"It's rather nice, isn't it," he said suddenly. "Here we are, almost at Land's End, and the old Atlantic--Madge, will you give me a perfectly honest answer to a question?" I braced myself. "Yes." "Did you stay over here in England because your whole heart is in the Cause?" "Ye--es." "Your _whole_ heart?" "Our motives are always mixed, Basil," I said kindly. "It would have been awfully silly to have endured that miserable spring and not have stayed for June and July." "You get a great many cablegrams from America." "That," I said, with dignity, "is of course my own affair." "About the Cause?" "Not--always." "From a man, of course." "Yes," I said sweetly, and went back to the hotel. I broke the news to Poppy about Vivian and she stormed. But suddenly she stopped, with a calculating gleam in her eye. "He's a fool to follow me," she said, "but he has gleams of intelligence, Madge. I shall put the T. C. matter up to him!" So I sent Viv a note that night. You see one must manage Poppy. "Dear Viv: She knows and the worst is over. Breakfast early and keep out of the way until noon. She is going to work, and anyhow, it will make her curious. If you have a good retort to the T. C. business, don't give it at once. It would humiliate her. Then, when you've given it to her, if she's pleased, you can ask her _the other_. She's silly about you, Viv, but she won't acknowledge it to herself. "Madge. "P. S. Don't make any stipulation about Suffrage, but make her promise to let you do and think as you like. _Be sure._ Get her to write it, if you can. I happen to know that if she marries you, she hopes you'll take alternate Sundays with her at the Monument, so she can speak at Camberwell. "M." Poppy came down to breakfast in her best morning frock, looking lovely, and sat with her profile to the room. I thought she watched the door, too, and she took only an egg, although she usually has a kipper also. But neither of the men showed up. She loitered over the _Times_, but at last she got her sketching things, and we went out to the cliff head, where there's a bench. It is a long tongue of rock, about twenty feet wide or so, and far below, on each side, the ocean. There was a rough-haired pony out there also, and the three of us were crowded. The pony wanted sugar or something, and kept getting in the way. Poppy sketched, but her heart wasn't in it and at every new halloo from some tourist exploring King Arthur's ruins (The Castle, of course) she looked up expectantly. At last I caught sight of Basil waving to me from the hotel, and I went back. I left Poppy there alone, pretending to sketch, although it was perfectly clear to every one that the only view she had was of the pony's mangy side. Shortly after, I saw Vivian, in walking tweeds, going along one of the sheep's paths toward her, and looking very handsome and determined.