Part 15

MRS. CHINN. I ain’t fretted much about it.

GINGER. Was a time when I didn’t. I used to be all for—you know—larking about. I never thought much about anything.

MRS. CHINN. Ah! it’s a useful habit.

GINGER. What is?

MRS. CHINN. Thinking.

GINGER. It’s what we women ’aven’t done enough of—in the past, I mean. All that’s going to be altered. In the future there’s going to be no difference between men and women.

MRS. CHINN. (Slowly, quietly she turns upon GINGER her expressionless eyes.)

GINGER. Mentally, I mean, o’ course.

MRS. CHINN. (Takes back her eyes.)

GINGER. Do you know, Mrs. Chinn, that once upon a time there was only one sex? (She spreads herself.) Hus!

MRS. CHINN. You ain’t thinking of going back to it, are you?

GINGER. Not if the men be’ave themselves.

MRS. CHINN. Perhaps they’re doing their best, poor things! It don’t do to be too impatient with them.

GINGER. Was talking to old Dot-and-carry-one the other d’y. You know who I mean—chap with the wooden leg as ’as ’is pitch outside the “George.” “Wot do you wimmen want worrying yourselves about things outside the ’ome?” ’e says to me. “You’ve got the children,” ’e says. “Oh,” I says, “and whose fault’s that, I’d like to know? You wait till we’ve got the vote,” I says, “we’ll soon show you—”

(SIGSBY enters. SIGSBY is a dapper little man, very brisk and bustling—hirsute—looks as if he wanted dusting, cleaning up generally.)

SIGSBY. That young blackguard come back yet?

GINGER. (At sound of SIGSBY’S voice she springs up. At first is about to offer excuses for being found seated, but recollects herself.)

MRS. CHINN. Which one, sir?

SIGSBY. Young Jawbones—what’s he call himself?—Gordon.

MRS. CHINN. Not yet, sir.

SIGSBY. (Grunts.) My chop ready?

MRS. CHINN. I expect it’s about done. I’ll see.

(She goes out.)

SIGSBY. (He turns to GINGER.) What can I do for you?

GINGER. (She produces a letter.) I was to wait for an answer.

SIGSBY. (He opens and reads it.) What do they expect me to do?

GINGER. ’Er ladyship thought as perhaps you would consult Mr. Chilvers ’imself on the subject.

SIGSBY. Look here. What I want to know is this: am I being asked to regard Lady Mogton as my opponent’s election agent, or as my principal’s mother-in-law? That point’s got to be settled. (His vehemence deepens.) Look at all these posters. Not to be used, for fear the other side mayn’t like them. Now Lady Mogton writes me that my candidate’s supporters are not to employ a certain argument she disapproves of: because, if they do, she’ll tell his wife. Is this an election, or is it a family jar?