"Oh, she's a militant suffragist," said the solicitor quietly—"though she's not had time yet since her father's death to do any mischief. That—in confidence—is the meaning of the will."
The adjutant whistled.
"Goodness!—Winnington will have his work cut out for him. But he needn't accept."
"He has accepted. I heard this morning from the London solicitor."
"Your firm does the estate business down here?"
"For many years. I hope to see Mr. Winnington to-morrow or next day. He is evidently hurrying home—because of this."
There was silence for a few minutes; then the Captain said bluntly:
"It's an awful pity, you know, that kind of thing cropping up down here. We've escaped it so far."
"With such a lot of wild women about, what can you expect?" said the solicitor briskly. "Like the measles—sure to come our way sooner or later."
"Do you think they'll get what they want?" "What—the vote? No—not unless the men are fools." The refined, apostolic face set like iron.