The telephone beside her rang. She put the receiver to her ear, wondering who dared interrupt her at night in times of peace. Although a truce with the Government was not formally declared until February 14th, the Militants were resting on the laurels won in the General Election.
A man’s voice answered her “Hello!”
“Who is it?”
“Guess!”
“I—I can’t.”
“Well, I hope my voice has changed some.”
“Oh—so you are here. How generous of you to give us those £200!”
“Generous nothing. You fired me up so with that speech that I came near subscribing my entire letter of credit, and then borrowing back enough to pay my hotel bill and get out.”
“Why didn’t you come up to the platform afterward, or wait for me in the lobby?”
“Frightened out of my wits. I’m never shy at the other end of the telephone, so thought I’d meet you this way first. If you’d made the usual female speech, I should have remained quite myself. But with all your wit and fire, you’re so finished, so polished—and you look that way, too. My teeth are still chattering. Somehow, in spite of everything, I suddenly realized that I’d always remembered you as the little princess on the tower.”