Well, we got started at last. Poppy left in a raging temper over something or other--a bill before the house, I think. I was so busy getting packed that I forgot what it was, if I ever knew--and hardly spoke for twenty miles. But at Guildford she recovered her temper. It was the time of the Assizes, and the Sheriff was lunching at our hotel. His gilt coach was at the door, with a footman in wig and plush, white stockings and buckles, and a most magnificent coachman. Poppy's eyes narrowed. She pointed to the footman's ornamented legs. "The great babies!" she said. "How a man loves to dress! Government, is it? Eighteenth century costumes and mediæval laws! Government--in gold lace and a cocked hat! Law in its majesty, Madge, with common sense and common justice in rags. _That_ can vote, while you and I----" she stopped for breath. The footman's calves twitched, but he looked straight ahead. I got her into the building somehow or other. She looked quite calm, except that she was breathing hard. I confess that I thought she was ashamed of herself; I reminded her that she had promised to be quiet on this trip, and I told her, as firmly as I could, that it wasn't proper to make fun of a man's legs. She powdered her nose and looked penitent and distractingly pretty. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's this parade of authority that gets on my nerves, and this glittering show of half the people ruling all the people." When she came back from ordering the luncheon she was smiling. I thought it was all over. (I am telling this incident, not because it belongs to the story, but because it sheds a light on Poppy's character, and perhaps explains what came later.) "Luncheon!" she said, cheerfully, "with strawberries as big as a teacup, and clotted cream." I think my mind was on the clotted cream, for I followed her past one dining-room to a second, a long, low room, full of men. She pushed me in ahead. "I--I think it's the wrong room, Poppy," I said. "There's the----" It _was_ the wrong room, and she knew it. The Sheriff was at the centre table and near him was a great serving stand, with hot and cold roasts and joints. I tried to back out, but at that moment Poppy slammed the door and locked it. "Don't yell!" she said to me under her breath, and _dropped something ice-cold down my back. The key!_ About half the men started to their feet. Poppy raised a hand. "Gentlemen," she said, "you need not rise! I have a few things I would like to say while you finish luncheon. I shall be entirely orderly. The question of the Suffrage----" They dodged as if she had been loaded with shrapnel instead of a speech. They shouted and clamored. They ordered us out. And all the time the door was locked and the key was down my back. "Poppy!" I said, clutching her arm. "Poppy, for the love of heaven----" She had forgotten me absolutely. When she finally turned her eyes on me, she never even saw me.