under code names. we find that the cabinet collectively has its code word "trees," and individual members of the cabinet are designated by the name, sometimes of trees, but i am also bound to say the commonest weeds as well." here a ripple of laughter interrupted. mr. bodkin frowned heavily, and continued: "there is one," he said solemnly, "called pansy; another one--more complimentary--roses, another, violets, and so on." each of the defendants was designated by a code letter. thus mrs. pankhurst was identified by the letter f; mrs. pethick lawrence, d; miss christabel pankhurst, e. every public building, including the house of commons, had its code name. the deadly possibilities of the code were illustrated by a telegram found in one of the files. it read: "silk, thistle, pansy, duck, wool, e. q." translated by the aid of the code book the telegram read: "will you protest asquith's public meeting to-morrow evening but don't get arrested unless success depends on it. wire back to christabel pankhurst, clements inn." more laughter followed these revelations, which after all proved no more than the business-like methods employed by the w. s. p. u. the laughter proved something a great deal more significant, for it was a plain indication that the old respect in which cabinet ministers had been held was no more. we had torn the veil from their sacro-sanct personalities and shown them for what they were, mean and scheming politicians. more serious from the point of view of prosecution was the evidence brought in by members of the police department in regard to the occurrences of march st and th. the policemen who arrested me and my two companions in downing street on march st, after we had broken the windows in the premier's house, testified that following the arrest, we had handed him our reserve stock of stones, and that they were all alike, heavy flints. other prisoners were found in possession of similar stones, tending to prove that the stones all came from one source. other officers testified to the methodical manner in which the window breaking of march st and th was carried out, how systematically it had been planned and how soldierly had been the behaviour of the women. by twos and threes march th they had been seen to go to the headquarters at clement's inn, carrying handbags, which they deposited at headquarters, and had then gone on to a meeting at the pavillion music hall. the police attended the meeting, which was the usual rally preceding a demonstration or a deputation. at five o'clock the meeting adjourned and the women went out, as if to go home. the police observed that many of them, still in groups of twos and threes, went to the gardenia restaurant in catherine street, strand, a place where many suffragette breakfasts and teas had been held. the police thought that about one hundred and fifty women congregated there on march th. they remained until seven o'clock, and then, under the watching eyes of the police, they sauntered out and dispersed. a few minutes later, when there was no reason to expect such a thing, the noise was heard, in many streets, of wholesale window smashing. the police authorities made much of the fact that the women who had left their bags at headquarters and were afterwards arrested, were bailed out that night by mr. pethick lawrence. the similarity of the stones used; the gathering of so many women in one building, prepared for arrest; the waiting at the gardenia restaurant; the apparent dispersal; the simultaneous destruction in many localities of plate glass, and the bailing of prisoners by a person connected with the headquarters mentioned, certainly showed a carefully worked out plan. only a public trial of the defendants could establish whether or not the plan was a conspiracy. on the second day of the ministerial hearing, mrs. tuke, who had been in the prison infirmary for twenty days and had to be attended in court by a trained nurse, was admitted to bail. mr. pethick lawrence made a strong plea for bail for himself and his wife, pointing out that they had been in prison on remand for two weeks and were entitled to bail. i also demanded the privileges of a prisoner on remand. both of these pleas were denied by the court, but a few days later the home secretary wrote to my solicitor that the remainder of my sentence of two months would be remitted until after the conspiracy trail at bow street. mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence had already been admitted to bail. public opinion forced the home secretary to make these concessions, as it is well known that it is next to impossible to prepare a defence while confined in prison. aside from the terrible effect of prison on one's body and nerves, there is the difficulty of consulting documents and securing other necessary data to be considered. on april th the ministerial hearing ended in the acquittal of mrs. tuke, whose activities in the w. s. p. u. were shown to be purely secretarial. mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence and myself were committed for trial at the next session of the central criminal court, beginning april rd. because of the weak state of my health the judge was with great difficulty prevailed upon to postpone the trial two weeks and it was, therefore, not until may th that the case was opened. the trial at old bailey is a thing that i shall never forget. the scene is clear before me as i write, the judge impressively bewigged and scarlet robed, dominating the crowded courtroom, the solicitors at their table, the jury, and looking very far away, the anxious pale faces of our friends who crowded the narrow galleries. by the veriest irony of fate this judge, lord coleridge, was the son of sir charles coleridge who, in the year , appeared with my husband, dr. pankhurst, in the famous case of chorlton v. lings, and sought to establish that women were persons, and as such were entitled to the parliamentary vote. to make the irony still deeper the attorney general, sir rufus isaacs, who appeared as counsel for the prosecution against women militants, himself had been guilty of remarkable speeches in corroboration of our point of view. in a speech made in , in relation to the abolition of the lords' veto, sir rufus made the statement that, although the agitation against privilege was being peacefully conducted, the indignation behind it was very intense. said sir rufus: "formerly when the great mass of the people were voteless they had to do something violent in order to show what they felt; to-day the elector's bullet is his ballot. let no one be deceived, therefore, because in this present struggle everything is peaceful and orderly, in contrast to the disorderliness of other great struggles of the past." we wondered if the man who said these words could fail to realise that voteless women, deprived of every constitutional means of righting their grievances, were also obliged to do something violent in order to show how they felt. his opening address removed all doubt on that score. sir rufus isaacs has a clear-cut, hawk-like face, deep eyes, and a somewhat world worn air. the first words he spoke were so astoundingly unfair that i could hardly believe that i heard them aright. he began his address to the jury by telling them that they must not, on any account, connect the act of the defendants with any political agitation. "i am very anxious to impress upon you," he said, "from the moment we begin to deal with the facts of this case, that all questions of whether a woman is entitled to the parliamentary franchise, whether she should have the same right of franchise as a man, are questions which are in no sense involved in the trial of this issue.... therefore, i ask you to discard altogether from the consideration of the matters which will be placed before you any viewpoint you may have on this no doubt very important political issue." nevertheless sir rufus added in the course of his remarks that he feared that it would not be possible to keep out of the conduct of the case various references to political events, and of course the entire trial, from beginning to end, showed clearly that the case was what mr. tim healey, mrs. pethick lawrence's counsel, called it, a great state trial. proceeding, the attorney general described the w. s. p. u., which he said he thought had been in existence since , and had used what were known as militant methods. in the association had become annoyed by the prime minister because he would not make women's suffrage what was called a government question. in november, , the prime minister announced the introduction of a manhood suffrage bill. from that time on the defendants set to work to carry out a campaign which would have meant nothing less than anarchy. women were to be induced to act together at a given time, in different given places, in such numbers that the police should be paralysed by the number of persons breaking the law, in order, to use the defendant's own words, "to bring the government to its knees." after designating the respective positions held by the four defendants in the w. s. p. u., sir rufus went on to relate the events which resulted in the smashing of plate glass windows valued at some two thousand pounds, and the imprisonment of over two hundred women who were incited to their deeds by the conspirators in the dock. he entirely ignored the motive of the acts in question, and he treated the whole affair as if the women had been burglars. this inverted statement of the matter, though accurate enough as to facts, was such as might have been given by king john of the signing of magna charta. a very great number of witnesses were examined, a large number of them being policemen, and their testimony, and our cross examination disclosed the startling fact that there exists in england a special band of secret police entirely engaged in political work. these men, seventy-five in number, form what is known as the political branch of the criminal investigation department of the police. they go about in disguise, and their sole duty is to shadow suffragettes and other political workers. they follow certain political workers from their homes to their places of business, to their social pleasures, into tea rooms and restaurants, even to the theatre. they pursue unsuspecting people in taxicabs, sit beside them in omnibuses. above all they take down speeches. in fact the system is exactly like the secret police system of russia. mr. pethick lawrence and i spoke in our own defence, and mr. healey m. p. defended mrs. pethick lawrence. i cannot give our speeches in full, but i should like to include as much of them as will serve to make the entire situation clear to the reader. mr. lawrence spoke first at the opening of the case. he began by giving an account of the suffrage movement and why he felt the enfranchisement of women appeared to him a question so grave that it warranted strong measures in its pursuit. he sketched briefly the history of the women's social and political union, from the time when christabel pankhurst and annie kenney were thrown out of sir edward grey's meeting and imprisoned for asking a political question, to the torpedoing of the conciliation bill. "the case that i have to put before you," he said, "is that neither the conspiracy nor the incitement is ours; but that the conspiracy is a conspiracy of the cabinet who are responsible for the government of this country; and that the incitement is the incitement of the ministers of the crown." and he did this most effectually not only by telling of the disgraceful trickery and deceit with which the government had misled the suffragists in the matter of suffrage bills, but by giving the plain words in which members of the cabinet had advised the women that they would never get the vote until they had learned to fight for it as men had fought in the past. when it came my turn to speak, realising that the average man is profoundly ignorant of the history of the women's movement--because the press has never adequately or truthfully chronicled the movement--i told the jury, as briefly as i could, the story of the forty years' peaceful agitation before my daughters and i resolved that we would give our lives to the work of getting the vote for women, and that we should use whatever means of getting the vote that were necessary to success. "we founded the women's social and political union," i said, "in . our first intention was to try and influence the particular political party, which was then coming into power, to make this question of the enfranchisement of women their own question and to push it. it took some little time to convince us--and i need not weary you with the history of all that has happened--but it took some little time to convince us that that was no use; that we could not secure things in that way. then in we faced the hard facts. we realised that there was a press boycott against women's suffrage. our speeches at public meetings were not reported, our letters to the editors, were not published, even if we implored the editors; even the things relating to women's suffrage in parliament were not recorded. they said the subject was not of sufficient public interest to be reported in the press, and they were not prepared to report it. then with regard to the men politicians in : we realised how shadowy were the fine phrases about democracy, about human equality, used by the gentlemen who were then coming into power. they meant to ignore the women--there was no doubt whatever about that. for in the official documents coming from the liberal party on the eve of the election, there were sentences like this: 'what the country wants is a simple measure of manhood suffrage.' there was no room for the inclusion of women. we knew perfectly well that if there was to be franchise reform at all, the liberal party which was then coming into power did not mean votes for women, in spite of all the pledges of members; in spite of the fact that a majority of the house of commons, especially on the liberal side, were pledged to it--it did not mean that they were going to put it into practice. and so we found some way of forcing their attention to this question. "now i come to the facts with regard to militancy. we realised that the plans we had in our minds would involve great sacrifice on our part, that it might cost us all we had. we were at that time a little organisation, composed in the main of working women, the wives and daughters of working men. and my daughters and i took a leading part, naturally, because we thought the thing out, and, to a certain extent, because we were of better social position than most of our members, and we felt a sense of responsibility." i described the events that marked the first days of our work, the scene in free trade hall, manchester, when my daughter and her companion were arrested for the crime of asking a question of a politician, and i continued: "what did they do next? (i want you to realise that no step we have taken forward has been taken until after some act of repression on the part of our enemy, the government--because it is the government that is our enemy; it is not the members of parliament, it is not the men in the country; it is the government in power alone that can give us the vote. it is the government alone that we regard as our enemy, and the whole of our agitation is directed to bringing just as much pressure as necessary upon those people who can deal with our grievance.) the next step the women took was to ask questions during the course of meetings, because, as i told you, these gentlemen gave them no opportunity of asking them afterwards. and then began the interjections of which we have heard, the interference with the right to hold public meetings, the interference with the right of free speech, of which we have heard, for which these women, these hooligan women, as they have been called--have been denounced. i ask you, gentlemen, to imagine the amount of courage which it needs for a woman to undertake that kind of work. when men come to interrupt women's meetings, they come in gangs, with noisy instruments, and sing and shout together, and stamp their feet. but when women have gone to cabinet ministers' meetings--only to interrupt cabinet ministers and nobody else--they have gone singly. and it has become increasingly difficult for them to get in, because as a result of the women's methods there has developed the system of admission by ticket and the exclusion of women--a thing which in my liberal days would have been thought a very disgraceful thing at liberal meetings. but this ticket system developed, and so the women could only get in with very great difficulty. women have concealed themselves for thirty-six hours in dangerous positions, under the platforms, in the organs, wherever they could get a vantage point. they waited starving in the cold, sometimes on the roof exposed to a winter's night, just to get a chance of saying in the course of a cabinet minister's speech, 'when is the liberal government going to put its promises into practice?' that has been the form militancy took in its further development." i went over the whole matter of our peaceful deputations, and of the violence with which they were invariably met; of our arrests and the farcical police court trials, where the mere evidence of policemen's unsupported statements sent us to prison for long terms; of the falsehoods told of us in the house of commons by responsible members of the government--tales of women scratching and biting policemen and using hatpins--and i accused the government of making these attacks against women who were powerless to defend themselves because they feared the women and desired to crush the agitation represented by our organisation. "now it has been stated in this court," i said, "that it is not the women's social and political union that is in the court, but that it is certain defendants. the action of the government, gentlemen, is certainly against the defendants who are before you here to-day, but it is also against the women's social and political union. the intention is to crush that organisation. and this intention apparently was arrived at after i had been sent to prison for two months for breaking a pane of glass worth, i am told, s. d., the punishment which i accepted because i was a leader of this movement, though it was an extraordinary punishment to inflict for so small an act of damages as i had committed. i accepted it as the punishment for a leader of an agitation disagreeable to the government; and while i was there this prosecution started. they thought they would make a clean sweep of the people who they considered were the political brains of the movement. we have got many false friends in the cabinet--people who by their words appear to be well-meaning towards the cause of women's suffrage. and they thought that if they could get the leaders of the union out of the way, it would result in the indefinite postponement and settlement of the question in this country. well, they have not succeeded in their design, and even if they had got all the so-called leaders of this movement out of their way they would not have succeeded even then. now why have they not put the union in the dock? we have a democratic government, so-called. this women's social and political union is not a collection of hysterical and unimportant wild women, as has been suggested to you, but it is an important organisation, which numbers amongst its membership very important people. it is composed of women of all classes of the community, women who have influence in their particular organisations as working women; women who have influence in professional organisations as professional women; women of social importance; women even of royal rank are amongst the members of this organisation, and so it would not pay a democratic government to deal with this organisation as a whole. "they hoped that by taking away the people that they thought guided the political fortunes of the organisation they would break the organisation down. they thought that if they put out of the way the influential members of the organisation they, as one member of the cabinet, i believe, said, would crush the movement and get it 'on the run.' well, governments have many times been mistaken, gentlemen, and i venture to suggest to you that governments are mistaken again. i think the answer to the government was given at the albert hall meeting held immediately after our arrest. within a few minutes, without the eloquence of mrs. pethick lawrence, without the appeals of the people who have been called the leaders of this movement, in a very few minutes £ , was subscribed for the carrying on of this movement. "now a movement like that, supported like that, is not a wild, hysterical movement. it is not a movement of misguided people. it is a very serious movement. women, i submit, like our members, and women, i venture to say, like the two women, and like the man who are in the dock to-day, are not people to undertake a thing like this lightly. may i just try to make you feel what it is that has made this movement the gigantic size it is from the very small beginnings it had? it is one of the biggest movements of modern times. a movement which is not only an influence, perhaps not yet recognised, in this country, but is influencing the women's movement all over the world. is there anything more marvellous in modern times than the kind of spontaneous outburst in every country of this woman's movement? even in china--and i think it somewhat of a disgrace to englishmen--even in china women have won the vote, as an outcome of a successful revolution, with which, i dare say, members of his majesty's government sympathise--a bloody revolution. "one more word on that point. when i was in prison the second time, for three months as a common criminal for no greater offence than the issue of a handbill--less inflammatory in its terms than some of the speeches of members of the government who prosecute us here--during that time, through the efforts of a member of parliament, there was secured for me permission to have the daily paper in prison, and the first thing i read in the daily press was this: that the government was at that moment fêting the members of the young turkish revolutionary party, gentlemen who had invaded the privacy of the sultan's home--we used to hear a great deal about invading the privacy of mr. asquith's residence when we ventured to ring his door bell--gentlemen who had killed and slain, and had been successful in their revolution, while we women had never thrown a stone--for none of us was imprisoned for stone throwing, but merely for taking the part we had then taken in this organisation. there we were imprisoned while these political murderers were being fêted by the very government who imprisoned us, and were being congratulated on the success of their revolution. now i ask you, was it to be wondered at that women said to themselves: 'perhaps it is that we have not done enough. perhaps it is that these gentlemen do not understand womenfolk. perhaps they do not realise women's ways, and because we have not done the things that men have done, they may think we are not in earnest.' "and then we come down to this last business of all, when we have responsible statesmen like mr. hobhouse saying that there had never been any sentimental uprising, no expression of feeling like that which led to the burning down of nottingham castle. can you wonder, then, that we decided we should have to nerve ourselves to do more, and can you understand why we cast about to find a way, as women will, that would not involve loss of human life and the maiming of human beings, because women care more about human life than men, and i think it is quite natural that we should, for we know what life costs. we risk our lives when men are born. now, i want to say this deliberately as a leader of this movement. we have tried to hold it back, we have tried to keep it from going beyond bounds, and i have never felt a prouder woman than i did one night when a police constable said to me, after one of these demonstrations, 'had this been a man's demonstration, there would have been bloodshed long ago.' well, my lord, there has not been any bloodshed except on the part of the women themselves--these so-called militant women. violence has been done to us, and i who stand before you in this dock have lost a dear sister in the course of this agitation. she died within three days of coming out of prison, a little more than a year ago. these are things which, wherever we are, we do not say very much about. we cannot keep cheery, we cannot keep cheerful, we cannot keep the right kind of spirit, which means success, if we dwell too much upon the hard part of our agitation. but i do say this, gentlemen, that whatever in future you may think of us, you will say this about us, that whatever our enemies may say, we have always put up an honourable fight, and taken no unfair means of defeating our opponents, although they have not always been people who have acted so honourably towards us. "we have assaulted no one; we have done no hurt to any one; and it was not until 'black friday'--and what happened on 'black friday' is that we had a new home secretary, and there appeared to be new orders given to the police, because the police on that occasion showed a kind of ferocity in dealing with the women that they had never done before, and the women came to us and said: 'we cannot bear this'--it was not until then we felt this new form of repression should compel us to take another step. that is the question of 'black friday,' and i want to say here and now that every effort was made after 'black friday' to get an open public judicial inquiry into the doings of 'black friday,' as to the instructions given to the police. that inquiry was refused; but an informal inquiry was held by a man, whose name will carry conviction as to his status and moral integrity on the one side of the great political parties, and a man of equal standing on the liberal side. these two men were lord robert cecil and mr. ellis griffith. they held a private inquiry, had women before them, took their evidence, examined that evidence, and after hearing it said that they believed what the women had told them was substantially