“He may have twenty aunts,” I said; “that’s not my point. What I’m thinking of is the excellent effect it will produce in the constituency if I publicly sacrifice myself by handing over my nurse to my political opponent. The amount of electioneering capital which could be made out of an act of heroism of that kind--why, it would catch the popular imagination more than if I jumped into a mill race to save Vittie from a runaway horse, and everybody knows that if you can bring off a spoof of that sort an election is as good as won.” Titherington growled. “All the papers would have it,” I said. “Even the Nationalists would be obliged to admit that I’d done a particularly noble thing.” “I don’t believe Vittie has the influenza.” “McMeekin said so.” “It would be just like Vittie,” said Titherington, “to pretend he had it so as to get an excuse for calling in McMeekin. He knows McMeekin has been wobbling ever since you got ill.” This silenced me. If Vittie is crafty enough to devise such a complicated scheme for bribing McMeekin without bringing himself within the meshes of the Corrupt Practices Act he is certainly too wise to allow himself to be subjected to my nurse. “Anyway,” said Titherington, “it’s not Vittie’s influenza I came here to talk about.” “Have you got the key of your bag with you?” Titherington was in a bad temper, but he allowed himself to grin. He went down on his hands and knees and dragged the bag from its hiding place under the bed. We opened two half bottles, but although Titherington drank a great deal more than his share he remained morose. “That girl,” he said, “is playing old hookey with the constituency. I won’t be answerable for the consequences unless she’s stopped at once.” “I suppose you’re speaking about Miss Beresford?” “Instead of talking rot about woman’s suffrage,” said Titherington savagely, “and ragging Vittie, which is what we brought her here for, she’s going round calling everybody a liar. And it won’t do. I tell you it won’t do at all.” “You said it was a good speech,” I reminded him. “I shouldn’t have minded that speech. It’s what she’s been at since then. She spent all day yesterday and the whole of this morning going round from house to house gassing about the way nobody in political life ever speaks the truth. She has a lot of young fools worked up to such a state that I can scarcely show my face in the streets, and I hear that they mobbed a man up at the railway station who came down to support O’Donoghue. He deserved it, of course, but it’s impossible to say who they’ll attack next. Half the town is going about with yards of white ribbon pinned on to them.” “What on earth for?” “Some foolery. It’s the badge of some blasted society she’s started. There’s A.S.P.L. on the ribbons.” “I told you at the start,” I said, “that the letters A.S.P.L. couldn’t stand for votes for women, but you would have it that they did.”