Through the closed door came the sound of loud, furious voices. We caught glimpses of wildly gesticulating arms, fists in air, contorted faces. One o’clock approached. Mr. Moss came out and crossed quickly to the elevator. We hurried after him.
“Indefinitely postponed,” he said indignantly, not wanting to talk about it.
“But our majority?”
“We lost one.”
“Who?”
“I cannot tell.” He stepped into the elevator. The other men came trooping out. Our defeat was irrevocable, they all said. Nothing could be done until the following December.
“You see,” said Mr. Taggart, looking very jubilant for a just-defeated Suffragist, “You women can all go home now. You needn’t have come at all this session. But of course you women don’t know anything about politics. We told you not to bring up Suffrage before election. Next December, after election, we may do something for you.”
Our opponents, secure in victory, grew more friendly; but as they warmed, our supporters became colder. Mr. Chandler flatly refused to stay with us.
“I’ve voted for your Amendment twice,” he said, “and I won’t vote for it again this session. That’s final.”
I also heard rumors of Mr. Neely’s refusing to vote for it, so I caught him in a corridor and hurried beside him, talking as I walked.