Part 3

ELIZABETH. All the seats inside, I suppose, occupied by the chivalrous sex.

JANET. Oh, there was one young fellow offered to give me up his place, but I wouldn’t let him. You see, we’re claiming equality. (Smiles.)

ELIZABETH. And are being granted it—in every direction where it works to the convenience of man.

PHOEBE. (Laughs.) Is she coming—the Villiers woman?

JANET. Yes. I ran her down at last—at her dress-maker’s. She made an awful fuss about it, but I wouldn’t leave till she’d promised. Tell me, it’s something quite important, isn’t it?

PHOEBE. I don’t know anything, except that I had an urgent telegram from mamma this morning to call a meeting of the entire Council here at three o’clock. She’s coming up from Manchester on purpose. (To HAKE.) Mrs. Chilvers hasn’t returned yet, has she?

HAKE. Not yet, miss. Shall I telephone—

PHOEBE. (Shakes her head.) No; it’s all right. I have seen her. Let her know we are here the moment she comes in.

HAKE. Yes, miss.

(He has finished the arrangements. The table has been placed in the centre of the room, six chairs round it, one of them being a large armchair. He has placed writing materials and a large silver gravy spoon. He is going.)

PHOEBE. Why aren’t you sure your wife wasn’t at the meeting last night? Didn’t she say anything?

HAKE. Well, miss, unfortunately, just as she was starting, Mrs. Comerford—that’s the wife of the party that keeps the shop downstairs—looked in with an order for the theatre.

PHOEBE. Oh!

HAKE. So I thought it best to ask no questions.

PHOEBE. Thank you.

HAKE. Thank you, miss.

(He goes out.)

ELIZABETH. Can nothing be done to rouse the working-class woman out of her apathy?

PHOEBE. Well, if you ask me, I think a good deal has been done.

ELIZABETH. Oh, what’s the use of our deceiving ourselves? The great mass are utterly indifferent.

JANET (She is seated in an easy-chair near the fire.) I was talking to a woman only yesterday—in Bethnal Green. She keeps a husband and three children by taking in washing. “Lord, miss,” she laughed, “what would we do with the vote if we did have it? Only one thing more to give to the men.”

PHOEBE. That’s rather good.

ELIZABETH. The curse of it is that it’s true. Why should they put themselves out merely that one man instead of another should dictate their laws to them?

PHOEBE. My dear girl, precisely the same argument was used against the Second Reform Bill. What earthly difference could it make to the working men whether Tory Squire or Liberal capitalist ruled over them? That was in 1868. To-day, fifty-four Labour Members sit in Parliament. At the next election they will hold the balance.

ELIZABETH. Ah, if we could only hold out that sort of hope to them!

(ANNYS enters. She is in outdoor costume. She kisses PHOEBE, shakes hands with the other two. ANNYS’S age is about twenty-five. She is a beautiful, spiritual-looking creature, tall and graceful, with a manner that is at the same time appealing and commanding. Her voice is soft and caressing, but capable of expressing all the emotions. Her likeness to her younger sister PHOEBE is of the slightest: the colouring is the same, and the eyes that can flash, but there the similarity ends. She is simply but well dressed. Her soft hair makes a quiet but wonderfully effective frame to her face.)

ANNYS. (She is taking off her outdoor things.) Hope I’m not late. I had to look in at Caxton House. Why are we holding it here?

PHOEBE. Mamma’s instructions. Can’t tell you anything more except that I gather the matter’s important, and is to be kept secret.