"I would have torn down those cottages with my own hands!" burst forth Geneviève.
E. Eliot stared. "No one likes her income cut down, you know," she palliated.
"Income! What is that to human decencies?" cried the newly awakened apostle.
"Your husband doesn't entirely agree with you in some of these matters, I suppose."
"Oh, yes he does, in his heart! But there's something about politics that won't let you come right out and say what you think."
"Not after you've come right out once and said the wrong thing," laughed E. Eliot. "I'm afraid you will have to use your indirect influence on him, Mrs. Remington."
Geneviève threw her cards on the table.
"Miss Eliot, I am just beginning to see how much there is for women to do in the world. I want to do something big—the sort of thing you and Betty Sheridan are doing—to rouse women. What can I do?" E. Eliot scrutinized the ardent young face with amiable amusement.
"You can't very well help us just now without hurting your husband's chances and embarrassing him in the bargain. You see, we're trying to embarrass him. We want him to kick over the traces and tell what he's going to do as district attorney of this town."
"But can't I do something that won't interfere with George? Couldn't I investigate the factories, or organize the working girls?"