“Bosh indeed!” cried Mollie. “We’ll see if it’s bosh! If you want any sandwiches for your precious visitors you can cut ‘em yourself.” With this challenge she went out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Herbert breathed deeply, and after a moment’s struggle in his soul spoke mildly. “Mother, go and pacify the fool, will you?” “She is very obstinate,” said Mrs. Heywood. “All women are obstinate.” Suddenly the man’s self-restraint broke down and he became excited. “Bribe her, promise her a rise in wages, but for God’s sake see that she cuts the sandwiches. We don’t want to be made fools of before our guests.” “Very well, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood. She hesitated for a moment at the door, and before going out said: “But Mollie can be very violent at times.” For a little while there was silence between the husband and wife. Then Herbert spoke rather sternly. “Clare, are you or are you not going to get dressed?” “I shall get dressed in good time,” said Clare quietly, “when I think fit. Surely you don’t want to dictate to me about _that?_” “Surely,” said Herbert, “you can see how awkward it will be if any of our people arrive and find you unprepared for them?” Clare gave a long, weary sigh. “Oh, I _am_ prepared for them. I have been trying to prepare myself all day for the ordeal of, them.” “The ordeal? What the dickens do you mean?” “I am prepared for Mrs. Atkinson Brown, who, when she takes off her hat in the bedroom, will ask me whether I am suited and whether I am expecting.” “For goodness’ sake don’t be coarse, Clare,” said Herbert. “It’s Mrs. Atkinson Brown who is coarse,” said Clare. “And I am prepared for Mr. Atkinson Brown, who will say that it is horrible weather for this time of year, and that business has been the very devil since there has been a Radical Government, and that these outrageous women who are breaking windows ought to be whipped. Oh, I could tell you everything that everybody is going to say. I have heard it over and over again.” “It does not seem to make much effect on you,” said Herbert. “Especially that part about breaking windows.” Clare smiled. “So you have guessed, have you?” “I knew at once by the look on your face.” “I thought you agreed with your mother that some Suffragette must have flung a stone from the outside.” “I hid the truth from mother,” said Herbert. “She would think you were mad. What on earth made you do it? _Were_ you mad or what?” Clare brushed her hair back from her forehead. “Sometimes I used to think I was going a little mad. But now I know what is the matter with me.” Herbert spoke more tenderly. “What _is_ the matter, Clare? If it is a question of a doctor----” “It’s the Eighth Year,” said Clare. “The Eighth Year?” “Yes, that’s what is the matter with me.” “What on earth do you mean?” asked Herbert. “Why, don’t you know? It was Madge Vernon who told me.” “Told you what?” “She seemed to think that everybody knew.”