‘Surely you know,’ Grace went on, ‘that our object is more than we have ventured to proclaim. We began with the cry of “Youth for the Young.” That touched a grievance which was more felt, perhaps, in country districts, where men retained some of their independence, than in towns. But we meant very much more. We shall abolish the Established Church, and the supremacy of Woman. Man will reign once more, and will worship, after the manner of his ancestors, the real living Divine Man, instead of the shadowy Perfect Woman.’
‘Oh!’ Constance heard and trembled. ‘And we—what shall we do?’
‘We shall take our own place—we shall be the housewives; we shall be loving and faithful servants to men, and they will be our servants in return. Love knows no mastery. Yet man must rule outside the house.’
‘Oh!’ Constance could say no more.
‘Believe me, this is the true place of woman; she is the giver of happiness and love; she is the mother and the wife. As for us, we have reigned and have tried to rule. How much we have failed, no one knows better than yourself.’
Grace guided her companion to a great marquee, where the company of girls, sobered now, and rather tearful, because their sweethearts were to go a-fighting in earnest on the morrow, were making lint and bandages.
‘I must go on with my work,’ said Grace. Her sister Faith was already in her place, tearing, cutting and shaping. ‘Do you lie down’ here is a pile of lint—make that your bed, and sleep if you can.’
Constance lay down; but she could not sleep. She already heard in imagination the tramp of the cruel Convict Wardens; she saw her lover and his companions shot down; she was herself a prisoner; then, with a cry, she sprang to her feet.
‘Give me some work to do,’ she said to Grace; ‘I cannot sleep.’
They made a place for her, Grace and Faith between them, saying nothing.