_Mrs. Bulkwise_ (_waving a tea cup_). As surely as woman is asserting her right to a place in medicine, in law, and in the council, so surely will she take her proper place in the control of the army. _Mrs. Lyttleton-Cartwright._ What a lovely costume one could compose out of the uniform. I've often tried Jack's tunic on. _Mrs. B._ (_severely_). The mere brutal work of fighting, the butchery of the trade, would still have to be left to the men; but such matters as require higher intelligence, keener wit, tact, perseverance, should be, and some day _shall_ be, in our hands. _Mrs. Karmadine._ And the beauty and grace of life, Mrs. Bulkwise. Surely we women, if allowed, could in peace bring culture to the barrack-room, and garland the sword with bay wreaths? _Mrs. B._ Take the War Office. I am told that the ranks of the regiments are depleted of combatant officers in order that they may sit in offices in Pall Mall, and do clerical work indifferently. Now, I hold that our sex could do this work better, more cheaply, and with greater dispatch. _Mrs. L.-C._ "Pall-Mall" would be such an excellent address. _Mrs. B._ The young men, both officers and civilians, who are employed waste, so I understand, the time of the public by going out to lunch at clubs and frequently pause in their work to smoke cigars and discuss the odds. Now a glass of milk, or some claret and lemonade, a slice of seed-cake, or some tartlets, brought by a maid from the nearest A. B. C. shop would satisfy all our mid-day wants. _Mrs. L.-C._ And I never knew a woman who couldn't work and talk bonnets at the same time. _Mrs. C._ Just a few palms--don't you think, Mrs. Bulkwise?--in those dreary, _dreary_ rooms, and some oriental rugs on the floors, and a little bunch of flowers on each desk would make life so much easier to live. [_Colonel Bulkwise murmurs something unintelligible_. _Mrs. B._ What do you say, George? _Colonel B. (with sudden fierceness)._ I said, that there are too many old women, as it is, in the War Office. _Mrs. B._ George! [_The colonel relapses again into morose silence._ _Mrs. B._ The Intelligence Department should, of course, be in our hands. _Mrs. L.-C._ I should just love to run about all the time, finding out other people's secrets. _Mrs. B._ And the Clothing Department calls for a woman's knowledge. The hideous snuff-coloured garments must be retained for warfare, but with the new costume for walking out and ceremonial I think something might be done. _Mrs. L.-C._ The woman who makes my frocks is as clever as she can be, and always has her head full of ideas for those sort of things. _Mrs. C._ Michel Angelo did not disdain to design the uniform of the Swiss Guard. Perhaps Gilbert, or Ford, or Brock might follow in the giant's footsteps. _Col. B._ You ladies always design such sensible clothes for yourselves, do you not? [_He is frozen into silence again._