"Girl! Why, they're grown women with families in America at her age."
"Thank God they're not in England."
"They will be some day, mater. They're kickin' over the traces more and more every day. Watch 'em in a year or two, I say, watch 'em. One time women kept on the pavement. Now they're out in the middle of the road—and in thousands! Mark me! What ho!"
"They are not women!" ejaculated Mrs. Chichester severely.
"Oh, bless me, yes. They're women all right. I've met 'em. Listened to 'em talk. Some of 'em were rippers. Why, there was one girl I really have rather a fash on. Great big girl she is with a deep voice. She had me all quivery for a while." And his mind ran back over his "Militant" past and present.
"Just when I had begun to have some hope of her!" Alaric started.
"I didn't know you met her. Do you know Marjory Fairbanks?"
"No," replied Mrs. Chichester, almost sharply: "I mean Margaret."
"Oh! The little devil? Did ye? I never did. Not a hope! I've always felt she ought to have the inscription on dear old Shakespeare's grave waving in front of her all the time 'Good friend, for Heaven's sake forbear.' There's no hope for her, mater. Believe ME."
"I thought that perhaps under our influence—in time—"