JANET (_To_ ELIZABETH.) Well—I want you to put me down as a contributor
for twelve-and-six. (_She smiles_.) It’s the only way I can give.
PHOEBE. (_She is taking off_ JANET’S _cloak_; _throws it to_ HAKE.)
Have this put somewhere to dry. (_She pushes_ JANET _to the fire_.) Get
near the fire. You’re as cold as ice.
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?