‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. It was enough. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her soul revolted. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. "You are out betimes this morning, Mr. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. ” She thanked him with one of her shy little glances. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again.
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