"But can't I do something that won't interfere with George? Couldn't I investigate the factories, or organize the working girls?" "My child, have you ever organized anything?" exclaimed E. Eliot. "No." "Well, don't begin on the noble working girl. She doesn't organize easily. Wait until the election is over. Then you come in on our schemes and we'll teach you how to do things. But don't butt in now, I beg of you. Misguided, well-meaning enthusiasts like you can do more harm to our cause than all the anti-suffragists in this world!" With her genial, disarming smile, E. Eliot rose and departed. She chuckled all the way back to her rooms over the idea of Remington's bride wanting to take the field with the enemies of her wedded lord. "Women, women! God bless us, but we're funny!" mused E. Eliot. Genevieve liked her caller immensely, and she thought over her advice, but she determined to let it make no difference in her plans. She saw her work cut out for her. She would not flinch! She would do her bit in the great cause of women--no, of humanity. The flame of her purpose burned steadily and high. At a quarter-past eleven that night a slight, black-clad figure, with a shawl over its head, softly closed the side door of the Remington house and hurried down the street. Never before had Genevieve been alone on the streets after dark. She had not foreseen how frightened she would be at the long, dark stretches, nor how much more frightened when any one passed her. Two men spoke to her. She sped on, turning now this way, now that, without regard to direction--her eyes over her shoulder, in terror lest she be followed. So it was that she plunged around a corner and into the very arms of E. Eliot, who was sauntering home from a political meeting, where she had been a much-advertised speaker. She was in the habit of prowling about by herself. Tonight she was, as usual, unattended--unless one observed two burly workingmen who walked slowly in her wake. "Oh, I beg your pardon," came a gently modulated voice from behind the shawl. E. Eliot stared. "No harm done here. Did I hurt you?" she replied. She thought she heard an involuntary "Oh!" from beneath the shawl. "No, thanks. Could you tell me how to get to the Whitewater Arms and Munitions Factory? I'm all turned around." "Certainly. Two blocks that way to the State Road, and half a mile north on that. Shall I walk to the road with you?" "Oh, no, thank you," the girl answered and hurried on. E. Eliot stood and watched her. Where had she heard that voice? She knew a good many girls who worked at the factories, but none of them spoke like that. All at once a memory came to her: "Couldn't I investigate something, or organize the working girls?" Mrs. George Remington! "The little fool," ejaculated the other woman, and turned promptly to follow the flying figure.