true, and that they thought there was good cause for that inquiry to be held. that was embodied in a report. to show you our difficulties, lord robert cecil, in a speech at the criterion restaurant, spoke on this question. he called upon the government to hold this inquiry, and not one word of that speech was reported in any morning paper. that is the sort of thing we have had to face, and i welcome standing here, if only for the purpose of getting these facts out, and i challenge the attorney general to institute an inquiry into these proceedings--not that kind of inquiry of sending their inspectors to holloway and accepting what they are told by the officials--but to open a public inquiry, with a jury, if he likes, to deal with our grievances against the government and the methods of this agitation. "i say it is not the defendants who have conspired, but the government who have conspired against us to crush this agitation; but however the matter may be decided, we are content to abide by the verdict of posterity. we are not the kind of people who like to brag a lot; we are not the kind of people who would bring ourselves into this position unless we were convinced that it was the only way. i have tried--all my life i have worked for this question--i have tried arguments, i have tried persuasion. i have addressed a greater number of public meetings, perhaps, than any person in this court, and i have never addressed one meeting where substantially the opinion of the meeting--not a ticket meeting, but an open meeting, for i have never addressed any other kind of a meeting--has not been that where women bear burdens and share responsibilities like men they should be given the privileges that men enjoy. i am convinced that public opinion is with us--that it has been stifled--wilfully stifled--so that in a public court of justice one is glad of being allowed to speak on this question." the attorney general's summing up for the prosecution was very largely a defence of the liberal party and its course in regard to woman suffrage legislation. therefore, mr. tim healey, in his defence of mrs. pethick lawrence, did well to lay stress on the political character of the conspiracy charge and trial. he said: "it is no doubt a very useful thing when you have political opponents to be able to set the law in motion against them. i have not the smallest doubt it would be a very convenient thing, if they had the courage to do it, to shut up the whole of his majesty's opposition while the present government is in office--to lock up all the men of lustre and distinction in our public forum and on our public platforms--all the carsons, f. e. smiths, bonar laws, and so on. it would be a most convenient thing to end the whole thing, as it would be to end women's agitation in the form of the indictment. gentlemen of the jury, whatever words have been spoken by mutual opponents, whatever instructions have been addressed, not to feeble females, but to men who boast of drilling and of arms, they have not had the courage to prosecute anybody, except women, by means of an indictment. yet the government of my learned friend have selected two dates as cardinal dates, and they ask you to pass judgment upon the prisoners at the bar, and to say that, without rhyme or reason, taking the course suggested without provocation, these responsible, well-bred, educated, university people, have suddenly, in the words of the indictment, wickedly and with malice aforethought engaged in these criminal designs. "gentlemen of the jury, the first thing i would ask in that connection is this: what is there in the course of this demand put forward by women which should have excited the treatment at the hands of his majesty's ministers which this movement, according to the documents which are in evidence before me, has received? i should suppose that the essence of all government is the smooth conduct of affairs, so that those who enjoy high station, great emoluments, should not be parties against whom the accusation of provoking civic strife and breeding public turmoil should be brought. what do we find? we find that, in regard to the treatment of the demand which had always been put forward humbly, respectably, respectfully, in its origin, by those who have received trade unionists, anti-vaccinators, deceased wife's sisters, and all other forms of political demand, and who have received them humbly and yielded to them, we find that when these people advocating this particular form of civic reform request an audience, request admission, request even to have their petitions respectfully received, they have met, judicially, at all events, with a flat and solemn negative. that is the beginning of this unhappy spirit bred in the minds of persons like the defendants, persons like those against whom evidence has been tendered--which has led to your being empanelled in that box to-day. and i put it to you when you are considering whether it is the incitement of my clients or the conduct of ministers that have led to these events--whether i cannot ask you to say that even a fair apportionment of blame should not rest upon more responsible shoulders, and whether you should go out of your way to say that these persons in the dock alone are guilty." in closing mr. healey reverted to the political character of the trial. "the government have undertaken this prosecution," he declared, "to seclude for a considerable period their chief opponents. they hope there will be at public meetings which they attend no more inconvenient cries of 'votes for women.' i cannot conceive any other object which they could have in bringing the prosecution. i have expressed my regret at the loss which the shopkeepers, tradesmen and others have suffered. i regret it deeply. i regret that any person should bring loss or suffering upon innocent people. but i ask you to say that the law has already been sufficiently vindicated by the punishment of the immediate authors of the deed. what can be gained? does justice gain? "i almost hesitate to treat this as a legal inquiry. i regard it as a vindictive political act. of all the astonishing acts that have ever been brought into a public court against a prisoner i cannot help feeling the charge against mr. pethick lawrence is the most astonishing. he ventured to attend at some police courts and gave bail for women who had been arrested in endeavouring, as i understand, to present petitions to parliament or to have resort to violence. i do not complain of the way in which my learned friend has conducted the prosecution, but i do complain of the police methods--inquiring into the homes and the domestic circumstances of the prisoners, obtaining their papers, taking their newspaper, going into their banking account, bringing up their bankers here to say what is their balance; and i do say that in none of the prosecutions of the past have smaller methods belittled a great state trial, because, look at it as you will, you cannot get away from it that this is a great state trial. it is not the women who are on trial. it is the men. it is the system of government which is upon its trial. it is this method of rolling the dice by fifty-four counts in an indictment without showing to what any bit of evidence is fairly attributable; the system is on its trial--a system whereby every innocent act in public life is sought to be enmeshed in a conspiracy." the jury was absent for more than an hour, showing that they had some difficulty in agreeing upon a verdict. when they returned it was plain from their strained countenances that they were labouring under deep feeling. the foreman's voice shook as he pronounced the verdict, guilty as charged, and he had hard work to control his emotion as he added: "your lordship, we unanimously desire to express the hope that, taking into consideration the undoubtedly pure motives that underlie the agitation that has led to this trouble, you will be pleased to exercise the utmost clemency and leniency in dealing with the case." a burst of applause followed this plea. then mr. pethick lawrence arose and asked to say a few words before sentence was pronounced. he said that it must be evident, aside from the jury's recommendation, that we had been actuated by political motives, and that we were in fact political offenders. it had been decided in english courts that political offenders were different from ordinary offenders, and mr. lawrence cited the case of a swiss subject whose extradition was refused because of the political character of his offence. the court on that occasion had declared that even if the crime were murder committed with a political motive it was a political crime. mr. lawrence also reminded the judge of the case of the late mr. w. t. stead, convicted of a crime, yet because of the unusual motive behind the crime, was allowed first division treatment and full freedom to receive his family and friends. last of all the case of dr. jameson was cited. although his raid resulted in the death of twenty-one persons and the wounding of forty-six more, the political character of his offence was taken into account and he was made a first division prisoner. they were men, fighting in a man's war. we of the w. s. p. u. were women, fighting in a woman's war. lord coleridge, therefore, saw in us only reckless and criminal defiers of law. lord coleridge said: "you have been convicted of a crime for which the law would sanction, if i chose to impose it, a sentence of two years' imprisonment with hard labour. there are circumstances connected with your case which the jury have very properly brought to my attention, and i have been asked by you all three to treat you as first class misdemeanants. if, in the course of this case, i had observed any contrition or disavowal of the acts you have committed, or any hope that you would avoid repetition of them in future, i should have been very much prevailed upon by the arguments that have been advanced to me." no contrition having been expressed by us, the sentence of the court was that we were to suffer imprisonment, in the second division, for the term of nine months, and that we were to pay the costs of the prosecution. chapter iii the sentence of nine months astonished us beyond measure, especially in view of certain very recent events, one of these being the case of some sailors who had mutinied in order to call attention to something which they considered a peril to themselves and to all seafarers. they were tried and found technically guilty, but because of the motive behind their mutiny, were discharged without punishment. perhaps more nearly like our case than this was the case of the labour leader, tom mann, who, shortly before, had written a pamphlet calling upon his majesty's soldiers not to fire upon strikers when commanded to do so by their superior officers. from the government's point of view this was a much more serious kind of inciting than ours, because if it had been responded to the authorities would have been absolutely crippled in maintaining order. besides, soldiers who refuse to obey orders are liable to the death penalty. tom mann was given a sentence of six months, but this was received, on the part of the liberal press and liberal politicians, with so much clamour and protest that the prisoner was released at the end of two months. so, even on our way to prison, we told one another that our sentences could not stand. public opinion would never permit the government to keep us in prison for nine months, or in the second division for any part of our term. we agreed to wait seven parliamentary days before we began a hunger strike protest. it was very dreary waiting, those seven parliamentary days, because we could not know what was happening outside, or what was being talked of in the house. we could know nothing of the protests and memorials that were pouring in, on our behalf, from oxford and cambridge universities, from members of learned societies, and from distinguished men and women of all professions, not only in england but in every country of europe, from the united states and canada, and even from india. an international memorial asking that we be treated as political prisoners was signed by such great men and women as prof. paul milyoukoff, leader of the constitutional democrats in the duma; signor enrico ferri, of the italian chamber of deputies; edward bernstein, of the german reichstag; george brandes, edward westermarck, madame curie, ellen key, maurice maeterlinck, and many others. the greatest indignation was expressed in the house, keir hardie and mr. george lansbury leading in the demand for a drastic revision of our sentences and our immediate transference to the first division. so much pressure was brought to bear that within a few days the home secretary announced that he felt it his duty to examine into the circumstances of the case without delay. he explained that the prisoners had not at any time been forced to wear prison clothes. ultimately, which in this case means shortly before the expiration of the seven parliamentary days, we were all three placed in the first division. mrs. pethick lawrence was given the cell formerly occupied by dr. jameson and i had the cell adjoining. mr. pethick lawrence, in brixton gaol, was similarly accommodated. we all had the privilege of furnishing our cells with comfortable chairs, tables, our own bedding, towels, and so on. we had meals sent in from the outside; we wore our own clothing and had what books, newspapers and writing materials we required. we were not permitted to write or receive letters or to see our friends except in the ordinary two weeks' routine. still we had gained our point that suffrage prisoners were politicals. we had gained it, but, as it turned out, only for ourselves. when we made the inquiry, "are all our women now transferred to the first division?" the answer was that the order for transference referred only to mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence and myself. needless to say, we immediately refused to accept this unfair advantage, and after we had exhausted every means in our power to induce the home secretary to give the other suffrage prisoners the same justice that we had received, we adopted the protest of the hunger strike. the word flew swiftly through holloway, and in some mysterious way travelled to brixton, to aylesbury, and winson green, and at once all the other suffrage prisoners followed our lead. the government then had over eighty hunger strikers on their hands, and, as before, had ready only the argument of force, which means that disgusting and cruel process of forcible feeding. holloway became a place of horror and torment. sickening scenes of violence took place almost every hour of the day, as the doctors went from cell to cell performing their hideous office. one of the men did his work in such brutal fashion that the very sight of him provoked cries of horror and anguish. i shall never while i live forget the suffering i experienced during the days when those cries were ringing in my ears. in her frenzy of pain one woman threw herself from the gallery on which her cell opened. a wire netting eight feet below broke her fall to the iron staircase beneath, else she must inevitably have been killed. as it was she was frightfully hurt. the wholesale hunger strike created a tremendous stir throughout england, and every day in the house the ministers were harassed with questions. the climax was reached on the third or fourth day of the strike, when a stormy scene took place in the house of commons. the under home secretary, mr. ellis griffith, had been mercilessly questioned as to conditions under which the forcible feeding was being done, and as soon as this was over one of the suffragist members made a moving appeal to the prime minister himself to order the release of all the prisoners. mr. asquith, forced against his will to take part in the controversy, rose and said that it was not for him to interfere with the actions of his colleague, mr. mckenna, and he added, in his own suave, mendacious manner: "i must point out this, that there is not one single prisoner who cannot go out of prison this afternoon on giving the undertaking asked for by the home secretary." meaning an undertaking to refrain henceforth from militancy. instantly mr. george lansbury sprang to his feet and exclaimed: "you know they cannot! it is perfectly disgraceful that the prime minister of england should make such a statement." mr. asquith glanced carelessly at the indignant lansbury, but sank into his seat without deigning to reply. shocked to the depths of his soul by the insult thrown at our women, mr. lansbury strode up to the ministerial bench and confronted the prime minister, saying again: "that was a disgraceful thing for you to say, sir. you are beneath contempt, you and your colleagues. you call yourselves gentlemen, and you forcibly feed and murder women in this fashion. you ought to be driven out of office. talk about protesting. it is the most disgraceful thing that ever happened in the history of england. you will go down to history as the men who tortured innocent women." by this time the house was seething, and the indignant labour member had to shout at the top of his big voice in order to be heard over the din. mr. asquith's pompous order that mr. lansbury leave the house for the day was probably known to very few until it appeared in print next day. at all events mr. lansbury continued his protest for five minutes longer. "you murder, torture and drive women mad," he cried, "and then you tell them they can walk out. you ought to be ashamed of yourself. you talk about principle--you talk about fighting in ulster--you, too--" turning to the unionist benches--"you ought to be driven out of public life. these women are showing you what principle is. you ought to honour them for standing up for their womanhood. i tell you, commons of england, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves." the speaker came to mr. asquith's rescue at last and adjured mr. lansbury that he must obey the prime minister's order to leave the house, saying that such disorderly conduct would cause the house to lose respect. "sir," exclaimed mr. lansbury, in a final burst of righteous rage, "it has lost it already." this unprecedented explosion of wrath and scorn against the government was the sensation of the hour, and it was felt on all sides that the release of the prisoners, or at least cessation of forcible feeding, which amounted to the same thing, would be ordered. every day the suffragettes marched in great crowds to holloway, serenading the prisoners and holding protest meetings to immense crowds. the music and the cheering, faintly wafted to our straining ears, was inexpressibly sweet. yet it was while listening to one of these serenades that the most dreadful moment of my imprisonment occurred. i was lying in bed, very weak from starvation, when i heard a sudden scream from mrs. lawrence's cell, then the sound of a prolonged and very violent struggle, and i knew that they had dared to carry their brutal business to our doors. i sprang out of bed and, shaking with weakness and with anger, i set my back against the wall and waited for what might come. in a few moments they had finished with mrs. lawrence and had flung open the door of my cell. on the threshold i saw the doctors, and back of them a large group of wardresses. "mrs. pankhurst," began the doctor. instantly i caught up a heavy earthenware water jug from a table hard by, and with hands that now felt no weakness i swung the jug head high. "if any of you dares so much as to take one step inside this cell i shall defend myself," i cried. nobody moved or spoke for a few seconds, and then the doctor confusedly muttered something about to-morrow morning doing as well, and they all retreated. i demanded to be admitted to mrs. lawrence's cell, where i found my companion in a desperate state. she is a strong woman, and a very determined one, and it had required the united strength of nine wardresses to overcome her. they had rushed into the cell without any warning, and had seized her unawares, else they might not have succeeded at all. as it was she resisted so violently that the doctors could not apply the stethoscope, and they had very great difficulty in getting the tube down. after the wretched affair was over mrs. lawrence fainted, and for hours afterwards was very ill. this was the last attempt made to forcibly feed either mrs. lawrence or myself, and two days later we were ordered released on medical grounds. the other hunger strikers were released in batches, as every day a few more triumphant rebels approached the point where the government stood in danger of committing actual murder. mr. lawrence, who was forcibly fed twice a day for more than ten days, was released in a state of complete collapse on july st. within a few days after that the last of the prisoners were at liberty. as soon as i was sufficiently recovered i went to paris and had the joy of seeing again my daughter christabel, who, during all the days of strife and misery, had kept her personal anxiety in the background and had kept staunchly at her work of leadership. the absence of mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence had thrown the entire responsibility of the editorship of our paper, _votes for women_, on her shoulders, but as she has invariably risen to meet new responsibility, she conducted the paper with skill and discretion. we had much to talk about and to consider, because it was evident that militancy, instead of being dropped, as the other suffrage societies were constantly suggesting, must go on very much more vigorously than before. the struggle had been too long drawn out. we had to seek ways to shorten it, to bring it to such a climax that the government would acknowledge that something had to be done. we had already demonstrated that our forces were impregnable. we could not be conquered, we could not be terrified, we could not even be kept in prison. therefore, since the government had their war lost in advance, our task was merely to hasten the surrender. the situation in parliament, as far as the suffrage question was concerned, was clean swept and barren. the third conciliation bill had failed to pass its second reading, the majority against it being fourteen. many liberal members were afraid to vote for the bill because mr. lloyd-george and mr. lewis harcourt had persistently spread the rumour that its passage, at that time, would result in splitting the cabinet. the irish nationalist members had become hostile to the bill because their leader, mr. redmond, was an anti-suffragist, and had refused to include a woman suffrage clause in the home rule bill. our erstwhile friends, the labour members, were so apathetic, or so fearful for certain of their own measures, that most of them stayed away from the house on the day the bill reached its second reading. so it was lost, and the militants were blamed for its loss! in june the government announced that mr. asquith's manhood suffrage bill would soon be introduced, and very soon after this the bill did appear. it simplified the registration machinery, reduced the qualifying period of residence to six months, and abolished property qualifications, plural voting and university representation. in a word, it gave the parliamentary franchise to every man above the age of twenty-one and it denied it to all women. never in the history of the suffrage movement had such an affront been offered to women, and never in the history of england had such a blow been aimed at women's liberties. it is true that the prime minister had pledged himself to introduce a bill capable of being amended to include women's suffrage, and to permit any amendment that passed its second reading to become a part of the bill. but we had no faith in an amendment, nor in any bill that was not from its inception an official government measure. mr. asquith had broken every pledge he had ever made the women, and this new pledge impressed us not at all. well we knew that he had given it only to cover his treachery in torpedoing the conciliation bill, and in the hope of placating the suffragists, perhaps securing another truce to militancy. if this last was his hope he was most grievously disappointed. signs were constantly appearing to indicate that women would no longer be contented with the symbolic militancy involved in window breaking. for example, traces were found in the home secretary's office at whitehall of an attempt at arson. on the doorstep of another cabinet minister similar traces were found. had the government acted upon these warnings, by giving women the vote, all the serious acts of militancy that have occurred since would have been averted. but like the heart of pharaoh, the heart of the government hardened, and militant acts followed one another in rapid succession. in july the w. s. p. u. issued a manifesto which set forth our intentions in that regard. the manifesto read in part as follows: "the leaders of the women's social and political union have so often warned the government that unless the vote were granted to women in response to the mild militancy of the past, a fiercer spirit of revolt would be awakened which it would be impossible to control. the government have blindly disregarded the warning, and now they are reaping the harvest of their unstatesmanlike folly." this was issued immediately after a visit paid by mr. asquith to dublin. the occasion had been intended to be one of great pomp and circumstance, a huge popular demonstration in honour of the sponsor of home rule, but the suffragettes turned it into the most lamentable fiasco imaginable. from the hour of mr. asquith's attempted secret departure from london until his return he lived and moved in momentary dread of suffragettes. every time he entered or left a railway carriage or a steamer he was confronted by women. every time he rose to speak he was interrupted by women. every public appearance he made was turned into a riot by women. as he left dublin a woman threw a hatchet into his motor car, without, however, doing him any injury. as a final protest against his reception by irishmen, the theatre royal was set on fire by two women. the theatre was practically empty at the time, the performance having been