She had not altered and he rediscovered her perfect insignificance. How ridiculous it seemed that, while Margaret Berrisford with her health and strength need only work when she chose and as she chose, this wisp of a woman should have been caught up in the machinery of industry: ridiculous that one so fragile should be self-maintenant. He had little chance to talk to her that evening, but on the following afternoon he went with her to the village and along the Tavistock Road. He asked her about herself. "They soon got rid of me," she answered. "The Trades Union people, I mean. They were naturally sick of my coming late and getting ill and being a general nuisance. Then I got in with some Suffrage Women and they gave me work. One of the new peace-and-goodwill societies. They want to link up the movement and then agitate according to Lor-an-order. They're so peaceful and orderly that, not being engaged in fighting other people like tigers, they just quarrel among themselves like cats. Oh, I do get sick of it." "What do you do for them? Speak?" "Oh no. Just the office work. They worked me quite hard and paid me very little, and, when I murmured, they hinted that if I was only loyal to my sex I'd do the whole show for nothing. Never work for lovers of humanity: their love has a background of dividends and West End drawing-rooms. It's none the worse for that, but they expect your love to take the form of more work for less pay. It's not good enough. I'd rather be a genuine wage-slave, thanks very much." "City office, regular hours, and no nonsense?" "That's it." "Have you been ill this winter?" "Yes. I was rotten for a bit; Margaret has been awfully good to me. When she heard of it she fished me out of my lodgings and made me come here. I was in bed a fortnight and must have been a beastly nuisance. They are splendid, all of them." Martin agreed. "And what about you?" she asked. He explained his hopes and fears. "You've no business to mope," she told him. "Don't you understand that you're an extremely lucky person? I wish I had your chances." "I suppose I'm lucky," he said without conviction, trying to feel ashamed of his despair. "Of course you are. Anyhow it's silly to get despondent. Besides, you're bound to do well." "Am I? Why?" "Because I tell you to. Do get firsts and things." It pleased him to be ordered. He stopped in the muddy lane between two stark hedges that stood naked against the grey December sky. "Do you care?" he asked. "Of course I care." "Why? I mean----" he paused awkwardly. "Don't ask silly questions," she answered. "It's too cold to stand about." They walked on. "It must be pretty sickening for you," he said, "having to go on with this drudgery." "It is rather rotten. But it can't be helped." "Can't you get some intelligent kind of work, writing or something?"