'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?'