She put her foot down on to the first step. "What is it?" "I'll bet you ten pounds we don't. That is to say you win ten pounds if we do." She laughed contemptuously in a breath and hurried down the steps. CHAPTER III It is all very well to say that there have been movements towards the enfranchisement of women since before the Roman era; it is all very well to point out that these movements are periodical, almost as inevitable as the volcanic eruptions that belch out their volumes of running fire and die down again into peaceful submission: but when the whole vital cause is altered, when the intrinsic motive in the entrails of that vast crater is changed, it is no wise policy to say, "It will pass over--another two or three years and women will find, as they have always found before, that it is better to sit still and let others do the work." It is the problem of population that is being worked out now, not the mere spontaneous and ephemeral struggle of a few dominating personalities. It is well-nigh ludicrous to think that Sally Bishop--quiet, virtuous, chaste Sally Bishop, the very opposite of a revolutionary--is one in the ranks of a great army who are marching, they scarcely know whither, to a command they have scarcely heard, strained to a mighty endurance in a cause they scarcely understand. She seems too young to be of service, too frail to bear the hardships of the way. How can she stand out against the forced marches, the weary, sleepless camping at night? There are going to be many in this great campaign who will drop exhausted from the ranks--many who, under cover of night, when the sentinel is drowsy at his post, will slip out into the darkness, weary of the fatigue, regardless of the consequences--a deserter from the cause that is so ill-understood. There are going to be many who, through a passing village where all is peace and contentment, will hear the tempting whisper of mutiny. What is the good of it all--to what does it lead, this endless forced march towards a vague encounter with the enemy who are never to be seen? If only they might pitch tents there and then--there and then dig trenches, make positions, occupy heights--put the rifle to the shoulder and fire--into hell if need be. But no--this endless, toilsome marching, marching--always onward, yet never at the journey's end.