Delia was now sitting on the floor with her hands round her knees, looking up. The slight stiffening of her face shewed that it had been an effort to say what she had said. "So _you_ think that Lang ought to be approached with 'bated breath and whispering humbleness'--just as he is on the point of trampling us and our cause into the dirt?" "No--certainly not! But why hasn't he as good a right to his opinion as we to ours--without being threatened with personal violence?" Gertrude drew a long breath of amazement. "I don't quite see, Delia, why you ever joined the 'Daughters'--or why you stay with them." "That's not fair!"--protested Delia, the colour flooding in her cheeks. "As for burning stupid villas--that are empty and insured--or boathouses--or piers--or tea-pavilions, to keep the country in mind of us,--that's one thing. But threatening _persons_ with violence--that's--somehow--another thing. And as to villas and piers even--to be quite honest--I sometimes wonder, Gertrude!--I declare, I'm beginning to wonder! And why shouldn't one take up one's policy from time to time and look at it, all round, with a free mind? We haven't been doing particularly well lately." Gertrude laughed--a dry, embittered sound--as she pushed the _Tocsin_ from her. "Oh well, of course, if you're going to desert us in the worst of the fight, and to follow your guardian's lead--" "But I'm not!" cried Delia, springing to her feet. "Try me. Haven't I promised--a hundred things? Didn't I say all you expected me to say at Latchford? And, on the whole"--her voice dragged a little--"the empty houses and the cricket pavilions--still seem to me fair game. It's only--as to the good it does. Of course--if it were Monk Lawrence--" "Well--if it were Monk Lawrence?" "I should think that a crime! I told you so before." "Why?" Delia looked at her friend with a contracted brow. "Because--it's a national possession! Lang's only the temporary owner--the trustee. We've no right to destroy what belongs to _England_." Gertrude laughed again--as she rose from the tea-table. "Well, as long as women are slaves, I don't see what England matters to them. However, don't trouble yourself. Monk Lawrence is all right. And Mr. Winnington's a charmer--we all know that." Delia flushed angrily. But Gertrude, having gathered up her papers, quietly departed, leaving her final shaft to work.