"Well, come along then. Thanks for my coffee." He rose to his feet. "You'll want a thick coat, old girl, the wind's in the North--but a good blow will do you good--scatter the cobwebs." As they passed into the hall he asked after Mrs. Uniacke. "She's not very well." Jill still looked troubled. "She's gone to Reading for a suffrage meeting." "I say--did you tell her about the baker's wife?" He tucked the rug closely around her as she settled herself in the car. "Oh, yes." She gave him a comical glance, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Can't you guess what she said?" But Peter was winding up the engine. He sprang back into his seat and the girl went on, raising her voice above the noisy throbbing note. "She said--'You must try and win her at once to the Cause. Of course when _we_ get the vote, all this will be put to rights.' They always think of the mass, you see, never of the individual. I suppose there's some truth in it." She paused doubtfully--"I wonder?" "Well, I don't!" said McTaggart shortly. "I'm not very keen on present day politics, but I think when women are allowed to add a new party it will be a case of confusion worse confounded! So don't you go and get involved, Jill. You keep an open mind. I'd hate to see you in any way mixed up in this militant folly." "Well--I wish Mother weren't. It's simply killing her. She hasn't the nerve for these perpetual scenes." They slowed down at a corner where a flower-woman stood with a basket of yellow chrysanthemums. "Will these do for you?" McTaggart bought a bunch and laid them in Jill's lap; the heavy golden heads on their long pale stems preserving their subtle and Eastern charm, as though a secret lay beneath the curled petals in each still and exquisite flower heart. They twisted through mean streets until they came to a row of little houses behind the Circus Road. "It's number 36," directed Jill; but as the car stopped before the door it was opened from within and a woman emerged, old and bent, shrouded in a shawl. Jill got down and spoke to her, and after a few words returned to McTaggart's side. "She's fast asleep"--her voice was hushed--"so I won't go in and wake her up." The woman, with suspicious eyes, stared at the young man in the car, as Jill took the flowers and held them out. "Give her these, please, and say I'll come again. I'm so glad she's getting on. Thank you--good-bye." McTaggart was amused at the lack of gratitude. For the woman took the offering without another word. He guessed shrewdly that the sight of the car--the outward sign of luxury--had roused the deep slumbering resentment of the poor, their latent fear of being patronized. "Charming old lady," he suggested. But Jill seemed unconscious of the slight. "That's her Aunt," she informed him with a sigh, spelling relief at a duty done. "She's come from Stratford to look after her. So now we can have a lovely drive."