“Yes, I expect they needed to be told.” “Nonsense,” said Courtesy. “For the last five years,” said the suffragette, “I have followed my conscience over rough land. I have been suffragetting industriously all that time. And every one laughed behind their hands at me. Not that I care. But to-day I have been a fool, and they have promoted me to the rank of heroine.” “Nonsense,” said Courtesy. “You’re not a fool. And surely you never were a suffragette.” “I am a militant suffragette,” said the suffragette proudly. “It takes a little courage and no hysteria to march through the city with drunk medical students waiting to knock you down at the next corner; and it takes hysteria and no courage to fall by mistake into the Atlantic.” “You quaint dear,” said Courtesy, who had not been giving undivided attention to her patient’s remarks. “I do believe you’ve got something in you besides brains after all. There now, you must try and sleep. Pleasant dreams. And if you’re a good gal and wake up with some roses in your cheeks, you shall have your husband to come and have tea with you.” “No,” said the suffragette. “Don’t call him that.” Courtesy wrenched the stopper of the hot-water bottle tightly on, as though she were also corking up her curiosity. As she went upstairs Courtesy discovered that she quite liked the suffragette—from a height. For a person suffering from brains, and from a mystery, and from political fervour, and from lack of physical stamina, the woman was quite surprisingly likeable. On deck, Courtesy’s friendly feeling was immediately put to the test. Mrs. Paul Rust beckoned her to her side. “That woman who jumped into the water after Hammer ... she is quite well again, of course?” It was rather difficult for Mrs. Rust to put this question, because the most obvious form was, “How is she?” and that would have been far too human. “She’ll be all right,” said Courtesy. “And even if she wasn’t she wouldn’t say so. She keeps herself to herself. You’ve torn a button off your coat. Shall I sew it on for you? You’ll miss your maid.” “I shall not,” said Mrs. Rust. “She was a fool to behave in that way. Nothing but indigestion.” “You shouldn’t speak hardly of the dead,” said Courtesy, indomitably conventional. “Stuff and nonsense,” retorted Mrs. Rust, and closed her eyes in order to close the subject. “That young woman...” “I shall call her the suffragette,” said Courtesy. “She says she is one, and she looks like one.” “At any rate, the priest tells me she is not married to the ship’s gardener. Is that so?” “It’s not the priest’s business. Nor mine either.” “You would drop her like a red-hot coal if she were not married.” “Time enough to decide that later. I don’t approve of irregularity, of course. Marriage after all is an excellent idea.”