“What do they teach at English schools, can you tell me, Jeffrey? This girl says she knows French, and if she can follow one word I am saying now——” She broke off and shrugged. “Yet I dare say she went to an expensive school. Now, I had a Bavarian maid, educated in the ordinary village school, and she spoke English with ease, and French better than any English schoolgirl I’ve come across. Wait whilst I try her in something else.” She turned back to Jane. “Just send the original to Mrs. Blunt—I haven’t time to bother with it—and make a note for me. I want it inserted after para three on the second page of that typewritten article that came back this morning.” Jane supposed she might be allowed to know what a “para” was. She turned over the leaves of the typescript and waited for the dictation. The last sentence read, “Woman through all the ages is at the disposal and under the autocratic rule of man, but it is not of her own volition.” She wondered what was to come next, and waited, keenly on the alert. Lady Heritage began to speak: “Write it in as neatly as possible, please; it’s only one sentence: ‘It is Man who has forced “das ewig Weibliche” upon us.’” Jane wrote, “It is man——” and then stopped. She repeated the words aloud and looked expectant. “‘Das ewig Weibliche’”—there was a slight grimness in Lady Heritage’s tone. “I’m afraid—” faltered Jane. “Never heard the quotation?” “I’m so sorry.” “You don’t know any German, then?” “I’m _so_ sorry,” said Jane. “My dear girl, what did they teach you at that school of yours? By the way, where was it?” “At Ilfracombe.” “English education is a disgrace,” said Lady Heritage, and went back to her papers. It was next day that she turned suddenly to Jane: “By the way, you were at school at Ilfracombe—can you give me the name of a china shop there? I want some of that blue Devonshire pottery for a girls’ club I’m interested in.” Jane had a moment of panic. Renata’s shoes had fitted her too easily. She had felt secure, and then to have her security shattered by a trifle like this! “A china shop?” she said meditatively; then, after a pause, “It’s awfully stupid of me—I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the name.” Lady Heritage stared. “A shop that you must have passed hundreds of times?” “It’s very stupid of me.” Lady Heritage smiled with a sudden brilliance. “Well, it is rather,” she said. It was on the fourth day that Jane really caught her first glimpse of the black rocks. She was writing in the library, dealing with an apparently endless stream of begging letters, requests for interviews, invitations to speak at meetings or to join committees. In four days Jane had discovered that Lady Heritage was up to her eyes in a dozen movements relating to feminist activities, women’s labour, and social reform.