completed, and the damage done was comparatively small, yet the two women chiefly concerned, mrs. leigh and miss evans, were given the barbarous sentences of five years each in prison. these were the first women sentenced to penal servitude in the history of our movement. of course they did not serve their sentences. on entering mountjoy prison they put in the usual claim for first division treatment, and this being refused, they immediately adopted the hunger strike. a number of irish suffragettes were in mountjoy at this time for a protest made against the exclusion of women from the home rule bill. they were in the first division, and they were almost on the eve of their release, but such is the indomitable spirit of militancy that these women entered upon a sympathetic hunger strike. they were released, but the government forbade the release of mrs. leigh and miss evans, that is, they ordered the authorities to retain the women as long as they could, by forcible feeding, be kept alive. after a struggle which, for fierceness and cruelty, is almost unparalleled in our annals, the two women fought their way out. all during that summer militancy surged up and down throughout the kingdom. a series of attacks on golf links was instituted, not at all in a spirit of wanton mischief, but with the direct and very practical object of reminding the dull and self-satisfied english public that when the liberties of english women were being stolen from them was no time to think of sports. the women selected country clubs where prominent liberal politicians were wont to take their week-end pleasures, and with acids they burned great patches of turf, rendering the golf greens useless for the time being. they burned the words, votes for women, in some cases, and always they left behind them reminders that women were warring for their freedom. on one occasion when the court was at balmoral castle in scotland, the suffragettes invaded the royal golf links, and when sunday morning dawned all the marking flags were found to have been replaced by w. s. p. u. flags hearing inscriptions such as "votes for women means peace for ministers," "forcible feeding must be stopped," and the like. the golf links were frequently visited by suffragettes in order to question recreant ministers. two women followed the prime minister to inverness, where he was playing golf with mr. mckenna. approaching the men one suffragette exclaimed: "mr. asquith, you must stop forcible feeding--" she got no farther, for mr. asquith, turning pale with rage--perhaps--retreated behind the home secretary, who, quite forgetting his manners, seized the suffragette, crying out that he was going to throw her into the pond. "then we will take you with us," the two retorted, after which a very lively scuffle ensued, and the women were not thrown into the pond. [illustration: a suffragette throwing a bag of flour at mr. asquith in chester] this golf green activity really aroused more hostility against us than all the window-breaking. the papers published appeals to us not to interfere with a game that helped weary politicians to think clearly, but our reply to this was that it had not had any such effect on the prime minister or mr. lloyd-george. we had undertaken to spoil their sport and that of a large class of comfortable men in order that they should be obliged to think clearly about women, and women's firm determination to get justice. i made my return to active work in the autumn by speaking at a great meeting of the w. s. p. u., held in the albert hall. at that meeting i had the announcement to make that the six years' association of mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence with the w. s. p. u. had ended. since personal dissensions have never been dwelt upon in the w. s. p. u., have never been allowed to halt the movement or to interfere for an hour with its progress, i shall not here say any more about this important dissension than i said at our first large meeting in albert hall after the holiday, on october th. that day a new paper was sold on the streets. it was called _the suffragette_, it was edited by christabel pankhurst, and was henceforth to be the official organ of the union. both in this new paper and in _votes for women_, the following announcement appeared: grave statement by the leaders at the first reunion of the leaders after the enforced holiday, mrs. pankhurst and miss christabel pankhurst outlined a new militant policy which mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence found themselves altogether unable to approve. mrs. pankhurst and miss christabel pankhurst indicated that they were not prepared to modify their intentions, and recommended that mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence should resume control of the paper, _votes for women_, and should leave the women's social and political union. rather than make schism in the ranks of the union mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence consented to take this course. this was signed by all four. that night at the meeting i further explained to the members that, hard as partings from old friends and comrades unquestionably were, we must remember that we were fighting in an army, and that unity of purpose and unity of policy are absolutely necessary, because without them the army is hopelessly weakened. "it is better," i said, "that those who cannot agree, cannot see eye to eye as to policy, should set themselves free, should part, and should be free to continue their policy as they see it in their own way, unfettered by those with whom they can no longer agree." continuing i said: "i give place to none in appreciation and gratitude to mr. and mrs. pethick lawrence for the incalculable services that they have rendered the militant movement for woman suffrage, and i firmly believe that the women's movement will be strengthened by their being free to work for woman suffrage in the future as they think best, while we of the women's social and political union shall continue the militant agitation for woman suffrage initiated by my daughter and myself and a handful of women more than six years ago." i then went on to survey the situation in which the w. s. p. u. now stood and to outline the new militant policy which he had decided upon. this policy, to begin with, was relentless opposition, not only to the party in power, the liberal party, but to all parties in the coalition. i reminded the women that the government that had tricked and betrayed us and was now plotting to make our progress towards citizenship doubly difficult, was kept in office through the coalition of three parties. there was the liberal party, nominally the governing party, but they could not live another day without the coalition of the nationalist and the labour parties. so we should say, not only to the liberal party but to the nationalist party and the labour party, "so long as you keep in office an anti-suffrage government, you are parties to their guilt, and from henceforth we offer you the same opposition which we give to the people whom you are keeping in power with your support." i said further: "we have summoned the labour party to do their duty by their own programme, and to go into opposition to the government on every question until the government do justice to women. they apparently are not willing to do that. some of them tell us that other things are more important than the liberty of women--than the liberty of working women. we say, 'then, gentlemen, we must teach you the value of your own principles, and until you are prepared to stand for the right of women to decide their lives and the laws under which they shall live, you, with mr. asquith and company, are equally responsible for all that has happened and is happening to women in this struggle for emancipation.'" outlining further our new and stronger policy of aggression, i said: "there is a great deal of criticism, ladies and gentlemen, of this movement. it always seems to me when the anti-suffrage members of the government criticise militancy in women that it is very like beasts of prey reproaching the gentler animals who turn in desperate resistance when at the point of death. criticism from gentlemen who do not hesitate to order out armies to kill and slay their opponents, who do not hesitate to encourage party mobs to attack defenceless women in public meetings--criticism from them hardly rings true. then i get letters from people who tell me that they are ardent suffragists but who say that they do not like the recent developments in the militant movement, and implore me to urge the members not to be reckless with human life. ladies and gentlemen, the only recklessness the militant suffragists have shown about human life has been about their own lives and not about the lives of others, and i say here and now that it has never been and never will be the policy of the women's social and political union recklessly to endanger human life. we leave that to the enemy. we leave that to the men in their warfare. it is not the method of women. no, even from the point of view of public policy, militancy affecting the security of human life would be out of place. _there is something that governments care far more for than human life, and that is the security of property, and so it is through property that we shall strike the enemy._ from henceforward the women who agree with me will say, 'we disregard your laws, gentlemen, we set the liberty and the dignity and the welfare of women above all such considerations, and we shall continue this war, as we have done in the past; and what sacrifice of property, or what injury to property accrues will not be our fault. it will be the fault of that government who admit the justice of our demands, but refuses to concede them without the evidence, so they have told us, afforded to governments of the past, that those who asked for liberty were in earnest in their demands!" i called upon the women of the meeting to join me in this new militancy, and i reminded them anew that the women who were fighting in the suffragette army had a great mission, the greatest mission the world has ever known--the freeing of one-half the human race, and through that freedom the saving of the other half. i said to them: "be militant each in your own way. those of you who can express your militancy by going to the house of commons and refusing to leave without satisfaction, as we did in the early days--do so. those of you who can express militancy by facing party mobs at cabinet ministers' meetings, when you remind them of their falseness to principle--do so. those of you who can express your militancy by joining us in our anti-government by-election policy--do so. those of you who can break windows--break them. those of you who can still further attack the secret idol of property, so as to make the government realise that property is as greatly endangered by women's suffrage as it was by the chartists of old--do so. and my last word is to the government: i incite this meeting to rebellion. i say to the government: you have not dared to take the leaders of ulster for their incitement to rebellion. take me if you dare, but if you dare i tell you this, that so long as those who incited to armed rebellion and the destruction of human life in ulster are at liberty, you will not keep me in prison. so long as men rebels--and voters--are at liberty, we will not remain in prison, first division or no first division." i ask my readers, some of whom no doubt will be shocked and displeased at these words of mine that i have so frankly set down, to put themselves in the place of those women who for years had given their lives entirely and unstintingly to the work of securing political freedom for women; who had converted so great a proportion of the electorate that, had the house of commons been a free body, we should have won that freedom years before; who had seen their freedom withheld from them through treachery and misuse of power. i ask you to consider that we had used, in our agitation, only peaceful means until we saw clearly that peaceful means were absolutely of no avail, and then for years we had used only the mildest militancy, until we were taunted by cabinet ministers, and told that we should never get the vote until we employed the same violence that men had used in their agitation for suffrage. after that we had used stronger militancy, but even that, by comparison with the militancy of men in labour disputes, could not possibly be counted as violent. through all these stages of our agitation we had been punished with the greatest severity, sent to prison like common criminals, and of late years tortured as no criminals have been tortured for a century in civilised countries of the world. and during all these years we had seen disastrous strikes that had caused suffering and death, to say nothing at all of the enormous economic waste, and we had never seen a single strike leader punished as we had been. we, who had suffered sentences of nine months' imprisonment for inciting women to mild rebellion, had seen a labour leader who had done his best to incite an army to mutiny released from prison in two months by the government. and now we had come to a point where we saw civil war threatened, where we read in the papers every day reports of speeches a thousand times more incendiary than anything we had ever said. we heard prominent members of parliament openly declaring that if the home rule bill was passed ulster would fight, and ulster would be right. none of these men were arrested. instead they were applauded. lord selborne, one of our sternest critics, referring to the fact that ulstermen were drilling under arms, said publicly: "the method which the people of ulster are adopting to show the depths of their convictions and the intensity of their feelings will impress the imagination of the whole country." but lord selborne was not arrested. neither were the mutinous officers who resigned their commissions when ordered to report for duty against the men of ulster who were actually preparing for civil war. what does all this mean? why is it that men's blood-shedding militancy is applauded and women's symbolic militancy punished with a prison cell and the forcible feeding horror? it means simply this, that men's double standard of sex morals, whereby the victims of their lust are counted as outcasts, while the men themselves escape all social censure, really applies to morals in all departments of life. men make the moral code and they expect women to accept it. they have decided that it is entirely right and proper for men to fight for their liberties and their rights, but that it is not right and proper for women to fight for theirs.[ ] they have decided that for men to remain silently quiescent while tyrannical rulers impose bonds of slavery upon them is cowardly and dishonourable, but that for women to do that same thing is not cowardly and dishonourable, but merely respectable. well, the suffragettes absolutely repudiate that double standard of morals. if it is right for men to fight for their freedom, and god knows what the human race would be like to-day if men had not, since time began, fought for their freedom, then it is right for women to fight for their freedom and the freedom of the children they bear. on this declaration of faith the militant women of england rest their case. footnote: [ ] there is no question that a great deal of the animus directed against us during and by the government was due to sex bitterness stirred up by a series of articles written by christabel pankhurst and published in _the suffragette_. these articles, a fearless and authoritative exposé of the evils of sexual immoralities and their blasting effect on innocent wives and children, have since been published in a book called "the great scourge, and how to end it," issued by david nutt, new oxford street, london w. c. chapter iv i had called upon women to join me in striking at the government through the only thing that governments are really very much concerned about--property--and the response was immediate. within a few days the newspapers rang with the story of the attack made on letter boxes in london, liverpool, birmingham, bristol, and half a dozen other cities. in some cases the boxes, when opened by postmen, mysteriously burst into flame; in others the letters were destroyed by corrosive chemicals; in still others the addresses were rendered illegible by black fluids. altogether it was estimated that over , letters were completely destroyed and many thousands more were delayed in transit. it was with a deep sense of their gravity that these letter-burning protests were undertaken, but we felt that something drastic must be done in order to destroy the apathy of the men of england who view with indifference the suffering of women oppressed by unjust laws. as we pointed out, letters, precious though they may be, are less precious than human bodies and souls. this fact was universally realised at the sinking of the _titanic_. letters and valuables disappeared forever, but their loss was forgotten in the far more terrible loss of the multitude of human lives. and so, in order to call attention to greater crimes against human beings, our letter burnings continued. in only a few cases were the offenders apprehended, and one of the few women arrested was a helpless cripple, a woman who could move about only in a wheeled chair. she received a sentence of eight months in the first division, and, resolutely hunger striking, was forcibly fed with unusual brutality, the prison doctor deliberately breaking one of her teeth in order to insert a gag. in spite of her disabilities and her weakness the crippled girl persisted in her hunger strike and her resistance to prison rules, and within a short time had to be released. the excessive sentences of the other pillar box destroyers resolved themselves into very short terms because of the resistance of the prisoners, every one of whom adopted the hunger strike. having shown the government that we were in deadly earnest when we declared that we would adopt guerrilla warfare, and also that we would not remain in prison, we announced a truce in order that the government might have full opportunity to fulfil their pledge in regard to a woman suffrage amendment to the franchise bill. we did not, for one moment, believe that mr. asquith would willingly keep his word. we knew that he would break it if he could, but there was a bare chance that he would not find this possible. however, our principal reason for declaring the truce was that we believed that the prime minister would find a way of evading his promise, and we were determined that the blame should be placed, not on militancy, but on the shoulders of the real traitor. we reviewed the history of past suffrage bills: in the bill had passed its second reading by a majority of ; and then mr. asquith had refused to allow it to go on; in the conciliation bill passed its second reading by a majority of , and again mr. asquith blocked its progress, pledging himself that if the bill were reintroduced in , in a form rendering it capable of free amendment, it would be given full facilities for becoming law; these conditions were met in , and we saw how the bill, after receiving the increased majority of votes, was torpedoed by the introduction of a government manhood suffrage bill. mr. asquith this time had pledged himself that the bill would be so framed that a woman suffrage amendment could be added, and he further pledged that in case such an amendment was carried through its second reading, he would allow it to become a part of the bill. just exactly how the government would manage to wriggle out of their promise was a matter of excited speculation. all sorts of rumours were flying about, some hinting at the resignation of the prime minister, some suggesting the possibility of a general election, others that the amended bill would carry with it a forced referendum on women's suffrage. it was also said that the intention of the government was to delay the bill so long that, after it was passed in the house, it would be excluded from the benefits of the parliament acts, according to which a bill, delayed of passage beyond the first two years of the life of a parliament, has no chance of being considered by the lords. in order to become a law without the sanction of the house of lords, a bill must pass three times through the house of commons. the prospect of a woman suffrage bill doing that was practically nil. to none of the rumours would mr. asquith give specific denial, and in fact the only positive utterance he made on the subject of the franchise bill was that he considered it highly improbable that the house would pass a woman suffrage amendment. in order to discourage woman suffrage sentiment in the house, mr. lloyd-george and mr. lewis harcourt again busied themselves with spreading pessimistic prophecies of a cabinet split in case an amendment was carried. no other threat, they well knew, would so terrorize the timid back bench liberals, who, in addition to their blind party loyalty, stood in fear of losing their seats in the general election which would follow such a split. rather than risk their political jobs they would have sacrificed any principle. of course the hint of a cabinet split was pure buncombe, and it deceived few of the members. but it established very clearly one thing, and this was that mr. asquith's promise that the house should be left absolutely free to decide the suffrage issue, and that the cabinet stood ready to bow to the decision of the house was never meant to be fulfilled. the franchise bill unamended, by its very wording, specifically denied the right of any woman to vote. sir edward grey moved an amendment deleting from the bill the word male, thus leaving room for a women's suffrage amendment. two such amendments were moved, one providing for adult suffrage for men and women, and the other providing full suffrage for women householders and wives of householders. the latter postponed the voting age of women to twenty-five years, instead of the men's twenty-one. on january th, , debate on the first of the amendments was begun. a day and a half had been allotted to consideration of sir edward grey's amendment, which if carried would leave the way clear for consideration of the other two, to each of which one-third of a day was allotted. we had arranged for huge meetings to be held every day during the debates, and on the day before they were to open we sent a deputation of working women, led by mrs. drummond and miss annie kenney, to interview mr. lloyd-george and sir edward grey. we had asked mr. asquith to receive the deputation, but, as usual, he refused. the deputation consisted of the two leaders, four cotton mill operatives from lancashire, four workers in sweated trades of london, two pit brow lassies, two teachers, two trained nurses, one shop assistant, one laundress, one boot and shoe worker and one domestic worker, twenty in all, the exact number specified by mr. lloyd-george. some hundreds of working women escorted the deputation to the official residence of the chancellor of the exchequer and waited anxiously in the street to hear the result of the audience. the result was, of course, barren. mr. lloyd-george glibly repeated his confidence in the "great opportunity" afforded by the franchise bill, and sir edward grey, reminding the women of the divergence of view held by the members of cabinet on the suffrage question, assured them that their best opportunity for success lay in an amendment to the present bill. the women spoke with the greatest candour to the two ministers and questioned them sharply as to the integrity of the prime minister's pledge to accept the amendments, if passed. to such depth of infamy had english politics sunk that it was possible for women openly to question the plighted word of the king's chief minister! mrs. drummond, who stands in awe of no human being, in plain words invited the slippery mr. lloyd-george to clear his own character from obloquy. in the closing words of her speech she put the whole matter clearly up to him, saying: "now, mr. lloyd-george, you have doggedly stuck to your old age pensions, and the insurance act, and secured them, and what you have done for these measures you can do also for the women." the house met on the following afternoon to debate sir edward grey's permissive amendment, but no sooner had the discussion opened than a veritable bombshell was cast into the situation. mr. bonar law arose and asked for a ruling on the constitutionality of a woman's suffrage amendment to the bill as framed. the speaker, who, besides acting as the presiding officer of the house, is its official parliamentarian, replied that, in his opinion, such an amendment would make a huge difference in the bill, and that he would be obliged, at a later stage of the debates, to consider carefully whether, if carried, any woman suffrage amendment would not so materially alter the bill that it would have to be withdrawn. in spite of this sinister pronouncement, the house continued to debate the grey amendment, which was ably supported by lord hugh cecil, sir john rolleston, and others. during the intervening week-end holiday two cabinet councils were held, and when the house met on monday the prime minister called upon the speaker for his ruling. the speaker declared that, in his opinion, the passage of any one of the woman suffrage amendments would so alter the scope of the franchise bill as practically to create a new bill, because the measure, as it was framed, did not have for its main object the bestowal of the franchise on a hitherto excluded class. had it been so framed a woman suffrage amendment would have been entirely proper. but the main object of the bill was to alter the qualification, or the basis of registration for a parliamentary vote. it would increase the male electorate, but only as an indirect result of the changed qualifications. an amendment to the bill removing the sex barrier from the election laws was not, in the speaker's opinion, a proper one. the prime minister then announced the intentions of the cabinet, which were to withdraw the franchise bill and to refrain from introducing, during that session, a plural voting