“I won’t be put off. You write that nonsense in your letters. Why aren’t you interested in all this?”
“I truly am. Very noticeably. I’m secretary to this and treasurer to that—all the women’s things in town. On boards of directors—no end.”
“And you care about them as much as your tone shows. Are you submerged in your husband then?”
“He’d love to hear you say that. Love you for the suspicion and hate you for the utterance. No—hardly submerged. He’s a very fascinating person and I’d go almost any lengths—but hardly submerged. Where did you get the word anyway? Ultra-modern for subjugated? Gage is good to me. Lets me go and come, unchallenged—doesn’t read my letters—”
“Stop being an idiot. I’m not insinuating things against Gage. What I’m trying to find out is what you are interested in.”
“I’m interested in so many things I couldn’t begin to tell you. Psychoanalysis—novels—penny lunches—you—Mrs. Brownley’s career as a politician—my beloved babies—isn’t that enough?”
“I’m not at all sure that it is enough.”
“Well, then you shall find me a new job and I’ll chuck the old ones. Tell me about yourself. I hardly had a chance to hear the other day. So the great Harriet Thompson sent you out to inspire the Middle West with love of the Republican party? It’s hardly like you, Margaret, to be campaigning for anything so shopworn as the Republican party.”
“I do that on the side. What I do primarily is to stir up people to believe in women—especially women in women.”
“Then you don’t believe in the G. O. P.”