The teacher shook her head.
"And the Governors have given me a month's salary here in lieu of notice. I've left the school, Miss Blanchflower! I was in the Square you know, that day—and at the Police Court afterwards. That was what did it. And I have my old mother to keep."
A pair of haggard eyes met Delia's.
"Oh, but I'll help!" cried Delia.—"You must let me help!—won't you?"
"Thank you—but I've got a few savings," said the teacher quietly. "It isn't that so much. It's—well, Miss Toogood feels it too. She was in town—she saw everything. And she knows what I mean. We're disheartened—that's what it is!"
"With the movement?" said Delia, after a moment.
"It seemed so splendid when we talked of it down here—and—it was—so horrible!" Her voice dropped.
"So horrible!" echoed Miss Toogood drearily. "It wasn't what we meant, somehow. And yet we'd read about it. But to see those young women beating men's faces—well, it did for me!"
"The police were rough too!" cried Miss Jackson. "But you couldn't wonder at it, Miss Blanchflower, could you?"
Delia looked into the speaker's frank, troubled face. "You and I felt the same," she said in a choked voice. "It was ugly—and it was absurd."