Dorothy remembered Phyllis Desmond now; she was that art-student girl that Vera knew. She had seen her at Vera's house.
They had drawn round the table again. Miss Blackadder and Miss Gilchrist conferred in whispers.
"Before we go," said Rosalind, "I propose that we ask Miss Dorothea Harrison to be our Vice-President."
Miss Gilchrist nodded to Miss Blackadder who rose. It was her moment.
"And I propose," she said, "that before we invite Miss Harrison to be anything we ask her to define her position--clearly and precisely."
She made a sign, and the Secretary was on her feet.
"And first we must ask Miss Harrison to explain how she became possessed of the secret policy of the Union which has never been discussed at any open meeting and is unknown to members of the General Committee."
"Then," said Dorothy, "there is a secret policy?"
"You seem to know it. We have the right to ask how you know? Unless you invented it."
Dorothy faced them. It was inconceivable that it should have happened, that she should be standing there, in the old schoolroom of her father's house, while two strange women worried her. She knew that her back was to the wall and that the Blackadder girl had been on the watch for the last half-hour to get her knife into her. (Odd, for she had admired the Blackadder girl and her fighting gestures.) It was inconceivable that she should have to answer to that absurd committee for her honour. It was inconceivable that Rosalind, her friend, should not help her.