Mrs. B. (severely). The mere brutal work of fighting, the butchery of the trade, would still have to be left to the men; but such matters as require higher intelligence, keener wit, tact, perseverance, should be, and some day shall be, in our hands.
Mrs. Karmadine. And the beauty and grace of life, Mrs. Bulkwise. Surely we women, if allowed, could in peace bring culture to the barrack-room, and garland the sword with bay wreaths?
Mrs. B. Take the War Office. I am told that the ranks of the regiments are depleted of combatant officers in order that they may sit in offices in Pall Mall, and do clerical work indifferently. Now, I hold that our sex could do this work better, more cheaply, and with greater dispatch.
Mrs. L.-C. "Pall-Mall" would be such an excellent address.
Mrs. B. The young men, both officers and civilians, who are employed waste, so I understand, the time of the public by going out to lunch at clubs and frequently pause in their work to smoke cigars and discuss the odds. Now a glass of milk, or some claret and lemonade, a slice of seed-cake, or some tartlets, brought by a maid from the nearest A. B. C. shop would satisfy all our mid-day wants.
Mrs. L.-C. And I never knew a woman who couldn't work and talk bonnets at the same time.
Mrs. C. Just a few palms—don't you think, Mrs. Bulkwise?—in those dreary, dreary rooms, and some oriental rugs on the floors, and a little bunch of flowers on each desk would make life so much easier to live.
[Colonel Bulkwise murmurs something unintelligible.
Mrs. B. What do you say, George?
Colonel B. (with sudden fierceness). I said, that there are too many old women, as it is, in the War Office.