She was suffering, too, a little. She felt heavy in the legs, and a vein in her left calf hurt a little in the evening if she had walked or stood much. Soon, though it did not increase, the pain became her daily companion, for even when absent it haunted her. She would await a twinge for a whole day, ready and fearful, bracing herself up against a shock which often found her unprepared. At all times too the obsession seemed to follow her now. Perhaps she was walking through Regent's Park, buoyant and feeling capable of lifting a mountain, but the thought would rush upon her, perhaps it was going to hurt. She would lie awake too, oblivious of the heavy breathing by her side, rested, all her senses asleep, and then though she felt no pain the fear of it would come upon her and she would wrestle with the thought that the blow was about to fall. Sometimes she would go out into the streets, seeking variety even in a wrangle between her Pekingese and some other dog. This meant that she must separate them, apologise to the owner, exchange perhaps a few words. Once she achieved a conversation with an old lady, a kindly soul, the mistress of a poodle. They walked together along the Canal, and the futile conversation fell like balm on Victoria's ears. The freshness of a voice ignorant of double meanings was soft as dew. They were to meet again, but the old lady was a near neighbour and she must have heard something of Victoria's reputation, for when they met again opposite Lord's, the old lady crossed over and the poodle followed her haughtily, leaving Snoo and Poo disconsolate and wondering on the edge of the pavement. One morning Augusta came into the boudoir about twelve, carrying a visiting card on a little tray. 'Miss Emma Welkin,' read Victoria. 'League of the Rights of Women. What does she want, Augusta?' 'She says she wants to see Mrs Ferris, Mum.' 'League of the Rights of Women? Why, she must be a suffragist.' 'Yes, Mum. She wear a straw hat, Mum,' explained Augusta with a slight sniff. 'And a tweed coat and skirt, I suppose,' said Victoria smiling. 'Oh, yes, Mum. Shall I say go away?' 'M'm. No, tell her to come in.' While Augusta was away Victoria settled herself in the cushions. Perhaps it might be interesting. The visitor was shown in. 'How do you do?' said Victoria holding out her hand. 'Please sit down. Excuse my getting up, I'm not very well.' Miss Welkin looked about her, mildly surprised. It was a pretty room, but somehow she felt uncomfortable. Victoria was looking at her. A capable type of femininity this; curious, though, in its thick man-like clothes, its strong boots. She was not bad looking, thirty perhaps, very erect and rather flat. Her face was fresh, clean, innocent of powder; her eyes were steady behind glasses; her hair was mostly invisible, being tightly pulled back. There were firm lines about her mouth. A fighting animal.