bill. mr. asquith blandly admitted that his pledge in regard to women's suffrage had been rendered incapable of fulfilment, and he said that he felt constrained to give a new pledge to take its place. there were only two that could be given. the first was that the government should bring in a bill to enfranchise women, and this the government would not do. the second was that the government agree to give full facilities as to time, during the next session of parliament, to a private member's bill, so drafted as to be capable of free amendment. this was the course that the government had decided to adopt. mr. asquith had the effrontery to say in conclusion that he thought that the house would agree that he had striven and had succeeded in giving effect, both in letter and in spirit, to every undertaking which the government had given. two members only, mr. henderson and mr. keir hardie had the courage to stand up on the floor of the house and denounce the government's treachery, for treachery it unquestionably was. mr. asquith had pledged his sacred honour to introduce a bill that would be capable of an amendment to include women's suffrage, and he had framed a bill that could not be so amended. whether he had done the thing deliberately, with the plain intention of selling out the women, or whether ignorance of parliamentary rules accounted for the failure of the bill was immaterial. the bill need not have been drawn in ignorance. the fount of wisdom represented by mr. speaker could have been consulted at the time the bill was under construction quite as easily as when it had reached the debating stage. our paper said editorially, representing and perfectly expressing our member's views: "either the government are so ignorant of parliamentary procedure that they are unfit to occupy any position of responsibility, or else they are scoundrels of the worst kind." i am inclined to think that the verdict of posterity will lean towards the later conclusion. if mr. asquith had been a man of honour he would have reframed the franchise bill in such a way that it could have included a suffrage amendment, or else he would have made amends for his stupendous blunder--if it was a blunder--by introducing a government measure for women's suffrage. he did neither, but disposed of the matter by promising facilities for a private member's bill which he knew, and which everybody knew, could not possibly pass. there was no chance for a private member's bill, even with facilities, because of a number of reasons, but principally because the torpedoing of the conciliation bill had destroyed utterly the spirit of conciliation in which conservatives, liberals and radicals in the house of commons, and militant and non-militant women throughout the kingdom had set aside their differences of opinion and agreed to come together on a compromise measure. when the second conciliation bill, of , was under discussion, lord lytton had said: "if this bill does not go through, the woman suffrage movement will not be stopped, but the spirit of conciliation of which this bill is an expression will be destroyed, and there will he war throughout the country, raging, tearing, fierce, bitter strife, though nobody wants it." lord lytton's words were prophetic. at this last brazen piece of trickery on the part of the government the country blazed with bitter wrath. all the suffrage societies united in calling for a government measure for women's suffrage to be introduced without delay. the idle promise of facilities for a private member's bill was rejected with contumely and scorn. the liberal women's executive committee met, and a strong effort was made to pass a resolution threatening the withdrawal from party work of the entire federation, but this failed and the executive merely passed a feeble resolution of regret. the membership of the women's liberal federation was, at that time, close to , , and if the executive had passed the strong resolution, refusing to do any more work for the party until a government measure had been introduced, the government would have been forced to yield. they could not have faced the country without the support of the women. but these women, many of them, were wives of men in the service, the paid service of the liberal party. many of them were wives of liberal members. they lacked the courage, or the intelligence, or the insight, to declare war as a body on the government. a large number of women, and also many men, did resign from the liberal party, but the defections were not serious enough to affect the government. the militants declared, and proceeded instantly to carry out, unrelenting warfare. we announced that either we must have a government measure, or a cabinet split--those men in the cabinet calling themselves suffragists going out--or we would take up the sword again, never to lay it down until the enfranchisement of the women of england was won. it was at this time, february, , less than two years ago as i write these words, that militancy, as it is now generally understood by the public began--militancy in the sense of continued, destructive, guerilla warfare against the government through injury to private property. some property had been destroyed before this time, but the attacks were sporadic, and were meant to be in the nature of a warning as to what might become a settled policy. now we indeed lighted the torch, and we did it with the absolute conviction that no other course was open to us. we had tried every other measure, as i am sure that i have demonstrated to my readers, and our years of work and suffering and sacrifice had taught us that the government would not yield to right and justice, what the majority of members of the house of commons admitted was right and justice, but that the government would, as other governments invariably do, yield to expediency. now our task was to show the government that it was expedient to yield to the women's just demands. in order to do that we had to make england and every department of english life insecure and unsafe. we had to make english law a failure and the courts farce comedy theatres; we had to discredit the government and parliament in the eyes of the world; we had to spoil english sports, hurt business, destroy valuable property, demoralise the world of society, shame the churches, upset the whole orderly conduct of life-- that is, we had to do as much of this guerilla warfare as the people of england would tolerate. when they came to the point of saying to the government: "stop this, in the only way it can be stopped, by giving the women of england representation," then we should extinguish our torch. americans, of all people, ought to see the logic of our reasoning. there is one piece of american oratory, beloved of schoolboys, which has often been quoted from militant platforms. in a speech now included among the classics of the english language your great statesman, patrick henry, summed up the causes that led to the american revolution. he said: "we have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves at the foot of the throne, and it has all been in vain. we must fight--i repeat it, sir, we must fight." patrick henry, remember, was advocating killing people, as well as destroying private property, as the proper means of securing the political freedom of men. the suffragettes have not done that, and they never will. in fact the moving spirit of militancy is deep and abiding reverence for human life. in the latter course of our agitation i have been called upon to discuss our policies with many eminent men, politicians, literary men, barristers, scientists, clergymen. one of the last named, a high dignitary of the church of england, told me that while he was a convinced suffragist, he found it impossible to justify our doing wrong that right might follow. i said to him: "we are not doing wrong--we are doing right in our use of revolutionary methods against private property. it is our work to restore thereby true values, to emphasise the value of human rights against property rights. you are well aware, sir, that property has assumed a value in the eyes of men, and in the eyes of the law, that it ought never to claim. it is placed above all human values. the lives and health and happiness, and even the virtue of women and children--that is to say, the race itself--are being ruthlessly sacrificed to the god of property every day of the world." to this my reverend friend agreed, and i said: "if we women are wrong in destroying private property in order that human values may be restored, then i say, in all reverence, that it was wrong for the founder of christianity to destroy private property, as he did when he lashed the money changers out of the temple and when he drove the gaderene swine into the sea." it was absolutely in this spirit that our women went forth to war. in the first month of guerilla warfare an enormous amount of property was damaged and destroyed. on january st a number of putting greens were burned with acids; on february th and th telegraph and telephone wires were cut in several places and for some hours all communication between london and glasgow were suspended; a few days later windows in various of london's smartest clubs were broken, and the orchid houses at kew were wrecked and many valuable blooms destroyed by cold. the jewel room at the tower of london was invaded and a showcase broken. the residence of h. r. h. prince christian and lambeth palace, seat of the archbishop of canterbury, were visited and had windows broken. the refreshment house in regents park was burned to the ground on february th and on february th a country house which was being built at walton-on-the-hill for mr. lloyd-george was partially destroyed, a bomb having been exploded in the early morning before the arrival of the workmen. a hat pin and a hair pin picked up near the house--coupled with the fact that care had been taken not to endanger any lives--led the police to believe that the deed had been done by women enemies of mr. lloyd-george. four days later i was arrested and brought up in epsom police court, where i was charged with having "counselled and procured" the persons who did the damage. admitted to bail for the night, i appeared next morning in court, where the case was fully reviewed. speeches of mine were read, one speech, made at a meeting held on january nd, in which i called for volunteers to act with me in a particular engagement; and another, made the day after the explosion, in which i publicly accepted responsibility for all militant acts done in the past, and even for what had been done at walton. at the conclusion of the hearing i was committed for trial at the may assizes at guildford. bail would be allowed, it was stated, if i would agree to give the usual undertaking to refrain from all militancy or incitement to militancy. i asked that the case be set for speedy trial at the assizes then in progress. i was entirely willing, i said, to give an undertaking for a short period, for a week, or even two weeks, but i could not possibly do so for a much longer period, looking at the fact that a new session of parliament began in march, and was vitally concerned with the interests of women. the request was refused, and i was ordered to be taken to holloway. i warned the magistrate that i should at once adopt the hunger strike, and i told him that if i lived at all until the summer it would be a dying woman who would come up for trial. arriving at holloway i carried out my intention, but within twenty-four hours i heard that the authorities had arranged that my trial should take place on april st, instead of at the end of june, and at the central criminal court, london, instead of the guildford court. i then gave the required under-takings and was immediately released on bail. chapter v when i entered old bailey on that memorable wednesday, april nd, , to be tried for inciting to commit a felony, the court was packed with women. a great crowd of women who could not obtain the necessary tickets remained in the streets below for hours waiting news of the trial. a large number of detectives from scotland yard, and a still larger number of uniformed police were on duty both inside and outside the court. i could not imagine why it was considered necessary to have such a regiment of police on hand, for i had not, at that time, realised the state of terror into which the militant movement, in its new development, had thrown the authorities. mr. bodkin and mr. travers humphreys appeared to prosecute on behalf of the crown, and i conducted my own case, in consultation with my solicitor, mr. marshall. the judge, mr. justice lush, having taken his seat i entered the dock and listened to the reading of the indictment. i pled "not guilty," not because i wished to evade responsibility for the explosion,--i had already assumed that responsibility--but because the indictment accused me of having wickedly and maliciously incited women to crime. what i had done was not wicked of purpose, but quite the opposite of wicked. i could not therefore truthfully plead guilty. the trial having opened the judge courteously asked me if i would like to sit down. i thanked him, and asked if i might also have a small table on which to place my papers. by orders of the judge a table was brought me. mr. bodkin opened the case by explaining the "malicious damages to property act" of , under which i was charged, and after describing the explosion which had damaged the lloyd-george house at walton, said that i was accused of being in the affair an accessory before the fact. it was not suggested, he said, that i was present when the crime was committed, but it was charged that i had moved and incited, counselled and procured women whose names were unknown to carry out that crime. it would be for the jury to decide, after the evidence had been presented, whether the facts did not point most clearly to the conclusion that women, probably two in number, who committed the crime were members of the women's social and political union, which had its office in kingsway in london, and of which the defendant was the head, moving spirit and recognised leader. the blowing up of mr. lloyd-george's house was then described in detail. that the damage was intended as an act against mr. lloyd-george was clear, mr. bodkin said, from the malicious statements made against him by the prisoner. he produced a private letter written by me to a friend in which i had defended militancy, and said that not only had it become a duty but in the circumstances it had also become a political necessity. said mr. bodkin: "a letter of that kind proves very clearly several things. it shows that she is the leader. it shows her influence over the emotional members of this organisation. it shows that according to her, militancy can be withheld for a time and let loose upon society at another time. and it further shows that any person or any woman who wants to indulge in militancy, which is only a picturesque expression for committing crimes against society, has to communicate with her, and with her alone, by word of mouth or by letter. that is the proclamation which went out to the members of this organisation. the plain language of that letter is, 'if we don't get what we want, the government and their members will be responsible, and the government and the public will be bullied into giving us what we want.'" many extracts from my speeches made in january and february were read, and the final speech made just before my arrest at chelsea. but before they were read i said: "i wish to lodge an objection now to the police reports of my speeches. they have been supplied to me, and the only report i accept is that of the journalist of cardiff who is one of the witnesses. he has furnished a fairly accurate report of what i said in that town. the police reports i do not accept. they are grossly inaccurate and ignorant and ungrammatical, and they convey an absolutely wrong impression of what i said in many respects." witnesses were then examined; the carter who heard and reported the explosion; the foreman in charge of the damaged house, who told the cost of the damages, and described the explosives, etc., found on the premises; several police officers who told of finding hairpins and a woman's rubber golosh in the house, and so on. absolutely nothing was brought out that tended to show that the suffragettes had anything to do with the affair. the judge noted this for he said to mr. bodkin: "i am not quite sure how you present this case. there are two ways of looking at it. do you only ask the jury to say that the defendant specifically counselled the perpetration of this crime, or do you also say that, looking at her speeches that you read--assuming you prove that they were uttered--that the language used being a general incitement to damage property, any one who acted on this invitation and perpetrated this outrage would be incited by her to do it?" mr. bodkin replied that the latter assumption was correct. "i say that the speeches generally are incitement to all kinds of acts of violence against property, and that they present evidence of attacks against property and a particular individual, and that there is evidence in the speeches which have been read, and which will be proved, of admissions by mrs. pankhurst of having been connected with the particular outrage in a way which makes her in law an accessory before the fact." "but you do not confine the case to the latter way of putting it?" "no," replied mr. bodkin. "even if the jury are satisfied," said the judge, "that mrs. pankhurst was not directly connected with this outrage by counselling it, you still ask the jury to say that by counselling, as you say she had in the speeches, the destruction of property, especially that belonging to a particular gentleman, anybody who acted on that and committed this outrage would have been incited by her to do it?" "yes, my lord." "i think, mrs. pankhurst, you now understand the way it is put?" asked the judge. "i understand it quite well, my lord," i replied. proceedings were resumed on the following day, and the examination of witnesses for the prosecution went on. at the close of the examination, the judge inquired whether i desired to call any witnesses. i replied: "i do not desire to give evidence or to call any witnesses, but i desire to address your lordship." i began by objecting to some of the things mr. bodkin had said in his speech which concerned me personally. he had referred to me--or at least his words conveyed the suggestion--that i was a woman riding about in my motor car inciting other women to do acts which entail imprisonment and great suffering, while i, perhaps indulging in some curious form of pleasure, was protected, or thought myself protected, from serious consequences. i said that mr. bodkin knew perfectly well that i shared all the dangers the other women faced, that i had been in prison three times, serving two of the sentences in full, and being treated like an ordinary felon--searched, put in prison clothes, eating prison fare, given solitary confinement and conforming to all the abominable rules imposed upon women who commit crimes in england. i thought i owed it to myself, especially as the same suggestions--in regard to the luxury in which i lived, supported by the members of the w. s. p. u.--had been made, not only by mr. bodkin in court, but by members of the government in the house of commons--i thought i owed it to myself to say that i owned no motor car and never had owned one. the car in which i occasionally rode was owned by the organisation and was used for general propaganda work. in that car, and in cars owned by friends i had gone about my work as a speaker in the woman suffrage movement. it was equally untrue, i said, that some of us were making incomes of £ , to £ , a year out of the suffrage movement, as had actually been alleged in the debates in the house in which members of parliament were trying to decide how to crush militancy. no woman in our organisation was making any such income, or anything remotely like it. myself, i had sacrificed a considerable portion of my income because i had to surrender a very important part of it in order to be free to do what i thought was my duty in the movement. addressing myself to my defence i told the court that it was a very serious condition of things when a large number of respectable and naturally law abiding people, people of upright lives, came to hold the law in contempt, came seriously to making up their minds that they were justified in breaking the law. "the whole of good government," i said, "rests upon acceptance of the law, upon respect of the law, and i say to you seriously, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, that women of intelligence, women of training, women of upright life, have for many years ceased to respect the laws of this country. it is an absolute fact, and when you look at the laws of this country as they effect women it is not to be wondered at." at some length i went over these laws, laws that made it possible for the judge to send me, if found guilty, to prison for fourteen years, while the maximum penalty for offences of the most revolting kind against little girls was only two years' imprisonment. the laws of inheritance, the laws of divorce, the laws of guardianship of children--all so scandalously unjust to women, i sketched briefly, and i said that not only these laws and others, but the administration of the laws fell so far short of adequacy that women felt that they must be permitted to share the work of cleaning up the entire situation. i tried here to tell of certain dreadful things that i had learned as the wife of a barrister, things about some of the men in high places who are entrusted with the administration of the law, of a judge of assizes where many hideous crimes against women were tried, this judge himself being found dead one morning in a brothel, but the court would not allow me to go into personalities, as he called it, with regard to "distinguished people," and told me that the sole question before the jury was whether or not i was guilty as charged. i must speak on that subject and on no other. after a hard fight to be allowed to tell the jury the reasons why women had lost respect for the law, and were making such a struggle in order to become law makers themselves, i closed my speech by saying: "over one thousand women have gone to prison in the course of this agitation, have suffered their imprisonment, have come out of prison injured in health, weakened in body, but not in spirit. i come to stand my trial from the bedside of one of my daughters, who has come out of holloway prison, sent there for two months' hard labour for participating with four other people in breaking a small pane of glass. she has hunger-struck in prison. she submitted herself for more than five weeks to the horrible ordeal of feeding by force, and she has come out of prison having lost nearly two stone in weight. she is so weak that she cannot get out of her bed. and i say to you, gentlemen, that is the kind of punishment you are inflicting upon me or any other woman who may be brought before you. i ask you if you are prepared to send an incalculable number of women to prison--i speak to you as representing others in the same position--if you are prepared to go on doing that kind of thing indefinitely, because that is what is going to happen. there is absolutely no doubt about it. i think you have seen enough even in this present case to convince you that we are not women who are notoriety hunters. we could get that, heaven knows, much more cheaply if we sought it. we are women, rightly or wrongly, convinced that this is the only way in which we can win power to alter what for us are intolerable conditions, absolutely intolerable conditions. a london clergyman only the other day said that per cent. of the married women in his parish were breadwinners, supporting their husbands as well as their children. when you think of the wages women earn, when you think of what this means to the future of the children of this country, i ask you to take this question very, very seriously. only this morning i have had information brought to me which could be supported by sworn affidavits, that there is in this country, in this very city of london of ours, a regulated traffic, not only in women of full age, but in little children; that they are being purchased, that they are being entrapped, and that they are being trained to minister to the vicious pleasures of persons who ought to know better in their positions of life. "well, these are the things that have made us women determined to go on, determined to face everything, determined to see this thing out to the end, let it cost us what it may. and if you convict me, gentlemen, if you find me guilty, i tell you quite honestly and quite frankly, that whether the sentence is a long sentence, whether the sentence is a short sentence, i shall not submit to it. i shall, the moment i leave this court, if i am sent to prison, whether to penal servitude or to the lighter form of imprisonment--because i am not sufficiently versed in the law to know what his lordship may decide; but whatever my sentence is, from the moment i leave this court i shall quite deliberately refuse to eat food--i shall join the women who are already in holloway on the hunger strike. i shall come out of prison, dead or alive, at the earliest possible moment; and once out again, as soon as i am physically fit i shall enter into this fight again. life is very dear to all of us. i am not seeking, as was said by the home secretary, to commit suicide. i do not want to commit suicide. i want to see the women of this country enfranchised, and i want to live until that is done. those are the feelings by which we are animated. we offer ourselves as sacrifices, just as your forefathers did in the past, in this cause, and i would ask you all to put this question to yourselves:--have you the right, as human beings, to condemn another human being to death--because that is what it amounts to? can you throw the first stone? have you the right to judge women? "you have not the right in human justice, not the right by the constitution of this country, if rightly interpreted, to judge me, because you are not