(For it would to me, and if a man likes you and you like him, why not let him know it? And if he liked me the way I looked then, what would he think when he saw me clothed properly and in my right mind?) He leaned over and kissed my hands as they lay in my lap. "Bless you!" he said. "I suppose you couldn't possibly wear that gown? Will you have to throw it away?" "No," I announced, "I am going to lay it away. I--I may use it some time." "How?" He was as curious as a child. "Are you going to make a banner of it, with gold fringe all round and 'Votes for Women' embroidered on it?" "_No!_" I said decisively. SAUCE FOR THE GANDER It was on a Thursday evening that Basil Ward came to Poppy's house at Lancaster Gate. We had been very glum at dinner, with Poppy staring through me with her fork half raised, and dabs of powder around her eyes so I wouldn't know she had been crying. Vivian's place was laid, but of course he was not there. And after dinner we went up to the drawing room, and Poppy worked at the kitchen clock. We heard Basil coming up the stairs, and Poppy went quite pale. The alarm on the clock went off just then, too, and for a minute we both thought we'd been blown up. Basil stood in the doorway--he's very good-looking, Basil, especially when he is excited. And he was excited now. Poppy rose and stared at him. It was very dramatic. "Well?" she said. "I'm deucedly sorry, Poppy," said Basil. "He absolutely refuses. He says he'll stay. Says he likes it. It's extremely quiet. He wants his pens and some paper sent over--has an idea for the new book." Poppy's color came back in two spots in her cheeks. "So he likes it!" she observed. "Very well. Then that's settled." She turned to me. "You've heard Basil, Madge, and you've heard me. That's all there is to it." Poppy is very excitable, and as long as she had the clock in her hand Basil stayed near the door. Now, however, she put it down, and Basil came in. "You and Vivian are a pair of young geese," he said to Poppy. "It's a horrible place." "Vivian likes it." "You are going to let him stay?" "I didn't make the law. You men make these laws. Now try living up to them. When women have the vote----" But Basil headed her off. He dropped his voice. "That isn't the worst, Mrs. Viv," he said slowly. "He's--gone on a hunger strike!" * * * * * I'd been in England for six months visiting Daphne Delaney, who is my cousin. But visiting Daphne had been hard work. She is so earnest. One started out to go shopping with her, and ended up on a counter in Harrod's demanding of a mob of women hunting bargains in one-and-six kids (gloves) why they were sheep. "Sheep!" she would say, eyeing them scornfully. "Silly sheep who do nothing but bleat--with but one occupation, or reason for living, to cover your backs!" Then two or three stately gentlemen in frock-coats would pull her down, and I would try to pretend I was not with her.