"It was idiotic of me," confessed Penelope; "she said something unfair about 'those dreadful women,' so I had to say I was one of them; and after that I had to go on, naturally. But if I haven't converted mother in the drawing-room, I seem to have succeeded incidentally in converting cook in the kitchen. It's a pity there were not a few more Antis concealed about the house while I was at the ear-trumpet, isn't it?"
"Listen!" I interrupted.
Sarah was clearing away tea, and through the open drawing-room door came scraps of conversation.
"It is only right to study both sides of a question, Sarah."
"Yes'm."
"Florence Nightingale, the noblest Englishwoman who ever lived—I hope you open the window and not the door, when you wish to air your bedroom, Sarah?—Florence Nightingale was misrepresented just in the same way."
"Yes'm."
"I think I shall stop your monthly magazine and order a suffrage periodical for the kitchen instead."
"Yes'm. We have two of Miss Penelope's already. Thank you, ma'am."
Penelope and I fled downstairs to escape detection.