my peers. you know, every one of you, that i should not be standing here, that i should not break one single law--if i had the rights that you possess, if i had a share in electing those who make the laws i have to obey; if i had a voice in controlling the taxes i am called upon to pay, i should not be standing here. and i say to you it is a very serious state of things. i say to you, my lord, it is a very serious situation, that women of upright life, women who have devoted the best of their years to the public weal, that women who are engaged in trying to undo some of the terrible mistakes that men in their government of the country have made, because after all, in the last resort, men are responsible for the present state of affairs--i put it to you that it is a very serious situation. you are not accustomed to deal with people like me in the ordinary discharge of your duties; but you are called upon to deal with people who break the law from selfish motives. i break the law from no selfish motive. i have no personal end to serve, neither have any of the other women who have gone through this court during the past few weeks, like sheep to the slaughter. not one of these women would, if women were free, be law-breakers. they are women who seriously believe that this hard path that they are treading is the only path to their enfranchisement. they seriously believe that the welfare of humanity demands this sacrifice; they believe that the horrible evils which are ravaging our civilisation will never be removed until women get the vote. they know that the very fount of life is being poisoned; they know that homes are being destroyed; that because of bad education, because of the unequal standard of morals, even the mothers and children are destroyed by one of the vilest and most horrible diseases that ravage humanity. "there is only one way to put a stop to this agitation; there is only one way to break down this agitation. it is not by deporting us, it is not by locking us up in gaol; it is by doing us justice. and so i appeal to you gentlemen, in this case of mine, to give a verdict, not only on my case, but upon the whole of this agitation. i ask you to find me not guilty of malicious incitement to a breach of the law. "these are my last words. my incitement is not malicious. if i had power to deal with these things, i would be in absolute obedience to the law. i would say to women, 'you have a constitutional means of getting redress for your grievances; use your votes, convince your fellow-voters of the righteousness of your demands. that is the way to obtain justice.' i am not guilty of malicious incitement, and i appeal to you, for the welfare of the country, for the welfare of the race, to return a verdict of not guilty in this case that you are called upon to try." after recapitulating the charge the judge, in summing up, said: "it is scarcely necessary for me to tell you that the topics urged by the defendant in her address to you with regard to provocation by the laws of the country and the injustice done to women because they are not given the vote as men are, have no bearing upon the question you have to decide. "the motive at the back of her mind, or at the back of the minds of those who actually did put the gunpowder there, would afford no defence to this indictment. i am quite sure you will deal with this case upon the evidence, and the evidence alone, without regard to any question as to whether you think the law is just or unjust. it has nothing to do with the case. i should think you will probably have no doubt that this defendant, if she did these things charged against her, is not actuated by the ordinary selfish motive that leads most of the criminals who are in this dock to commit the crimes that they do commit. she is none the less guilty if she did these things which are charged against her, although she believes that by means of this kind the condition of society will be altered." the jury retired, and soon after the afternoon session of the court opened they filed in, and in reply to the usual question asked by the clerk of arraigns, said that they had agreed upon a verdict. said the clerk: "do you find mrs. pankhurst guilty or not guilty?" "guilty," said the foreman, "with a strong recommendation to mercy." i spoke once more to the judge. "the jury have found me guilty, with a strong recommendation to mercy, and i do not see, since motive is not taken into account in human laws, that they could do otherwise after your summing up. but since motive is not taken into account in human laws, and since i, whose motives are not ordinary motives, am about to be sentenced by you to the punishment which is accorded to people whose motives are selfish motives, i have only this to say: if it was impossible for a different verdict to be found; if it is your duty to sentence me, as it will be presently, then i want to say to you, as a private citizen, and to the jury as private citizens, that i, standing here, found guilty by the laws of my country, i say to you it is your duty, as private citizens, to do what you can to put an end to this intolerable state of affairs. i put that duty upon you. and i want to say, _whatever the sentence you pass upon me, i shall do what is humanly possible to terminate that sentence at the earliest possible moment. i have no sense of guilt. i feel i have done my duty. i look upon myself as a prisoner of war. i am under no moral obligation to conform to, or in any way accept, the sentence imposed upon me._ i shall take the desperate remedy that other women have taken. it is obvious to you that the struggle will be an unequal one, but i shall make it--i shall make it as long as i have an ounce of strength left in me, or any life left in me. "i shall fight, i shall fight, i shall fight, from the moment i enter prison to struggle against overwhelming odds; i shall resist the doctors if they attempt to feed me. i was sentenced last may in this court to nine months' imprisonment. i remained in prison six weeks. there are people who have laughed at the ordeal of hunger-striking and forcible feeding. all i can say is, and the doctors can bear me out, that i was released because, had i remained there much longer, i should have been a dead woman. "i know what it is because i have gone through it. my own daughter[ ] has only just left it. there are women there still facing that ordeal, facing it twice a day. think of it, my lord, twice a day this fight is gone through. twice a day a weak woman resisting overwhelming force, fights and fights as long as she has strength left; fights against women and even against men, resisting with her tongue, with her teeth, this ordeal. last night in the house of commons some alternative was discussed, or rather, some additional punishment. is it not a strange thing, my lord, that laws which have sufficed to restrain men throughout the history of this country do not suffice now to restrain women--decent women, honourable women? "well, my lord, i do want you to realise it. i am not whining about my punishment, i invited it. i deliberately broke the law, not hysterically or emotionally, but of set serious purpose, because i honestly feel it is the only way. now, i put the responsibility of what is to follow upon you, my lord, as a private citizen, and upon the gentlemen of the jury, as private citizens, and upon all the men in this court--what are you, with your political powers, going to do to end this intolerable situation? "_to the women i have represented, to the women who, in response to my incitement, have faced these terrible consequences, have broken laws, to them, i want to say i am not going to fail them, but to face it as they face it, to go through with it, and i know that they will go on with the fight whether i live or whether i die._ "_this movement will go on and on until we have the rights of citizens in this country, as women have in our colonies, as they will have throughout the civilised world before this woman's war is ended._ "that is all i have to say." mr. justice lush, in passing sentence, said: "it is my duty, mrs. emmeline pankhurst, and a very painful duty it is, to pass what, in my opinion, is a suitable and adequate sentence for the crime of which you have been most properly convicted, having regard to the strong recommendation to mercy by the jury. i quite recognise, as i have already said, that the motives that have actuated you in committing this crime are not the selfish motives that actuate most of the persons who stand in your position, but although you blind your eyes to it, i cannot help pointing out to you that the crime of which you have been convicted is not only a very serious one, but, in spite of your motives, it is, in fact, a wicked one. it is wicked because it not only leads to the destruction of property of persons who have done you no wrong, but in spite of your calculations, it may expose other people to the danger of being maimed or even killed. it is wicked because you are, and have been, luring other people--young women, it may be--to engage in such crimes, possibly to their own ruin; and it is wicked, because you cannot help being alive to it if you would only think. "you are setting an example to other persons who may have other grievances that they legitimately want to have put right by embarking on a similar scheme to yours, and trying to effect their object by attacking the property, if not the lives, of other people. i know, unfortunately--at least, i feel sure--you will pay no heed to what i say. i only beg of you to think of these things." "i have thought of them," i interjected. "think, if only for one short hour, dispassionately," continued the majesty of law, "i can only say that, although the sentence i am going to pass must be a severe one, must be adequate to the crime of which you have been found guilty, if you would only realise the wrong you are doing, and the mistake you are making, and would see the error you have committed, and undertake to amend matters by using your influence in a right direction, i would be the first to use all my best endeavours to bring about a mitigation of the sentence i am about to pass. "i cannot, and i will not, regard your crime as a merely trivial one. it is not. it is a most serious one, and, whatever you may think, it is a wicked one. i have paid regard to the recommendation of the jury. you yourself have stated the maximum sentence which this particular offence is by the legislature thought to deserve. the least sentence i can pass upon you is a sentence of three years' penal servitude." as soon as the sentence was pronounced the intense silence which had reigned throughout the trial was broken, and an absolute pandemonium broke out among the spectators. at first it was merely a confused and angry murmur of "shame!" "shame!" the murmurs quickly swelled into loud and indignant cries, and then from gallery and court there arose a great chorus uttered with the utmost intensity and passion. "shame!" "shame!" the women sprang to their feet, in many instances stood on their seats, shouting "shame!" "shame!" as i was conducted out of the dock in charge of two wardresses. "keep the flag flying!" shouted a woman's voice, and the response came in a chorus: "we will!" "bravo!" "three cheers for mrs. pankhurst!" that was the last i heard of the courtroom protest. afterwards i heard that the noise and confusion was kept up for several minutes longer, the judge and the police being quite powerless to obtain order. then the women filed out singing the women's marseillaise-- "march on, march on, face to the dawn, the dawn of liberty." the judge flung after their retreating forms the dire threat of prison for any woman who dared repeat such a scene. threat of prison--to suffragettes! the women's song only swelled the louder and the corridors of old bailey reverberated with their shouts. certainly that venerable building had never in its checkered history witnessed such a scene. the great crowd of detectives and police who were on duty seemed actually paralysed by the audacity of the protest, for they made no attempt to intervene. at three o'clock, when i left the court by a side entrance in newgate street, i found a crowd of women waiting to cheer me. with the two wardresses i entered a four wheeler and was driven to holloway to begin my hunger strike. scores of women followed in taxicabs, and when i arrived at the prison gates there was another protest of cheers for the cause and boos for the law. in the midst of all this intense excitement i passed through the grim gates into the twilight of prison, now become a battle-ground. footnote: [ ] sylvia pankhurst, who was forcibly fed for five weeks, during an original sentence of two months imposed for breaking one window. chapter vi prison had indeed been for us a battle-ground ever since the time when we had solemnly resolved that, as a matter of principle, we would not submit to the rules that bound ordinary offenders against the law. but when i entered holloway on that april day in , it was with full knowledge that i had before me a far more prolonged struggle than any that the militant suffragists had hitherto faced. i have described the hunger strike, that terrible weapon with which we had repeatedly broken our prison bars. the government, at their wits' end to cope with the hunger strikers, and to overcome a situation which had brought the laws of england into such scandalous disrepute, had had recourse to a measure, surely the most savagely devised ever brought before a modern parliament. in march of that year, while i was waiting trial on the charge of conspiring to destroy mr. lloyd-george's country house, a bill was introduced into the house of commons by the home secretary, mr. reginald mckenna, a bill which had for its avowed object the breaking down of the hunger strike. this measure, now universally known as the "cat and mouse act," provided that when a hunger striking suffrage prisoner (the law was frankly admitted to apply only to suffrage prisoners) was certified by the prison doctors to be in danger of death, she could be ordered released on a sort of a ticket of leave for the purpose of regaining strength enough to undergo the remainder of her sentence. released, she was still a prisoner, the prisoner, or the patient, or the victim, as you may choose to call her, being kept under constant police surveillance. according to the terms of the bill the prisoner was released for a specified number of days, at the expiration of which she was supposed to return to prison on her own account. says the act: "the period of temporary discharge may, if the secretary of state thinks fit, be extended on a representation of the prisoner that the state of her health renders her unfit to return to prison. if such representation be made, the prisoner shall submit herself, if so required, for medical examination by the medical officer of the above mentioned prison, or other registered medical practitioner appointed by the secretary of state. the prisoner shall notify to the commissioner of police of the metropolis the place of residence to which she goes on her discharge. she shall not change her residence without giving one clear day's notice in writing to the commissioner, specifying the residence to which she is going and she shall not be temporarily absent from her residence for more than twelve hours without giving a like notice," etc. the idea of militant suffragists respecting a law of this order is almost humorous, and yet the smile dies before the pity one feels for the minister whose confession of failure is embodied in such a measure. here was a mighty government weakly resolved that justice to women it would not grant, knowing that submission of women it could not force, and so was willing to compromise with a piece of class legislation absolutely contrary to all of its avowed principles. said mr. mckenna, pleading in the house for the advancement of his odious measure: "at the present time i cannot make these prisoners undergo their sentences without serious risk of death and i want to have power to enable me to compel a prisoner to undergo the sentence, and i want that power in all cases where the prisoner adopts the system of the hunger strike. at the present moment, although i have the power of release, i cannot release a prisoner without a pardon, and i have to discharge them for good. i want the power of releasing a prisoner without a pardon, with the sentence remaining alive.... i want to enforce the law, and i want, if i can, to enforce it without forcible feeding, and without undergoing the risk of some one else's life." interrogated by several members, mr. mckenna admitted that the "cat and mouse" bill, if passed, would not inevitably do away with forcible feeding, but he promised that the hateful and disgusting process would be resorted to only when "absolutely necessary." we shall see later how hypocritical this representation was. parliament, which had never had time to consider, beyond its initial stages, a women's suffrage measure, passed the cat and mouse act through both houses within the limits of a few days. it was already law when i entered holloway on april rd, , and i grieve to state that many members of the labour party, pledged to support woman suffrage, helped to make it into law. of course the act was, from its inception, treated by the suffragists with the utmost contempt. we had not the slightest intention of assisting mr. mckenna in enforcing unjust sentences against soldiers in the army of freedom, and when the prison doors closed behind me i adopted the hunger strike exactly as though i expected it to prove, as formerly, a means of gaining my liberty. that struggle is not a pleasant one to recall. every possible means of breaking down my resolution was resorted to. the daintiest and most tempting food was placed in my cell. all sorts of arguments were brought to bear against me--the futility of resisting the cat and mouse act, the wickedness of risking suicide--i shall not attempt to record all the arguments. they fell against a blank wall of consciousness, for my thoughts were all very far away from holloway and all its torments. i knew, what afterwards i learned as a fact, that my imprisonment was followed by the greatest revolutionary outbreak that had been witnessed in england since . from one end of the island to the other the beacons of the women's revolution blazed night and day. many country houses--all unoccupied--were fired, the grand stand of ayr race course was burned to the ground, a bomb was exploded in oxted station, london, blowing out walls and windows, some empty railroad carriages were blown up, the glass of thirteen famous paintings in the manchester art gallery were smashed with hammers--these are simply random specimens of the general outbreak of secret guerilla warfare waged by women to whose liberties every other approach had been barricaded by the liberal government of free england. the only answer of the government was the closing of the british museum, the national gallery, windsor castle, and other tourist resorts. as for the result on the people of england, that was exactly what we had anticipated. the public were thrown into a state of emotion of insecurity and frightened expectancy. not yet did they show themselves ready to demand of the government that the outrages be stopped in the only way they could be stopped--by giving votes to women. i knew that it would be so. lying in my lonely cell in holloway, racked with pain, oppressed with increasing weakness, depressed with the heavy responsibility of unknown happenings, i was sadly aware that we were but approaching a far goal. the end, though certain, was still distant. patience, and still more patience, faith and still more faith, well, we had called upon these souls' help before and it was certain that they would not fail us at this greatest crisis of all. thus in great anguish of mind and body passed nine terrible days, each one longer and more acutely miserable than the preceding. towards the last, i was mercifully half unconscious of my surroundings. a curious indifference took possession of my over-wrought mind, and it was almost without emotion that i heard, on the morning of the tenth day, that i was to be released temporarily in order to recover my health. the governor came to my cell and read me my licence, which commanded me to return to holloway in fifteen days, and meanwhile to observe all the obsequious terms as to informing the police of my movements. with what strength my hands retained i tore the document in strips and dropped it on the floor of the cell. "i have no intention," i said, "of obeying this infamous law. you release me knowing perfectly well that i shall never voluntarily return to any of your prisons." they sent me away, sitting bolt upright in a cab, unmindful of the fact that i was in a dangerous condition of weakness, having lost two stone in weight and suffered seriously from irregularities of heart action. as i left the prison i was gratefully aware of groups of our women standing bravely at the gates, as though enduring a long vigil. as a matter of fact, relays of women had picketed the place night and day during the whole term of my imprisonment. the first pickets were arrested, but as others constantly arrived to fill their places the police finally gave in and allowed the women to march up and down before the prison carrying the flag. at the nursing home to which i was conveyed i learned that annie kenney, mrs. drummond, and our staunch friend, mr. george lansbury,[ ] had been arrested during my imprisonment, and that all three had adopted the hunger strike. i also learned on my own account how desperately the government were striving to make their cat and mouse act--the last stand in their losing campaign--a success. without regard to the extra expense laid on the unfortunate tax payers of the country, the government employed a large extra force of police especially for this purpose. as i lay in bed, being assisted by every medical resource to return to life and health, these special police, colloquially termed "cats," guarded the nursing home as if it were a besieged castle. in the street under my windows two detectives and a constable stood on guard night and day. in a house at right angles to my refuge three more detectives kept constant watch. in the mews at the rear of the house were more detectives, and diligently patrolling the road, as if in expectation of a rescuing regiment, two taxicabs, each with its quota of detectives, guarded the highways. all this made recovery slow and difficult. but worse was to come. on april th, just as i was beginning to rally somewhat, came the news that the police had swooped down on our headquarters in kingsway and had arrested the entire official force. miss barrett, associate editor of _the suffragette_; miss lennox, the sub-editor; miss lake, business manager; miss kerr, office manager, and mrs. sanders, financial secretary of the union, were arrested, although not one of them had ever appeared in any militant action. mr. e. g. clayton, a chemist, was also arrested, accused of furnishing the w. s. p. u. with explosive materials. the offices were thoroughly searched, and, as on a former occasion, stripped of all books and papers. while this was being done another party of police, armed with a special warrant, proceeded to the printing office where our paper, _the suffragette_, was published. the printer, mr. drew, was placed under arrest and the material for the paper, which was to appear on the following day, was seized. by one o'clock in the afternoon the entire plant and the headquarters of the union were in the hands of the police, and to all appearances the militant movement--temporarily at least--was brought to a full stop. in my state of semi-prostration it at first seemed to me best to let the week's issue of the paper lapse, but on second thought i decided that even the appearance of surrender was not to be thought of. how we managed it need not here be told, but we actually did, overnight, with hardly any material, except christabel's leading article, and with hastily summoned helpers, get out the paper as usual, and side by side with the morning journals which bore front page stories of the suppression of the suffragette organ, our paper sellers sold _the suffragette_. the front page bore, instead of the usual cartoon, the single word in bold faced type-- "raided," the full story of the police search and the arrests being related in the other pages. our headquarters, i may say in passing, remained closed less than forty-eight hours. we are so organised that the arrest of leaders does not seriously cripple us. every one has an understudy, and when one leader drops out her substitute is ready instantly to take her place. in this emergency there appeared as chief organiser in miss kenney's place, miss grace roe, one of the young suffragettes of whom i, as belonging to the older generation, am so proud. faced by difficulties as great as the government could make them, miss roe at once showed herself to be equal to the situation, and to have the gift of unswerving loyalty combined with a strong and rapid judgment of things and people. aiding her was mrs. dacre fox, who surprised us all by her amazing ability to act as assistant editor of _the suffragette_, manage a host of affairs in the office, and preside at our weekly meetings. another member of the union who came prominently to the front at the time of this crisis was mrs. mansel. in two days' time the office was open and running quite as usual, no outward sign showing the grief and indignation felt for our imprisoned comrades. most of them refused bail and instantly hunger struck appearing in court for trial three days later in a pitiful state. mrs. drummond was so obviously ill and in need of medical attention that she was discharged and was very soon afterwards operated upon. mr. drew, the printer, was forced to sign an undertaking not to publish the paper again. the others were sentenced to terms varying from six to eighteen months. mr. clayton was sentenced to twenty-one months, and after desperate resistance, during which he was forcibly fed many times, escaped his prison. the others, following the same example, starved their way to liberty, and have ever since