No question of the day ever interested Grace. Lady Lyons never understood the question, and the injustice of women who have large control of money, and who contribute largely to the revenue in many ways and yet cannot give a vote, did not give her a pang. She knew that some women had made the subject ridiculous; she was afraid of ridicule, and she did not take the trouble of disentangling the question from the absurdities reared round it, and judging it on its own merits.
"I don't like being here at all," whispered Lady Lyons; "I am so afraid of being taken for a strong-minded woman."
"Pray do not be afraid of that," said Grace, satirically; "that is the very last thing your worst enemy would accuse you of."
The meeting dragged on, and the heat became quite suffocating. All at once Grace gave a little cry, and threw herself back, closing her eyes.
"A lady fainting! Air! Water! Salts! Salvolatile!" shouted dozens of voices at once.
Grace, still with closed eyes, was carried out of the room, where Lady Lyons gladly remained with her, in a small back room, consecrated to Lady Penryn's writings.
When the meeting dispersed she came in to see how Grace was, and was overwhelming in her affectionate attentions.
"Poor dear thing," she said.
"The heat was very great," said Lady Lyons, apologetically.
"Not in my rooms," said Lady Penryn, very decidedly. "The ventilation is admirably done—a private arrangement of my own."