"I don't care to discuss the Cause," she said to me. "We have trouble enough now with only the men voting. Why should we double our anxieties?" "That's silly, mother," I retorted. "Because one baby is a trouble and naughty sometimes, should one have only one child?" Basil met me at Charing Cross, and I knew there was something up by the very way his stick hung to his arm. "How's everything?" I asked, when he had called a cab and settled me in it. "How nice and sooty it is, after the Riviera!" "Filthy hole!" said Basil grumpily. "Haven't had a decent day since you left." (This was remarkable, because the papers had all said the weather in London was wonderful for that time of year.) "And Poppy?" "Poppy's a fool," Basil broke out. "I'm glad you're back, Madge. Maybe you can do something with her." But he refused to tell me anything further. He asked if I would mind going directly to Lancaster Gate, and sat back in a corner eyeing me most of the way. "You make me nervous," I said at last. "If you can't look at me pleasantly, why look at all?" "I can't help looking at you, and I'm blessed if I can look pleasant. Madge, just how much is your heart and soul in the--er--Cause?" Well, I was pretty tired of being questioned all the time. I said: "There isn't any sacrifice I wouldn't make for it." "If you were married----" "I wouldn't marry a man who didn't think as I do." He seemed to drop back further into his corner. The whole thing puzzled me. For Basil said nothing, but looked dejected and _beaten_, somehow. And yet he had always believed that women should vote. We found Poppy in her studio, but Viv's workroom below was empty and the door into the passage stood open. His desk was orderly and his pens in a row. It looked queer. Poppy was painting, standing before a huge canvas and looking very smeary; she gave me a cheek to kiss, and she was thin! Positively thin! "You're looking very fit, Maggie," she said, without a smile. "We've missed her, haven't we, Basil?" Basil grunted something. Suddenly it occurred to me that he and Poppy hardly glanced at one another, and that he was still holding his hat and gloves. Their constraint, and Viv not around and everything--I was very uncomfortable. Of course, if Basil cared for Poppy and I used to think he did, and if Vivian had found it out-- "No, thanks, Poppy," said Basil, "I'll--I'll drop in again." "Crumpets for tea!" said Poppy. They'd engaged the cook for her crumpets. "Thanks awfully," Basil muttered and having said something about seeing me again very soon, he got out. I stared after him. Could this be Basil the arrogant? Basil the abject? This brooding individual who did nothing but stare at me as if he were trying to work something out! Poppy came over to me, with her fists in the pockets of her painting apron, and looked down at me.