“What do you call it?”
“Well, I think I like ‘Breadwinner’ best, as that is what I do it for—but I don’t mind working woman.”
The stranger looked hard into the darkness a few moments, then he asked suddenly, sitll with the new note in his voice:
“And I suppose you want the vote?”
Mentally he was wondering whether, if she knew who he was, she would attack him physically or insist upon writing in chalk all over his car.
“I don’t want it for myself, because I shouldn’t know what to do with it, and I haven’t much time to find out. But I want fair play for women-workers generally, and if that is the only way to get it, I hope it will come quickly.”
“What do you mean by fair play?”
“Just whatever is fair play. I don’t think women ought to be making iron chains at Cradley Heath for a penny a yard, for instance, and that sort of thing. I think it is a slur on the men who govern the country that it is possible. If you were one of them, and drove about in this beautiful car, not caring twopence whether starving women were sweated or not, I should—” she hesitated.
“Well, what should you—”
Detecting the mysterious note in his voice, she added with mischievous, half-serious intent: