The slightest humorous quiver in Winnington's strong mouth enraged her still further. But he spoke with most courteous gravity. "Then I can't persuade you to give up these meetings? I should of course make no objection whatever, if these were ordinary Suffrage meetings. But the Society you are going to represent and collect money for is a Society that exists _to break the law_. And its members have--just lately--come conspicuously into collision with the law. Your father would have protested, and I am bound to protest--in his name." "I cannot give them up." He was silent a moment. "If that is so"--he said at last--"I must do my best to protect you." "I don't want any protection!" "I am a magistrate, as well as your guardian. You must allow me to judge. There is a very bitter feeling abroad, after these--outrages--of the last few days. The village where you are going to speak has some rowdy elements--drawn from the brickfields near it. You will certainly want protection. I shall see that you get it." He spoke with decision. Delia bit her lip. "We prefer to risk our lives," she said at last. "I mean--there isn't any risk!--but if there were--our lives are nothing in comparison with the cause!" "You won't expect your friends to agree with you," he said drily; then, still holding her with an even keener look, he added-- "And there is another point in connection with these meetings which distresses me. I see that you are speaking on the same platform--with Mr. Paul Lathrop--" "And why not?"--she flashed, the colour rushing to her cheeks. He paused, walked away with his hands in his pockets, and came back again. "I have been making some enquiries about him. He is not a man with whom you ought to associate--either in public, or in private." She gave a sound--half scorn--half indignation which startled him. "You mean--because of the divorce case?" He looked at her amazed. "That is what I meant. But--I certainly do not wish to discuss it with you. Will you not take it from me that Mr. Lathrop is not--cannot be--a man whom as a young unmarried woman you ought to receive in your house--or with whom you should be seen in public." "No, indeed I won't take it from you!" she said passionately. "Miss Marvell knows--Miss Marvell told me. He ran away with some one he loved. Her husband was _vile_! But she couldn't get any help--because of the law--the abominable law--which punishes women--and lets men go free. So they went away together, and after a little she died. Alter your law, Mr. Winnington!--make it equal for men and women--and then we'll talk." As she spoke--childishly, defiant--Winnington's mind was filled with a confusion of clashing thoughts--the ideals of his own first youth which made such a speech in the mouth of a girl of twenty-one almost intolerable to him--and the moral conditions--slowly gained--of his maturity. He agreed with what she said. And yet it was shocking to him to hear her say it.