been pursued at intervals and rearrested under the cat and mouse act. after my discharge, april th, i remained in the nursing home until partially restored, then, under the eyes of the police, i motored out to woking, the country home of my friend, dr. ethel smyth. this house, like the nursing home, was guarded by a small army of police. i never went to the window, i never took the air in the garden without being conscious of watching eyes. the situation became intolerable, and i determined to end it. on may th there was a great meeting at the london pavillion, and i gave notice that i would attend it. supported by dr. flora murray, dr. ethel smyth and my devoted nurse pine, i walked downstairs, to be confronted at the door by a detective, who demanded to know where i was going. i was in a weak state, much weaker than i had imagined, and in refusing the right of a man to question my movements i exhausted the last remnant of my strength and sank fainting in the arms of my friends. as soon as i recovered i got into the motor car. the detective instantly took his place beside me and told the chauffeur to drive to bow street station. the chauffeur replied that he took his orders only from mrs. pankhurst, whereupon the detective summoned a taxicab and, placing me under arrest, took me to bow street. under the cat and mouse act a paroled prisoner can be thus arrested without the formality of a warrant, nor does the time she has spent at liberty, in regaining her health, count off from her prison sentence. the magistrate at bow street was therefore quite within his legal rights when he ordered me returned to holloway. i felt it my duty, nevertheless, to point out to him the inhumanity of his act. i said to him: "i was released from holloway on account of my health. since then i have been treated exactly as if i were in prison. it has become absolutely impossible for any one to recover health under such conditions, and this morning i decided to make this protest against a state of affairs unparalleled in a civilised country." [illustration: re-arrest of mrs. pankhurst at woking _may , _] the magistrate replied formally: "you quite understand what the position is. you have been arrested on this warrant and all i have to do is to make an order recommending you to prison." "i think" i said, "that you should do so, with a full sense of responsibility. if i am taken to holloway on your warrant i shall resume the protest i made before which led to my release, and i shall go on indefinitely until i die, or until the government decide, since they have taken upon themselves to employ you and other people to administer the laws, that they must recognise women as citizens and give them some control over the laws of this country." it was a five days' hunger strike this time, because the extreme weakness of my condition made it impossible for me to endure a longer term. i was released on may th on a seven days' licence, and in a half-alive state was again carried to a nursing home. less than a week later, while i was still bed-ridden, a terrible event occurred, one that should have shaken the stolid british public into a realisation of the seriousness of the situation precipitated by the government. emily wilding davison, who had been associated with the militant movement since , gave up her life for the women's cause by throwing herself in the path of the thing, next to property, held most sacred to englishmen--sport. miss davison went to the races at epsom, and breaking through the barriers which separated the vast crowds from the race course, rushed in the path of the galloping horses and caught the bridle of the king's horse, which was leading all the others. the horse fell, throwing his jockey and crushing miss davison in such shocking fashion that she was carried from the course in a dying condition. everything possible was done to save her life. the great surgeon, mr. mansell moullin, put everything aside and devoted himself to her case, but though he operated most skilfully, the injuries she had received were so frightful that she died four days later without once having recovered consciousness. members of the union were beside her when she breathed her last, on june th, and on june th they gave her a great public funeral in london. crowds lined the streets as the funeral car, followed by thousands of women, passed slowly and sadly to st. george's church, bloomsbury, where the memorial services were held. emily wilding davison was a character almost inevitably developed by a struggle such as ours. she was a b. a. of london university, and had taken first class honours at oxford in english language and literature. yet the women's cause made such an appeal to her reason and her sympathies that she put every intellectual and social appeal aside and devoted herself untiringly and fearlessly to the work of the union. she had suffered many imprisonments, had been forcibly fed and most brutally treated. on one occasion when she had barricaded her cell against the prison doctors, a hose pipe was turned on her from the window and she was drenched and all but drowned in the icy water while workmen were breaking down her cell door. miss davison, after this experience, expressed to several of her friends the deep conviction that now, as in days called uncivilised, the conscience of the people would awaken only to the sacrifice of a human life. at one time in prison she tried to kill herself by throwing herself head-long from one of the upper galleries, but she succeeded only in sustaining cruel injuries. ever after that time she clung to her conviction that one great tragedy, the deliberate throwing into the breach of a human life, would put an end to the intolerable torture of women. and so she threw herself at the king's horse, in full view of the king and queen and a great multitude of their majesties' subjects, offering up her life as a petition to the king, praying for the release of suffering women throughout england and the world. no one can possibly doubt that that prayer can forever remain unanswered, for she took it straight to the throne of the king of all the worlds. the death of miss davison was a great shock to me and a very great grief as well, and although i was scarcely able to leave my bed i determined to risk everything to attend her funeral. this was not to be, however, for as i left the house i was again arrested by detectives who lay in waiting. again the farce of trying to make me serve a three years' sentence was undertaken. but now the militant women had discovered a new and more terrible weapon with which to defy the unjust laws of england, and this weapon--the thirst strike--i turned against my gaolers with such effect that they were forced within three days to release me. the hunger strike i have described as a dreadful ordeal, but it is a mild experience compared with the thirst strike, which is from beginning to end simple and unmitigated torture. hunger striking reduces a prisoner's weight very quickly, but thirst striking reduces weight so alarmingly fast that prison doctors were at first thrown into absolute panic of fright. later they became somewhat hardened, but even now they regard the thirst strike with terror. i am not sure that i can convey to the reader the effect of days spent without a single drop of water taken into the system. the body cannot endure loss of moisture. it cries out in protest with every nerve. the muscles waste, the skin becomes shrunken and flabby, the facial appearance alters horribly, all these outward symptoms being eloquent of the acute suffering of the entire physical being. every natural function is, of course, suspended, and the poisons which are unable to pass out of the body are retained and absorbed. the body becomes cold and shivery, there is constant headache and nausea, and sometimes there is fever. the mouth and tongue become coated and swollen, the throat thickens and the voice sinks to a thready whisper. when, at the end of the third day of my first thirst strike, i was sent home i was in a condition of jaundice from which i have never completely recovered. so badly was i affected that the prison authorities made no attempt to arrest me for nearly a month after my release. on july th i felt strong enough once more to protest against the odious cat and mouse act, and, with miss annie kenney, who was also at liberty "on medical grounds," i went to a meeting at the london pavillion. at the close of the meeting, during which miss kenney's prison licence was auctioned off for £ , we attempted for the first time the open escape which we have so frequently since effected. miss kenney, from the platform, announced that we should openly leave the hall, and she forthwith walked coolly down into the audience. the police rushed in in overwhelming numbers, and after a desperate fight, succeeded in capturing her. other detectives and policemen hurried to the side door of the hall to intercept me, but i disappointed them by leaving by the front door and escaping to a friend's house in a cab. the police soon traced me to the house of my friend, the distinguished scientist, mrs. hertha ayrton, and the place straightway became a besieged fortress. day and night the house was surrounded, not only by police, but by crowds of women sympathisers. on the saturday following my appearance at the pavillion we gave the police a bit of excitement of a kind they do not relish. a cab drove up to mrs. ayrton's door, and several well-known members of the union alighted and hurried indoors. at once the word was circulated that a rescue was being attempted, and the police drew resolutely around the cab. soon a veiled woman appeared in the doorway, surrounded by suffragettes, who, when the veiled lady attempted to get into the cab, resisted with all their strength the efforts of the police to lay hands upon her. the cry went up from all sides: "they are arresting mrs. pankhurst!" something very like a free fight ensued, occupying all the attention of the police who were not in the immediate vicinity of the cab. the men surrounding that rocking vehicle succeeded in tearing the veiled figure from the arms of the other women and piling into the cab ordered the chauffeur to drive full speed to bow street. before they reached their destination, however, the veiled lady raised her veil--alas, it was not mrs. pankhurst, who by that time was speeding away in another taxicab in quite another direction. our ruse infuriated the police, and they determined to arrest me at my first public appearance, which was at the pavillion on the monday following the episode just related. when i reached the pavillion i found it literally surrounded by police, hundreds of them. i managed to slip past the outside cordon, but scotland yard had its best men inside the hall, and i was not permitted to reach the platform. surrounded by plain clothes men, batons drawn, i could not escape, but i called out to the women that i was being taken, and so valiantly did they rush to the rescue that the police had their hands full for nearly half an hour before they got me into a taxicab bound for holloway. six women were arrested that day, and many more than six policemen were temporarily incapacitated for duty. by this time i had made up my mind that i would not only resist staying in prison, i would resist to the utmost of my ability going to prison. therefore, when we reached holloway i refused to get out of the cab, declaring to my captors that i would no longer acquiesce in the slow judicial murder to which the government were subjecting women. i was lifted out and carried into a cell in the convicted hospital wing of the gaol. the wardresses who were on duty there spoke with some kindness to me, suggesting that, as i was very apparently exhausted and ill, i should do well to undress and go to bed. "no," i replied, "i shall not go to bed, not once while i am kept here. i am weary of this brutal game, and i intend to end it." without undressing, i lay down on the outside of the bed. later in the evening the prison doctor visited me, but i refused to be examined. in the morning he came again, and with him the governor and the head wardress. as i had taken neither food nor water since the previous day my appearance had become altered to such an extent that the doctor was plainly perturbed. he begged me, "as a small concession," to allow him to feel my pulse, but i shook my head, and they left me alone for the day. that night i was so ill that i felt some alarm for my own condition, but i knew of nothing that could be done except to wait. on wednesday morning the governor came again and asked me with an assumption of carelessness if it were true that i was refusing both food and water. "it is true," i said, and he replied brutally: "you are very cheap to keep." then, as if the thing were not a ridiculous farce, he announced that i was sentenced to close confinement for three days, with deprivation of all privileges, after which he left my cell. twice that day the doctor visited me, but i would not allow him to touch me. later came a medical officer from the home office, to which i had complained, as i had complained to the governor and the prison doctor, of the pain i still suffered from the rough treatment i had received at the pavillion. both of the medical men insisted that i allow them to examine me, but i said: "i will not be examined by you because your intention is not to help me as a patient, but merely to ascertain how much longer it will be possible to keep me alive in prison. i am not prepared to assist you or the government in any such way. i am not prepared to relieve you of any responsibility in this matter." i added that it must be quite obvious that i was very ill and unfit to be confined in prison. they hesitated for a moment or two, then left me. wednesday night was a long nightmare of suffering, and by thursday morning i must have presented an almost mummified appearance. from the faces of the governor and the doctor when they came into my cell and looked at me i thought that they would at once arrange for my release. but the hours passed and no order for release came. i decided that i must force my release, and i got up from the bed where i had been lying and began to stagger up and down the cell. when all strength failed me and i could keep my feet no longer i lay down on the stone floor, and there, at four in the afternoon, they found me, gasping and half unconscious. and then they sent me away. i was in a very weakened condition this time, and had to be treated with saline solutions to save my life. i felt, however, that i had broken my prison walls for a time at least, and so this proved. it was on july th that i was released. a few days later i was borne in an invalid's chair to the platform of the london pavillion. i could not speak, but i was there, as i had promised to be. my licence, which by this time i had ceased to tear up because it had an auction value, was sold to an american present for the sum of one hundred pounds. i had told the governor on leaving that i intended to sell the licence and to spend the money for militant purposes, but i had not expected to raise such a splendid sum as one hundred pounds. i shall always remember the generosity of that unknown american friend. a great medical congress was being held in london in the summer of , and on august th we held a large meeting at kingsway hall, which was attended by hundreds of visiting doctors. i addressed this meeting, at which a ringing resolution against forcible feeding was passed, and i was allowed to go home without police interference. it was, as a matter of fact, the second time during that month that i had spoken in public without molestation. the presence of so many distinguished medical men in london may have suggested to the authorities that i had better be left alone for the time being. at all events i was left alone, and late in the month i went, quite publicly, to paris, to see my daughter christabel and plan with her the campaign for the coming autumn. i needed rest after the struggles of the past five months, during which i had served, of my three years' prison sentence, not quite three weeks. footnote: [ ] mr. lansbury shortly before this had resigned his seat in parliament and had gone to his constituents on the question of women's suffrage. both the liberal and the conservative parties had united against him, with the result that a unionist candidate was returned in his place. mr. lloyd-george publicly rejoiced in the result of this election, saying that mr. marsh, the conservative candidate, had been his man. the labour party, in parliament and out, meekly accepted this piece of liberal chicanery without protest. chapter vii the two months of the summer of which were spent with my daughter in paris were almost the last days of peace and rest i have been destined since to enjoy. i spent the days, or some hours of them, in the initial preparation of this volume, because it seemed to me that i had a duty to perform in giving to the world my own plain statement of the events which have led up to the women's revolution in england. other histories of the militant movement will undoubtedly be written; in times to come when in all constitutional countries of the world, women's votes will be as universally accepted as men's votes are now; when men and women occupy the world of industry on equal terms, as co-workers rather than as cut-throat competitors; when, in a word, all the dreadful and criminal discriminations which exist now between the sexes are abolished, as they must one day be abolished, the historian will be able to sit down in leisurely fashion and do full justice to the strange story of how the women of england took up arms against the blind and obstinate government of england and fought their way to political freedom. i should like to live long enough to read such a history, calmly considered, carefully analysed, conscientiously set forth. it will be a better book to read than this one, written, as it were, in camp between battles. but perhaps this one, hastily prepared as it has been, will give the reader of the future a clearer impression of the strenuousness and the desperation of the conflict, and also something of the heretofore undreamed of courage and fighting strength of women, who, having learned the joy of battle, lose all sense of fear and continue their struggle up to and past the gates of death, never flinching at any step of the way. every step since that meeting in october, , when we definitely declared war on the peace of england, has been beset with danger and difficulty, often unexpected and undeclared. in october, , i sailed in the french liner, _la provence_, for my third visit to the united states. my intention was published in the public press of england, france and america. no attempt at concealment of my purpose was made, and in fact, my departure was witnessed by two men from scotland yard. some hints had reached my ears that an attempt would be made by the immigration officers at the port of new york to exclude me as an undesirable alien, but i gave little credit to these reports. american friends wrote and cabled encouraging words, and so i passed my time aboard ship quite peacefully, working part of the time, resting also against the fatigue always attendant on a lecture tour. [illustration: mrs. pankhurst and christabel in the garden of christabel's home in paris] we came to anchor in the harbour of new york on october th, and there, to my astonishment, the immigration authorities notified me that i was ordered to ellis island to appear before a board of special inquiry. the officers who served the order of detention did so with all courtesy, even with a certain air of reluctance. they allowed my american travelling companion, mrs. rheta childe dorr, to accompany me to the island, but no one, not even the solicitor sent by mrs. o. h. p. belmont to defend me, was permitted to attend me before the board of special inquiry. i went before these three men quite alone, as many a poor, friendless woman, without any of my resources, has had to appear. the moment of my entrance to the room i knew that extraordinary means had been employed against me, for on the desk behind which the board sat i saw a complete _dossier_ of my case in english legal papers. these papers may have been supplied by scotland yard, or they may have been supplied by the government. i cannot tell, of course. they sufficed to convince the board of special inquiry that i was a person of doubtful character, to say the least of it, and i was informed that i should have to be detained until the higher authorities at washington examined my case. everything was done to make me comfortable, the rooms of the commissioner of immigration being turned over to me and my companion. the very men who found me guilty of moral obloquy--something of which no british jury has ever yet accused me--put themselves out in a number of ways to make my detention agreeable. i was escorted all over the island and through the quarters assigned detained immigrants, whose right to land in the united states is in question. the huge dining-rooms, the spotless kitchens and the admirably varied bill of fare interested and impressed me. nothing like them exists in any english institution. i remained at ellis island two and a half days, long enough for the commissioner of immigration at washington to take my case to the president who instantly ordered my release. whoever was responsible for my detention entirely overlooked the advertising value of the incident. my lecture tour was made much more successful for it and i embarked for england late in november with a very generous american contribution to our war chest, a contribution, alas, that i was not permitted to deliver in person. the night before the white star liner _majestic_ reached plymouth a wireless message from headquarters informed me that the government had decided to arrest me on my arrival. the arrest was made, under very dramatic conditions, the next day shortly before noon. the steamer came to anchor in the outer harbour, and we saw at once that the bay, usually so animated with passing vessels, had been cleared of all craft. far in the distance the tender, which on other occasions had always met the steamer, rested at anchor between two huge grey warships. for a moment or two the scene halted, the passengers crowding to the deckrails in speechless curiosity to see what was to happen next. suddenly a fisherman's dory, power driven, dashed across the harbour, directly under the noses of the grim war vessels. two women, spray drenched, stood up in the boat, and as it ploughed swiftly past our steamer the women called out to me: "the cats are here, mrs. pankhurst! they're close on you--" their voices trailed away into the mist and we heard no more. within a minute or two a frightened ship's boy appeared on deck and delivered a message from the purser asking me to step down to his office. i answered that i would certainly do nothing of the kind, and next the police swarmed out on deck and i heard, for the fifth time that i was arrested under the cat and mouse act. they had sent five men from scotland yard, two men from plymouth and a wardress from holloway, a sufficient number, it will be allowed, to take one woman from a ship anchored two miles out at sea. following my firm resolve not to assist in any way the enforcing of the infamous law, i refused to go with the men, who thereupon picked me up and carried me to the waiting police tender. we steamed some miles up the cornish coast, the police refusing absolutely to tell me whither they were conveying me, and finally disembarked at bull point, a government landing-stage, closed to the general public. here a motor car was waiting, and accompanied by my bodyguard from scotland yard and holloway, i was driven across dartmoor to exeter, where i had a not unendurable imprisonment and hunger strike of four days. everyone from the governor of the prison to the wardresses were openly sympathetic and kind, and i was told by one confidential official that they kept me only because they had orders to do so until after the great meeting at empress theatre, earls court, london, which had been arranged as a welcome home for me. the meeting was held on the sunday night following my arrest, and the great sum of £ , was poured into the coffers of militancy. this included the £ , which had been collected during my american tour. several days after my release from exeter i went openly to paris to confer with my daughter on matters relating to the campaign about to open, returning to attend a w. s. p. u. meeting on the day before my license expired. nevertheless the boat train carriage in which i travelled with my doctor and nurse was invaded at dover town by two detectives who told me to consider myself under arrest. we were making tea when the men entered, but this we immediately threw out of the window, because a hunger strike always began at the instant of arrest. we never compromised at all, but resisted from the very first moment of attack. the reason for this uncalled for arrest at dover was the fear on the part of the police of the body guard of women, just then organised for the expressed purpose of resisting attempts to arrest me. that the police, as well as the government were afraid to risk encountering women who were not afraid to fight we had had abundant testimony. we certainly had it on this occasion, for knowing that the body guard was waiting at victoria station, the authorities had cut off all approaches to the arrival platform and the place was guarded by battalions of police. not a passenger was permitted to leave a carriage until i had been carried across the arrival platform between a double line of police and detectives and thrown into a forty horse power motor car, guarded within by two plain clothes men and a wardress, and without by three more policemen. around this motor car were twelve taxi-cabs filled with plain clothes men, four to each vehicle, and three guarding the outside, not to mention the driver, who was also in the employ of the police department. detectives on motor cycles were on guard at various points ready to follow any rescuing taxicab. arrived at holloway i was again lifted from the car and taken to the reception room and placed on the floor