With their days filled, there was little time for intimacy or confidential talks between Mary and Cousin Patty. And since Mary would not ask questions about Roger, and since Cousin Patty seemed to have certain reserves in his direction, it was only meager information which trickled out; and with this Mary was forced to be content. Grace marched in the Suffrage Parade, and they applauded her from their seats on the Treasury stand. Aunt Frances, who sat with them, was filled with indignation. "To think that _my_ daughter----" Cousin Patty threw down the gauntlet: "Why not your daughter, Mrs. Clendenning?" "Because the women of our family have always been--different." "So have the women of my family," calmly, "but that's no reason why we should expect to stand still. None of the women of my family ever made wedding cake for a living. But that isn't any reason why I should starve, is it?" Aunt Frances shifted the argument. "But to march--on the street." "That's their way of expressing themselves. Men march--and have marched since the beginning. Sometimes their marching doesn't mean anything, and sometimes it does. And I'm inclined," said Cousin Patty with an emphatic nod of her head, "to think that this marching means a great deal." On and on they came, these women who marched for a Cause, heads up, eyes shining. There had been something to bear at the other end of the line where the crowd had pressed in upon them, and there had been no adequate police protection, but they were ready for martyrdom, if need be, perhaps, some of them would even welcome it. But Grace was no fanatic. She met them afterward, and told of her experience gleefully. "You should have been with me, Mary," she said. Porter rose in his wrath. "What has bewitched you women?" he demanded. "Do you all believe in it?" And now Leila piped, "I don't want to march. I don't want to do the things that men do. I want to have a nice little house, and cook and sew, and take care of somebody." They all laughed. But Porter surveyed Leila with satisfaction. "Barry's a lucky fellow," he said. "Oh, Porter," Mary reproached him, as he helped her down from her high seat on the stand. "Well, he is. Leila couldn't keep her nice little house any better than you, Mary. But the thing is that she _wants_ to keep it for Barry. And you--you want to march on the street--and laugh--at love." She surveyed him coldly. "That shows just how much you understand me," she said, and turned her back on him and accepted an invitation to ride home in the Jeliffes' car. On the day of the Inauguration, the same party had seats on the stand opposite the one in front of the White House from which the President reviewed the troops.