And now, since her father's death, they had been four months together--she and her friend--in the closest intimacy, sharing--or so Delia supposed--every thought and every prospect. Delia for the greater part of that time _had_ been all glad submission and unquestioning response. It was quite natural--absolutely right--that Gertrude should command her house, her money, her daily life. She only waited for Gertrude's orders; it would be her pride to carry them out. Until-- What had happened? The girl, standing motionless beside her window, confessed to herself, as she had not been willing to confess to Gertrude, that something _had_ happened--some change of climate and temperature in her own life. In the first place, the Movement was not prospering. Why deny it? Who could deny it? Its first successes were long past; its uses as advertisement were exhausted; the old violences and audacities, as they were repeated, fell dead. The cause of Woman Suffrage had certainly not advanced. Check after check had been inflicted on it. The number of its supporters in the House of Commons had gone down and down. By-elections were only adding constantly to the number of its opponents. "Well, what then?"--said the stalwarts of the party--"More outrages, more arson, more violence! We _must_ win at last!" And, meanwhile, blowing through England like a steadily increasing gale, could be felt the force of public anger, public condemnation. Delia since her return to England had felt the chill of it, for the first time, on her own nerves and conscience. For the first time she had winced--morally--even while she mocked at her own shrinking. Was that Gertrude pacing outside? The day was dark and stormy. But Gertrude, who rarely took a walk for pleasure, scarcely ever missed the exercise which was necessary to keep her in health. Her slight figure, wrapped in a fur cape, paced a sheltered walk. Her shoulders were bent, her eyes on the ground. Suddenly it struck Delia that she had begun to stoop, that she looked older and thinner than usual. "She is killing herself!"--thought the girl in a sudden anguish--"killing herself with work and anxiety. And yet she always says she is so strong. What can I do? There is nobody that matters to her--nobody!--but me!"