in a state of great exhaustion. when the doctor came in and told me curtly to stand up i was obliged to tell him that i could not stand. i utterly refused to be examined, saying that i was resolved to make the government assume full responsibility for my condition. "i refuse to be examined by you or any prison doctor," i declared, "and i do this as a protest against my sentence, and against my being here at all. i no longer recognise a prison doctor as a medical man in the proper sense of the word. i have withdrawn my consent to be governed by the rules of prison; i refuse to recognise the authority of any prison official, and i therefore make it impossible for the government to carry out the sentence they have imposed upon me." wardresses were summoned, i was placed in an invalid chair and so carried up three flights of stairs and put into an unwarmed cell with a concrete floor. refusing to leave the chair i was lifted out and placed on the bed, where i lay all night without removing my coat or loosening my garments. it was on a saturday that the arrest had been made, and i was kept in prison until the following wednesday morning. during all that time no food or water passed my lips, and i added to this the sleep strike, which means that as far as was humanly possible i refused all sleep and rest. for two nights i sat or lay on the concrete floor, resolutely refusing the oft repeated offers of medical examination. "you are not a doctor," i told the man. "you are a government torturer, and all you want to do is to satisfy yourself that i am not quite ready to die." the doctor, a new man since my last imprisonment, flushed and looked extremely unhappy. "i suppose you do think that," he mumbled. on tuesday morning the governor came to look at me, and no doubt i presented by that time a fairly bad appearance. at least i gathered as much from the alarmed expression of the wardress who accompanied him. to the governor i made the simple announcement that i was ready to leave prison and that i intended to leave very soon, dead or alive. i told him that from that moment i should not even rest on the concrete floor, but should walk my cell until i was released or until i died from exhaustion. all day i kept to this resolution, pacing up and down the narrow cell, many times stumbling and falling, until the doctor came in at evening to tell me that i was ordered released on the following morning. then i loosened my gown and lay down, absolutely spent, and fell almost instantly into a death-like sleep. the next morning a motor ambulance took me to the kingsway headquarters where a hospital room had been arranged for my reception. the two imprisonments in less than ten days had made terrible drafts on my strength, and the coldness of the holloway cell had brought on a painful neuralgia. it was many days before i recovered even a tithe of my usual health. these two arrests resulted exactly as the government should have known that they would result, in a great outbreak of fresh militancy. as soon as the news spread that i had been taken at plymouth a huge fire broke out in the timber yards at richmond walk, devenport, and an acre and a half of timber, beside a pleasure fair and a scenic railway adjacent, to the value of thousands of pounds was destroyed. no one ever discovered the cause of the fire, the greatest that ever occurred in the neighbourhood, but tied to one of the railings was a copy of the _suffragette_ and to another railing two cards, on one of which was written a message to the government: "how dare you arrest mrs. pankhurst and allow sir edward carson and mr. bonar law to go free?" the second card bore the words: "our reply to the torture of mrs. pankhurst, and her cowardly arrest at plymouth." besides this fire, which waged fiercely from midnight until dawn, a large unoccupied house at bristol was destroyed by fire; a fine residence in scotland, also unoccupied, was badly damaged by fire; st. anne's church in a suburb of liverpool was partly destroyed; and many pillar boxes in london, edinburgh, derby and other cities were fired. in churches all over the kingdom our women created consternation by interpolating into the services reverently spoken prayers for prisoners who were suffering for conscience' sake. the reader no doubt has heard of these interruptions, and if so he has read of brawling, shrieking women, breaking into the sanctity of religious services, and creating riot in the house of god. i think the reader should know exactly what does happen when militants, who are usually religious women, interrupt church services. on the sunday when i was in holloway, following my arrest at dover, certain women attending the afternoon service at westminster abbey, chanted in concert the following prayer: "god save emmeline pankhurst, help us with thy love and strength to guard her, spare those who suffer for conscience' sake. hear us when we pray to thee." they had hardly finished this prayer when vergers fell upon them and with great violence hustled them out of the abbey. one kneeling man, who happened to be near one of the women, forgot his christian intercessions long enough to beat her in the face with his fists before the vergers came. similar scenes have taken place in churches and cathedrals throughout england and scotland, and in many instances the women have been most barbarously treated by vergers and members of the congregations. in other cases the women not only have been left unmolested, but have been allowed to finish their prayers amid deep and sympathetic silence. some clergymen have even been brave enough to add a reverent amen to these prayers for women in prison, and it has happened that clergymen have voluntarily offered prayers for us. the church as a whole, however, has undoubtedly failed to live up to its obligation to demand justice for women, and to protest against the torture of forcible feeding. during the year just closing we sent many deputations to church authorities, the bishops, one after another having been visited in this manner. some of the bishops, including the reactionary archbishop of canterbury, refused to accord the desired interview, and when that happened, the answer of the deputation was to sit on the doorstep of the episcopal residence until surrender followed--as it invariably did. as holloway gaol is within his diocese, the bishop of london was visited by the w. s. p. u. and the demand was made that the bishop himself should witness forcible feeding in order to realise the horror of the proceeding. he did visit two of the tortured women, but he did not see them forcibly fed, and when he came out he gave the public an account of his interview with them which was in effect the government's version of the facts. the w. s. p. u. was naturally indignant, while all the government's friends hailed the bishop as a supporter of the policy of torture. only those who have suffered the pain and agony, not to speak of the moral humiliation of forcible feeding can realise the depths of the iniquity which the bishop of london was manoeuvred by the government to whitewash. it may be true, as the bishop comforted himself by saying, that the victims of forcible feeding suffered the more because they struggled under the process. but, as mary richardson wrote in the _suffragette_, to expect a victim not to struggle was the same as telling her that she would suffer less if she did not jump on getting a cinder in her eye. "the principle," declared miss richardson, "is the same. one struggles because the pain is excruciating, and the nerves of the eyes, ears and face are so tortured that it would be impossible not to resist to the uttermost. one struggles, also, because of another reason--a moral reason--for forcible feeding is an immoral assault as well as a painful physical one, and to remain passive under it would give one the feeling of sin; the sin of concurrence. one's whole nature is revolted; resistance is therefore inevitable." i think it proper here to explain also the policy upon which we embarked in of taking our cause directly to the king. the reader has perhaps heard of suffragette "insults" to king george and queen mary, and it is but just that he should hear a direct account of how these "insults" are offered. several isolated attempts had been made to present petitions to the king, once when he was on his way to westminster to open parliament, and again on an occasion when he paid a visit to bristol. on the latter occasion the woman who tried to present the petition was assaulted by one of the king's equerries, who struck her with the flat of his sword. we finally resolved on the policy of direct petition to the king because we had been forced to abandon all hope of successful petitioning to his ministers. tricked and betrayed at every turn by the liberal government, we announced that we would not again put even a pretence of confidence in them. we would carry our demand for justice to the throne of the monarch. late in december, , while i was in prison for the second time since my return to england, a great gala performance was given at covent garden, the opera being the jeanne d'arc of raymond rôze. the king and queen and the entire court were present, and the scene was expected to be one of unusual brilliance. our women took advantage of the occasion to make one of the most successful demonstrations of the year. a box was secured directly opposite the royal box, and this was occupied by three women, beautifully gowned. on entering they had managed, without attracting the slightest attention, to lock and barricade the door, and at the close of the first act, as soon as the orchestra had disappeared, the women stood up, and one of them, with the aid of a megaphone, addressed the king. calling attention to the impressive scenes on the stage, the speaker told the king that women were to-day fighting, as joan of arc fought centuries ago, for human liberty, and that they, like the maid of orleans, were being tortured and done to death, in the name of the king, in the name of the church, and with the full knowledge and responsibility of established government. at this very hour the leader of these fighters in the army of liberty was being held in prison and tortured by the king's authority. the vast audience was thrown into a panic of excitement and horror, and amid a perfect turmoil of cries and adjurations, the door of the box was finally broken down and the women ejected. as soon as they had left the house others of our women, to the number of forty or more, who had been sitting quietly in an upper gallery, rose to their feet and rained suffrage literature on the heads of the audience below. it was fully three quarters of an hour before the excitement subsided and the singers could go on with the opera. the sensation caused by this direct address to royalty inspired us to make a second attempt to arouse the king's conscience, and early in january, as soon as parliament re-assembled, we announced that i would personally lead a deputation to buckingham palace. the plan was welcomed with enthusiasm by our members and a very large number of women volunteered to join the deputation, which was intended to make a protest against three things--the continued disfranchisement of women; the forcible feeding and the cat and mouse torture of those who were fighting against this injustice; and the scandalous manner in which the government, while coercing and torturing militant women, were allowing perfect freedom to the men opponents of home rule in ireland, men who openly announced that they were about to carry out a policy, not merely of attacking property, but of destroying human life. i wrote a letter to the king, conveying to him "the respectful and loyal request of the women's social and political union that your majesty will give audience to a deputation of women." the letter went on: "the deputation desire to submit to your majesty in person their claim to the parliamentary vote, which is the only protection against the grievous industrial and social wrongs that women suffer; is the symbol and guarantee of british citizenship; and means the recognition of women's equal dignity and worth, as members of our great empire. "the deputation will further lay before your majesty a complaint of the mediæval and barbarous methods of torture whereby your majesty's ministers are seeking to repress women's revolt against the deprivation of citizen rights--a revolt as noble and glorious in its spirit and purpose as any of those past struggles for liberty which are the pride of the british race. "we have been told by the unthinking--by those who are heedless of the constitutional principles upon which is based our loyal request for an audience of your majesty in person--that our conversation should be with your majesty's ministers. "we repudiate this suggestion. in the first place, it would not only be repugnant to our womanly sense of dignity, but it would be absurd and futile for us to interview the very men against whom we bring the accusations of betraying the women's cause and torturing those who fight for that cause. "in the second place, we will not be referred to, and we will not recognise the authority of men who, in our eyes, have no legal or constitutional standing in the matter, because we have not been consulted as to their election to parliament nor as to their appointment as ministers of the crown." i then cited as a precedent in support of our claim to be heard by the king in person, the case of the deputation of irish catholics, which, in the year , was received by king george iii in person. i further said: "our right as women to be heard and to be aided by your majesty is far stronger than any such right possessed by men, because it is based upon our lack of every other constitutional means of securing the redress of our grievances. we have no power to vote for members of parliament, and therefore for us there is no house of commons. we have no voice in the house of lords. but we have a king, and to him we make our appeal. "constitutionally speaking, we are, as voteless women, living in the time when the power of the monarch was unlimited. in that old time, which is passed for men though not for women, men who were oppressed had recourse to the king--the source of power, of justice, and of reform. "precisely in the same way we now claim the right to come to the foot of the throne and to make of the king in person our demand for the redress of the political grievance which we cannot, and will not, any longer tolerate. "because women are voteless, there are in our midst to-day sweated workers, white slaves, outraged children, and innocent mothers and their babes stricken by horrible disease. it is for the sake and in the cause of these unhappy members of our sex, that we ask of your majesty the audience that we are confident will be granted to us." it was some days before we had the answer to this letter, and in the meantime some uncommonly stirring and painful occurrences attracted the public attention. chapter viii for months before my return to england from my american lecture tour, the ulster situation had been increasingly serious. sir edward carson and his followers had declared that if home rule government should be created and set up in dublin, they would--law or no law--establish a rival and independent government in ulster. it was known that arms and ammunition were being shipped to ireland, and that men--and women too, for that matter--were drilling and otherwise getting ready for civil war. the w. s. p. u. approached sir edward carson and asked him if the proposed ulster government would give equal voting rights to women. we frankly declared that in case the ulster men alone were to have the vote, that we should deal with "king carson" and his colleagues exactly in the same manner that we had adopted towards the british government centred at westminster. sir edward carson at first promised us that the rebel ulster government, should it come into existence, would give votes to ulster women. this pledge was later repudiated, and in the early winter months of militancy appeared in ulster. it had been raging in scotland for some time, and now the imprisoned suffragettes in that country were being forcibly fed as in england. the answer to this was, of course, more militancy. the ancient scottish church of whitekirk, a relic of pre-reformation days, was destroyed by fire. several unoccupied country houses were also burned. it was about this time, february, , that i undertook a series of meetings outside london, the first of which was to be held in glasgow, in the st. andrews hall, which holds many thousands of people. in order that i might be free on the night of the meeting, i left london unknown to the police, in a motor car. in spite of all efforts to apprehend me i succeeded in reaching glasgow and in getting to the platform of st. andrews' where i found myself face to face with an enormous, and manifestly sympathetic audience. as it was suspected that the police might rush the platform, plans had been made to offer resistance, and the bodyguard was present in force. my speech was one of the shortest i have ever made. i said: "i have kept my promise, and in spite of his majesty's government i am here to-night. very few people in this audience, very few people in this country, know how much of the nation's money is being spent to silence women. but the wit and ingenuity of women is overcoming the power and money of the british government. it is well that we should have this meeting to-night, because to-day is a memorable day in the annals of the united kingdom of great britain and ireland. to-day in the house of commons has been witnessed the triumph of militancy--men's militancy--and to-night i hope to make it clear to the people in this meeting that if there is any distinction to be drawn at all between militancy in ulster and the militancy of women, it is all to the advantage of the women. our greatest task in this women's movement is to prove that we are human beings like men, and every stage of our fight is forcing home that very difficult lesson into the minds of men, and especially into the minds of politicians. i propose to-night at this political meeting to have a text. texts are usually given from pulpits, but perhaps you will forgive me if i have a text to-night. my text is: 'equal justice for men and women, equal political justice, equal legal justice, equal industrial justice, and equal social justice.' i want as clearly and briefly as i can to make it clear to you to-night that if it is justifiable to fight for common ordinary equal justice, then women have ample justification, nay, have greater justification, for revolution and rebellion, than ever men have had in the whole history of the human race. now that is a big contention to make, but i am going to prove it. you get the proof of the political injustice--" as i finished the word "injustice," a steward uttered a warning shout, there was a tramp of heavy feet, and a large body of police burst into the hall, and rushed up to the platform, drawing their truncheons as they ran. headed by detectives from scotland yard, they surged in on all sides, but as the foremost members attempted to storm the platform, they were met by a fusillade of flower-pots, tables, chairs, and other missiles. they seized the platform railing, in order to tear it down, but they found that under the decorations barbed wires were concealed. this gave them pause for a moment. meanwhile, more of the invading host came from other directions. the bodyguard and members of the audience vigorously repelled the attack, wielding clubs, batons, poles, planks, or anything they could seize, while the police laid about right and left with their batons, their violence being far the greater. men and women were seen on all sides with blood streaming down their faces, and there were cries for a doctor. in the middle of the struggle, several revolver shots rang out, and the woman who was firing the revolver--which i should explain was loaded with blank cartridges only--was able to terrorise and keep at bay a whole body of police. i had been surrounded by members of the bodyguard, who hurried me towards the stairs from the platform. the police, however, overtook us, and in spite of the resistance of the bodyguard, they seized me and dragged me down the narrow stair at the back of the hall. there a cab was waiting. i was pushed violently into it, and thrown on the floor, the seats being occupied by as many constables as could crowd inside. the meeting was left in a state of tremendous turmoil, and the people of glasgow who were present expressed their sense of outrage at the behavior of the police, who, acting under the government's instructions, had so disgraced the city. general drummond, who was present on the platform, took hold of the situation and delivered a rousing speech, in which she exhorted the audience to make the government feel the force of their indignation. i was kept in the glasgow police-cells all night, and the next morning was taken, a hunger and thirst striking prisoner, to holloway, where i remained for five memorable days. this was the seventh attempt the government had made to make me serve a three years' term of penal servitude on a conspiracy charge, in connection with the blowing up of mr. lloyd-george's country house. in the eleven and a half months since i had received that sentence i had spent just thirty days in prison. on march th i was again released, still suffering severely, not only from the hunger and thirst strike, but from injuries received at the time of my brutal arrest in glasgow. the answer to that arrest had been swift and strong. in bristol, the scene of great riots and destruction when men were fighting for votes, a large timber-yard was burnt. in scotland a mansion was destroyed by fire. a milder protest consisted of a raid upon the house of the home secretary, in the course of which eighteen windows were broken. the greatest and most startling of all protests hitherto made was the attack at this time on the rokeby "venus" in the national gallery. mary richardson, the young woman who carried out this protest, is possessed of a very fine artistic sense, and nothing but the most compelling sense of duty would have moved her to the deed. miss richardson being placed on trial, made a moving address to the court, in the course of which she said that her act was premeditated, and that she had thought it over very seriously before it was undertaken. she added: "i have been a student of art, and i suppose care as much for art as any one who was in the gallery when i made my protest. but i care more for justice than i do for art, and i firmly believe than when a nation shuts its eyes to justice, and prefers to have women who are fighting for justice ill-treated, mal-treated, and tortured, that such action as mine should be understandable; i don't say excusable, but it should be understood. "i should like to point out that the outrage which the government has committed upon mrs. pankhurst is an ultimatum of outrages. it is murder, slow murder, and premeditated murder. that is how i have looked at it.... "how you can hold women up to ridicule and contempt, and put them in prison, and yet say nothing to the government for murdering people, i cannot understand.... "the fact is that the nation is either dead or asleep. in my opinion there is undoubted evidence that the nation is dead, because women have knocked in vain at the door of administrators, archbishops, and even the king himself. the government have closed all doors to us. and remember this--a state of death in a nation, as well as in an individual, leads to one thing, and that is dissolution. i do not hesitate to say that if the men of the country do not at this eleventh hour put their hand out and save mrs. pankhurst, before a few more years are passed they will stretch out their hand in vain to save the empire." in sentencing miss richardson to six month's imprisonment the magistrate said regretfully that if she had smashed a window instead of an art treasure he could have given her a maximum sentence of eighteen months, which illustrates, i think, one more queer anomaly of english law. a few weeks later another famous painting, the sargent portrait of henry james, was attacked by a suffragette, who, like miss richardson, was sent through the farce of a trial and a prison sentence which she did not serve. by this time practically all the picture galleries and other public galleries and museums had been closed to the public. the suffragettes had succeeded in large measure in making england unattractive to tourists, and hence unprofitable to the world of business. as we had anticipated, the reaction against the liberal government began to manifest itself. questions were asked daily, in the press, in the house of commons, everywhere, as to the responsibility of the government in the suffragette activities. people began to place that responsibility where it belonged, at the doors of the government, rather than at our own. especially did the public begin to contrast the treatment meted out to the rebel women with that accorded to the rebel men of ulster. for a whole year the government had been attacking the women's right of free speech, by their refusal to allow the w. s. p. u. to hold public meetings in hyde park. the excuse given for this was that we advocated and defended a militant policy. but the government permitted the ulster militants to advocate their war policy in hyde park, and we determined that, with or without the government's permission, we should, on the day of the ulster meeting, hold a suffrage meeting in hyde park. general drummond was announced as the chief speaker at this meeting, and when the day came, militant ulster men and militant women assembled in hyde park. the militant men were allowed to speak in defence of bloodshed; but general drummond was arrested before she had uttered more than a few words. another proof that the government had a law of leniency for militant men and a law of persecution for militant women was shown at this time by the case of miss dorothy evans, our organiser in ulster. she and another suffragette, miss maud muir, were arrested in belfast charged with having in their possession a quantity of explosives. it was well known