“I do wish you could know the women I know,” said Vernon, obviously breaking a silence. He spoke in an entirely different voice. “I meant to put it the other way. I meant that I wish they could know you, and I mean that they shall. You would be a revelation to them.”
Miss Greene smiled, though her face was now careworn, almost old.
“Right along the line of our constitutional amendment, now,” he said, with a briskness, “do you think the women will become interested?”
“The women of your acquaintance, or of mine?” asked Miss Greene.
“You’re guying,” said Vernon, and when Miss Greene seriously protested, Vernon said he meant all the women, as politicians pretend to mean all the people, when they mean only the party.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “They could have the ballot to-morrow if they’d only ask for it. The trouble is they don’t want it.”
“Well, we must educate them,” said Vernon. “I have great hopes that the women whom I know will be aroused by what we are doing.”
“I have no doubt they will,” said Miss Greene. There was something enigmatical in her words, and Vernon glanced uneasily at her again.
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“You’ll learn when you see the newspapers to-morrow,” said Miss Greene.