"Everyone seems to be fighting hard, not for the present but the future—for something they'll never live to see!—ruining their own lives meanwhile. Supposing these strikers get their way—higher wages and all that—" she waved her hand with a broad gesture—"D'you think the generations ahead will be contented in their turn? Or will they be fighting for more, too? I don't see any end to it!"
"Well, I wouldn't worry if I were you," McTaggart nodded his head wisely. "I expect it's always been the same. It's what we're pleased to call 'Progress'.
"I think your plan's the best, my dear. To help and comfort where you can; and leave the larger questions alone for those who have really studied the matter.
"We'll go and see the baker's wife, and—can't we take her something, Jill? Food—or money? what d'you think?"
"Not money!" Jill winced. "They aren't really paupers, you know. It's so easy to hurt the pride of the poor—the working poor. We might get her some flowers."
"Well, come along then. Thanks for my coffee." He rose to his feet. "You'll want a thick coat, old girl, the wind's in the North—but a good blow will do you good—scatter the cobwebs."
As they passed into the hall he asked after Mrs. Uniacke.
"She's not very well." Jill still looked troubled. "She's gone to Reading for a suffrage meeting."
"I say—did you tell her about the baker's wife?" He tucked the rug closely around her as she settled herself in the car.
"Oh, yes." She gave him a comical glance, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Can't you guess what she said?"