that there were houses in belfast that secreted tons of gunpowder and ammunition for the use of the rebels against home rule, but none of those houses were entered and searched by the police. the authorities reserved their energies in this direction for the headquarters of the militant women. naturally enough the two suffrage prisoners, on being arraigned in court, refused to be tried unless the government proceeded also against the men rebels. the prisoners throughout the proceedings kept up such a disturbance that the trial could not properly go on. when the case was called miss evans rose and protested loudly, saying: "i deny your jurisdiction entirely until there are in the dock beside us men who are well known leaders of the ulster militant movement." miss muir joined miss evans in her protest and both women were dragged from the court. after an hour's adjournment the trial was resumed, but the women again began to speak, and the case was hurried through in the midst of indescribable din and commotion. the women were sent to prison on remand, and after a four days' hunger and thirst strike were released unconditionally. the result of this case was a severe outbreak of militancy, three fires destroying belfast mansions within a few days. fires blazed almost daily throughout england, a very important instance being the destruction of the bath hotel at felixstowe, valued at £ , . the two women responsible for this were afterwards arrested, and as their trials were delayed, they were, although unconvicted prisoners, tortured by forcible feeding for several months. this occurred in april, a few weeks before the day appointed for our deputation to the king. i had appointed may st for the deputation, in spite of the fact that the king had, through his ministers, refused to receive us. replying to this i had written, again directly to the king, that we utterly denied the constitutional right of ministers, who not being elected by women were not responsible to them, to stand between ourselves and the throne, and to prevent us from having an audience of his majesty. i declared further that we would, on the date announced, present ourselves at the gates of buckingham palace to demand an interview. following the despatch of this letter my life was made as uncomfortable and as insecure as the government, through their police department, could contrive. i was not allowed to make a public appearance, but i addressed several huge meetings from the balcony of houses where i had taken refuge. these were all publicly announced, and each time the police, mingling with crowds, made strenuous efforts to arrest me. by strategy, and through the valiant efforts of the bodyguard, i was able each time to make my speech and afterwards to escape from the house. all of these occasions were marked by fierce opposition from the police and splendid courage and resistance on the part of the women. the deputation to the king was, of course, marked by the government as an occasion on which i could be arrested, and when, on the day appointed, i led the great deputation of women to the gates of buckingham palace, an army of several thousand police were sent out against us. the conduct of the police showed plainly that they had been instructed to repeat the tactics of black friday, described in an earlier chapter. indeed, the violence, brutality and insult of black friday were excelled on this day, and at the gates of the king of england. i myself did not suffer so greatly as others, because i had advanced towards the palace unnoticed by the police, who were looking for me at a more distant point. when i arrived at the gates i was recognised by an inspector, who at once seized me bodily, and conveyed me to holloway. [illustration: © _international news service_ "arrested at the king's gate!" _may, _] before the deputation had gone forth, i had made a short speech to them, warning them of what might happen, and my final message was: "whatever happens, do not turn back." they did not, and in spite of all the violence inflicted upon them, they went forward, resolved, so long as they were free, not to give up the attempt to reach the palace. many arrests were made, and of those arrested many were sent to prison. although for the majority, this was the first imprisonment, these brave women adopted the hunger strike, and passed seven or eight days without food and water before they were released, weak and ill as may be supposed. chapter ix in the weeks following the disgraceful events before buckingham palace the government made several last, desperate efforts to crush the w. s. p. u., to remove all the leaders and to destroy our paper, the _suffragette_. they issued summonses against mrs. drummond, mrs. dacre fox and miss grace roe; they raided our headquarters at lincolns inn house; twice they raided other headquarters temporarily in use, not to speak of raids made upon private dwellings where the new leaders, who had risen to take the places of those arrested, were at their work for the organisation. but with each successive raid the disturbances which the government were able to make in our affairs became less, because we were better able, each time, to provide against them. every effort made by the government to suppress the _suffragette_ failed, and it continued to come out regularly every week. although the paper was issued regularly, we had to use almost super-human energy to get it distributed. the government sent to all the great wholesale news agents a letter which was designed to terrorise and bully them into refusing to handle the paper or to sell it to the retail news agents. temporarily, at any rate, the letter produced in many cases the desired effect, but we overcame the emergency by taking immediate steps to build up a system of distribution which was worked by women themselves, independently of the newspaper trade. we also opened a "suffragette defence fund," to meet the extra expense of publishing and distributing the paper. twice more the government attempted to force me to serve the three years' term of penal servitude, one arrest being made when i was being carried to a meeting in an ambulance. wholesale arrests and hunger strikes occurred at the same time, but our women continued their work of militancy, and money flowed into our protest and defence fund. at one great meeting in july the fund was increased by nearly £ , . but now unmistakable signs began to appear that our long and bitter struggle was drawing to a close. the last resort of the government of inciting the street mobs against us had been little successful, and we could see in the temper of the public abundant hope that the reaction against the government, long hoped for by us, had actually begun. every day of the militant movement was so extraordinarily full of events and changes that it is difficult to choose a point at which this narrative should be brought to a close. i think, however, that an account of a recent debate which took place in the house of commons will give the reader the best idea of the complete breakdown of the government in their effort to crush the women's fight for liberty. on june th, when the house of commons had gone into a committee of supply, lord robert cecil moved a reduction of pounds on the home office vote, thus precipitating a discussion of militancy. lord robert said that he had read with some surprise that the government were not dissatisfied with the measures which they had taken to deal with the violent suffragists, and he added with some asperity that the government took a much more sanguine view of the matter than anybody else in the united kingdom. the house, lord robert went on to declare, would not be in a position to deal with the case satisfactorily unless they realised the devotion of the followers to their leaders, who were almost fully responsible for what was going on. ministerial cheers greeted this utterance, but they ceased suddenly when the speaker went on to say that these leaders could never have induced their followers to enter upon a career of crime but for the serious mistakes which had been made over and over again by the government. among these mistakes lord robert cited the shameful treatment of the women on black friday, the policy of forcible feeding and the scandal of the different treatment accorded lady constance lytton and "jane warton." there were opposition cheers at this, and they were again raised when lord robert deplored the terrible waste of energy, and "admirable material" involved in the militant movement. although lord robert cecil deemed it unjust as well as futile for suffragist members to withhold their support from the woman suffrage movement on account of militancy he himself was in favor of deportation for suffragettes. at this there were cries of "where to?" and "ulster!" mr. mckenna replied by first calling attention to the fact that in the militant movement they had a phenomenon "absolutely without precedent in our history." women in numbers were committing crimes, beginning with window breaking, and proceeding to arson, not with the motives of ordinary criminals, but with the intention of advertising a political cause and of forcing the public to grant their demands. mr. mckenna continuing said: "the number of women who commit crimes of that kind is extremely small, but the number of those who sympathise with them is extremely large. one of the difficulties which the police have in detecting this form of crime and in bringing home the offence to the criminal is that the criminals find so many sympathisers among the well-to-do and thoroughly respectable classes that the ordinary administration of the law is rendered comparatively impossible. let me give the house some figures showing the number of women who have been committed to prison for offences since the beginning of the militant agitation in . in that year the total number of commitments to prison was , all the persons charged being women. in the figure rose to ; in to ( women and six men); and in to ( women and two men). in the number dropped to , and so far this year it has dropped to . these figures include all commitments to prison and rearrests under the cat and mouse act. what is the obvious lesson to be drawn? up to the number of offences committed for which imprisonment was the punishment was steadily increasing, but since the beginning of last year--that is to say, since the new act came into force--the number of individual offences has been very greatly reduced. on the other hand, we see that the seriousness of the offences is much greater." this statement, that the number of imprisonments had decreased since the adoption of the cat and mouse act, was of course, incorrect, or at best misleading. the fact was that the number of imprisonments decreased because, where formerly the militants went willingly to prison for their acts, they now escaped prison wherever possible. a comparatively small number of "mice" were ever rearrested by the police. mr. mckenna went on to say that he realised fully the growing sense of indignation against the militant suffragists and he added, "their one hope is, rightly or wrongly, that the well advertised indignation of the public will recoil on the head of the government." "and so it will," interpolated a voice. "my honourable friend," replied mr. mckenna, "says so it will. i believe that he is mistaken." but he gave no reasons for so believing. referring to what he called the "recent grave rudenesses which have been committed against the king," mr. mckenna said: "it is true that all subjects have the right of petitioning his majesty, providing the petition is couched in respectful terms, but there is no right on the part of the subjects generally to personal audience for the purpose of the presentation of the petition or otherwise. it is the duty of the home secretary to present all such petitions to the king, and further to advise his majesty what action should be taken. it was therefore ridiculous for any suffragist to assert that there had been any breach of constitutional propriety on the part of the king in refusing, on the advice of the home secretary to receive the deputation." also, said mr. mckenna, in view of the fact that the petition for an audience was sent by a person under sentence of penal servitude--myself--it was the plain duty of the home secretary to advise the king not to grant it. he referred to the incident, he said, only because it was illustrative of the militant's methods of advertising their cause. he gave them credit, he was bound to say, for a certain degree of intelligence in adopting their methods. "no action has been so fruitful of advertisement as the recent absurdities which they have perpetrated in relation to the king." coming down to the question of methods of meeting and overcoming militancy, mr. mckenna said that he had received an almost unlimited correspondence on the subject from every section of the public. "four methods were suggested," said he. "the first is to let them die. (hear, hear.) that is, i should say, at the present moment, the most popular (laughter), judging by the number of letters i have received. the second is to deport them. (hear, hear.) the third is to treat them as lunatics. (hear, hear.) and the fourth is to give them the franchise. (hear, hear, and laughter.) i think that is an exhaustive list. i notice each one of them is received with a certain very moderate amount of applause in this house. i hope to give reason why at the present time i think we should not adopt any one of them." the first suggestion was usually, not always, based on the assumption that the women would take their food if they knew that the alternative was death. mr. mckenna read to the house in opposition to that view "the opinion of a great medical expert who had had intimate knowledge of the suffragettes from the first." "we have to face the fact, therefore, that they would die," continued mr. mckenna. "let me say, also, with actual experience of dealing with suffragists, in many cases they have got in their refusal of food and water beyond the point when they could help themselves, and they have clearly done all that they could do to show their readiness to die.... there are those who hold another assumption. they think that after one or two deaths in prison militancy would cease. in my judgment there was never a greater delusion. i readily admit that this is the issue upon which i stand and upon which i feel i would fight to the end those who would adopt as their policy to let the prisoners die. so far from putting an end to militancy, i believe it would be the greatest incentive to militancy which could ever happen. for every woman who dies, there would be scores of women who would come forward for the honour, as they would deem it, of earning the crown of martyrdom." "how do you know?" called out an opposition member. "how do i know?" retorted the home secretary. "i have had more to do with these women than the honourable member, much more. those who hold that opinion leave out of account all recognition of the nature of these women. i do not speak in admiration of them. they are hysterical fanatics, but, coupled with their hysterical fanaticism, they have a courage, part of their fanaticism, which undoubtedly stands at nothing, and the honourable member who thinks that they would not come forward, not merely to risk death, but to undergo it, for what they deem the greatest cause on earth is making, in my judgment, a profound mistake.... they would seek death, and i am sure that however strong public opinion outside might be to-day in favour of allowing them to die, when there were twenty, thirty, forty, or more deaths in prison, you would have a violent reaction of public opinion, and the honourable gentleman who now so glibly says 'let them die' would be among the first to blame the government for what he would describe as the inhuman attitude they had adopted. "that policy," continued mr. mckenna, "could not be adopted without an act of parliament. for the reason i have given i have not asked parliament to remove from prison officials the responsibility under which they now rest for doing their best to keep those committed to their charge alive. but, supposing this legal responsibility were removed from the prison officials, let honourable members for a moment transport themselves in imagination to a prison cell and conceive of a prison doctor, a humane man, standing by watching a woman slowly being done to death by starvation and thirst, knowing that he could help her and that he could keep her alive. did they think that any doctor would go on with such action, or that we should be able to retain medical men under such conditions in our service? i do not believe it. "the doctor would think, as i should think if i saw a woman lying there, 'what has been this woman's offence?' it may have been obstructing the police, coupled with the obstinacy derived from fanaticism which leads her to refuse food and water. obstructing the police and she is to die! i could not distinguish, and no home secretary could ever say, that this woman should be left to die and that that woman should not. once we were committed to a policy of allowing them to die if they did not take their food we should have to go on with it, and we should have woman after woman whose only offence may have been obstructing the police, breaking a window, or even burning down an empty house, dying because she was obstinate. i do not believe that that is a policy which on consideration will ever recommend itself to the british people, and i am bound to say for myself i could never take a hand in carrying that policy out." (cheers.) lord robert cecil's favourite remedy of deportation mr. mckenna dismissed on the grounds that this would be merely removing the difficulty to some other country than great britain. if the suggested distant island were treated as a prison the women would hunger strike there as they did in english prisons. if the island were not treated as a prison, the suffragettes' rich friends would come and rescue them in yachts. the suggestion that the militants be treated as lunatics was also dismissed as impossible. admitting that he had tried to get them certified as lunatics and had failed because the medical profession would not consent to such a course, mr. mckenna said that he could not, contrary to the advice of the doctors, get certification by act of parliament. "there remains," said mr. mckenna, "the last proposal, that we should give them the franchise." "that is the right one," exclaimed mr. william redmond, but the home secretary replied: "whatever may be said as to the merits or demerits of that proposal, it is clearly not one i can discuss now in committee of supply. i am not responsible, as home secretary, for the state of the law on the franchise, nor is there any occasion for me to express or conceal my own opinions on the point; but i certainly do not think, and i am sure the committee will agree with me, that that could be seriously treated as a remedy for the existing state of lawlessness." coming at last to the constructive part of his speech mr. mckenna told the house of commons that the government had one last resort, which was to take legal proceedings against subscribers to the funds of the w. s. p. u. the funds of the society, he said, were undoubtedly beyond the arm of the british law. but the government were in hopes of stopping future subscriptions. "we are now not without hope," he concluded, "that we have evidence which will enable us to proceed against the subscribers" (loud cheers) "in civil action, and if we succeed the subscribers will become personally liable for all the damage done." (cheers.) "it is a question of evidence.... i have further directed that the question should be considered whether the subscribers could not be proceeded against criminally as well as by civil action." (cheers.) "we have only been able to obtain this evidence by our now not infrequent raids upon the offices, and such property as we can get at of the society.... a year ago a raid was made on the offices of the society, but we obtained no such evidence. if we succeed in making the subscribers personally responsible individually for the whole damage done i have no doubt that the insurance companies will quickly follow the example set them by the government, and in turn bring actions to recover the cost which has been thrown upon them. if that is done i have no doubt the days of militancy are over. "the militants live only by the subscriptions of rich women" (cheers) "who themselves enjoy all the advantages of wealth secured for them by the labour of others" (cheers) "and use their wealth against the interests of society, paying their unfortunate victims to undergo all the horrors of a hunger and thirst strike in the commission of a crime. whatever feelings we may have against the wretched women who for s. and £ a week go about the country burning and destroying, what must our feelings be for the women who give their money to induce the perpetration of these crimes and leave their sisters to undergo the punishment while they live in luxury?" (cheers.) "if we can succeed against them we will spare no pains. if the action is successful in the total destruction of the means of revenue of the women's social and political union i think we shall see the last of the power of mrs. pankhurst and her friends." (cheers.) in the general debate which followed the government were obliged to listen to very severe criticisms of their past and present policy towards the militant women. mr. keir hardie said in part: "we may not to-day discuss the question of the franchise, but surely it was possible for the home secretary, without any transgression on the rules of the house, to have held out just a ray of hope for the future as to the intentions of the government in regard to this most urgent question. on that point, may i say that i am not one of those who believe that a right thing should be withheld because some of the advocates of it resort to weapons of which we do not approve. that note has been sounded more than once, and if it be true, and it is true, that a section of the public outside are strongly opposed to this conduct, it is equally true that the bulk of the people look with a very calm and indifferent eye upon what is happening so long as the vote is withheld from women." mr. hardie concluded by regretting that the house, instead of discussing woman suffrage, was discussing methods of penalising militant women. mr. rupert gwynne said: "nobody is in a more ridiculous position than the members on the treasury bench. they cannot address a meeting, or go to a railway station, or even get into a taxicab, without having detectives with them. even if they like it, we, the public do not, because we have to pay for it. it is not worth the expense that it costs to have a detective staff following cabinet ministers wherever they go, whether in a private or a public capacity. "further," said mr. gwynne, "if the home secretary is correct in saying that these women are prepared to die, and invite death, in order to advertise their devotion to their cause, does he really think they are going to mind if their funds are attached?" another friend of the suffragists, mr. wedgwood said: "we are dealing with a problem which is a very serious one indeed. to my mind, when you find a large body of public opinion, and a large number of people capable of going to these lengths, there is only one thing for a respectable house of commons to do, and that is to consider very closely and clearly whether the complaints of those who complain are or are not justified. we are not justified in acting in panic. what it is our duty to do is to consider the rights and wrongs of these people who have acted in this way. i attribute myself no value to the vote, but i do think that when we seriously consider the question of woman suffrage, which has not been done by this house up to the present, we should remember that when you see people capable of this amount of self-sacrifice, that the one duty of the house of commons is not to stamp the iron heel upon them, but to see how far their cause is just, and to act according to justice." when such a debate as this was possible in the house of commons, it must be plain to every disinterested reader that militancy never set the cause of suffrage back, but on the contrary, set it forward at least half a century. when i remember how that same house of commons, a few years ago, treated the mention of woman suffrage with scorn and contempt, how they permitted the most insulting things to be said of the women who were begging for their political freedom, how, with indecent laughter and coarse jokes they allowed suffrage bills to be talked out, i cannot but marvel at the change our militancy so quickly brought about. mr. mckenna's speech was in itself a token of the complete surrender of the government. of course the promise of the home secretary that subscribers to our funds should, if possible, be held legally responsible for damage done to private property by the suffragettes, was never meant to be adhered to. it was, in fact, a perfectly absurd promise, and i think that very few members of parliament were deceived by it. our subscribers can always remain anonymous if they choose, and if it should ever be possible to attack them for our deeds, they would naturally take refuge behind that privilege. our battles are practically over, we confidently believe. for the present at least our arms are grounded, for directly the threat of foreign war descended on our nation we declared a complete truce from militancy. what will come out of this european war--so terrible in its effects on the women who had no voice in averting it--so baneful in the suffering it must necessarily bring on innocent children--no human being can calculate. but one thing is reasonably certain, and that is that the cabinet changes which will necessarily result from warfare will make future militancy on the part of women unnecessary. no future government will repeat the mistakes and the brutality of the asquith ministry. none will be willing to undertake the impossible task of crushing or even delaying the march of women towards their rightful heritage of political liberty and social and industrial freedom. the end