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.