“They talk!” she repeated. “He’s anti-vaccination too!”
“Well, he sounds most peaceable,” I said. “I can’t understand your behaving like that at all.”
“All right,” she retorted, “go back and talk to him.”
“It’s no good doing that,” I replied, “he has probably stopped by now.”
“Not he!” said Miss Kate with a shudder. “He’s only just begun.”
“What are his politics?” I asked.
“No one knows,” she replied, “not even his wife. She made me a sign from the door.”
“Well, what have you written?” I persisted, for I had seen her scribble something as we ran. With a weak gesture she handed me her card, and against the name of William Evans I read, “When you get home at bedtime mark, HELL!”
“Come, come,” I remonstrated, “that will never do. You can’t send in that sort of remark to the committee rooms. It’s quite one thing for Mr. Bernard Shaw and another for a young girl.”
“All right. Put him down as a cubist if you like,” she said defiantly. “I don’t care.”