"Yes."
"Did you stay over here in England because your whole heart is in the
Cause?"
"Ye--es."
"Your _whole_ heart?"
"Our motives are always mixed, Basil," I said kindly. "It would have
been awfully silly to have endured that miserable spring and not have
stayed for June and July."
"You get a great many cablegrams from America."
"That," I said, with dignity, "is of course my own affair."
"About the Cause?"
"Not--always."
"From a man, of course."
"Yes," I said sweetly, and went back to the hotel.
I broke the news to Poppy about Vivian and she stormed. But suddenly she
stopped, with a calculating gleam in her eye.
"He's a fool to follow me," she said, "but he has gleams of
intelligence, Madge. I shall put the T. C. matter up to him!"
So I sent Viv a note that night. You see one must manage Poppy.
"Dear Viv: She knows and the worst is over. Breakfast early and
keep out of the way until noon. She is going to work, and anyhow,
it will make her curious. If you have a good retort to the T. C.
business, don't give it at once. It would humiliate her. Then, when
you've given it to her, if she's pleased, you can ask her _the
other_. She's silly about you, Viv, but she won't acknowledge it to
herself.
"Madge.
"P. S. Don't make any stipulation about Suffrage, but make her
promise to let you do and think as you like. _Be sure._ Get her to
write it, if you can. I happen to know that if she marries you, she
hopes you'll take alternate Sundays with her at the Monument, so
she can speak at Camberwell.
"M."
Poppy came down to breakfast in her best morning frock, looking lovely,
and sat with her profile to the room. I thought she watched the door,
too, and she took only an egg, although she usually has a kipper also.
But neither of the men showed up. She loitered over the _Times_, but at
last she got her sketching things, and we went out to the cliff head,
where there's a bench. It is a long tongue of rock, about twenty feet
wide or so, and far below, on each side, the ocean. There was a
rough-haired pony out there also, and the three of us were crowded. The
pony wanted sugar or something, and kept getting in the way. Poppy
sketched, but her heart wasn't in it and at every new halloo from some
tourist exploring King Arthur's ruins (The Castle, of course) she looked
up expectantly.
At last I caught sight of Basil waving to me from the hotel, and I went
back. I left Poppy there alone, pretending to sketch, although it was
perfectly clear to every one that the only view she had was of the
pony's mangy side. Shortly after, I saw Vivian, in walking tweeds, going
along one of the sheep's paths toward her, and looking very handsome and
determined.
Basil and I sat on the terrace and "concentrated." It was my idea.
"Will her to take him," I said.
"I am," said Basil, looking at me.
"She's so pretty," said I.
"Lovely!" said Basil.
"And it's such a _natural_ thing," I went on. "He has a lot of
character, and he's gentle as well as firm."
"I thank you," said Basil, and bowed.
"I don't believe," I said severely, "that you are concentrating."
The pony had got around behind the bench, and we lost them for a moment.
But the little beast moved off just then, and it was like lifting a
curtain. Poppy's head was on Vivian's shoulder.
"Good old Viv!" said Basil. "Happy chap!" and sighed.
* * * * *
I met Vivian as I went down to luncheon. He was coming up three stairs
at a time, but he stopped and drew me into a corner.
"All fixed," he said. "You're a trump, Madge. The T. C. did it. She's
promised all sorts of things."
"And you?" I demanded. I thought he evaded my eye.
"I?" he said. "Well, I've agreed not to interfere with her career.
That's only reasonable."
"And--Suffrage?"
"She's going to be less militant," he said. "Of course, her conviction
is the same. I want her to stand by her principle. I wouldn't respect
her if she didn't."
It didn't quite satisfy me. I knew Poppy. But he was so happy that I
said nothing. After all, what could I say? Viv after all had never
opposed Suffrage, except in its militant form--although I don't believe
he had felt the necessity for it. But the trouble was that Poppy was a
born militant, a born aggressor. And he had promised her the strength of
her convictions!
(I wrote it all to father that afternoon and his cablegram came when I
was back in London again and settled.
"No great revolution ever accomplished without bloodshed.")