Part 3

LORD J. Still if they think they're getting a future Cabinet Minister on their side----

STONOR. ... it will be sufficiently embarrassing for the Cabinet Minister.

(STONOR _turns to speak to_ JEAN. _Stops dead seeing_ MISS LEVERING.)

JEAN (_smiling_). You know one another?

MISS L. (_looking at_ STONOR _with intentness but quite calmly_). Everybody in this part of the world knows Mr. Stonor, but he doesn't know me.

LORD J. Miss Levering.

(_They bow._)

(_Enter_ GREATOREX, _sidling in with an air of giving_ MRS. FREDDY _a wide berth._)

JEAN (_to_ MISS LEVERING _with artless enthusiasm_). Oh, have you been hearing him speak?

MISS L. Yes, I was visiting some relations near Dutfield. They took me to hear you.

STONOR. Oh--the night the Suffragettes made their customary row.

MISS L. The night they asked you----

STONOR (_flying at the first chance of distraction, shakes hands with_ MRS. FREDDY). Well, Mrs. Freddy, what do you think of your friends now?

MRS. F. My friends?

STONOR (_offering her the Sunday paper_). Yes, the disorderly women.

MRS. F. (_with dignity_). They are not my friends, but I don't think you must call them----

STONOR. Why not? (_Laughs._) I can forgive them for worrying the late Government. But they _are_ disorderly.

MISS L. (_quietly_). Isn't the phrase consecrated to a different class?

GREAT. (_who has got hold of the Sunday paper_). He's perfectly right. How do you do? Disorderly women! That's what they are!

FARN. (_reading over his shoulder_). Ought to be locked up! every one of 'em.

GREAT. (_assenting angrily_). Public nuisances! Going about with dog whips and spitting in policemen's faces.

MRS. F. (_with a harassed air_). I wonder if they did spit?

GREAT. (_exulting_). Of _course_ they did.

MRS. F. (_turns on him_). You're no authority on what they do. _You_ run away.

GREAT. (_trying to turn the laugh_). Run away? Yes. (_Backing a few paces._) And if ever I muster up courage to come back, it will be to vote for better manners in public life, not worse than we have already.

MRS. F. (_meekly_). So should I. Don't think that _I_ defend the Suffragette methods.

JEAN. (_with cheerful curiosity_). Still, you _are_ an advocate of the Suffrage, aren't you?

MRS. F. _Here?_ (_Shrugs._) I don't beat the air.

GREAT. (_mocking_). Only policemen.

MRS. F. (_plaintively_). If you cared to know the attitude of the real workers in the reform, you might have noticed in any paper last week we lost no time in dissociating ourselves from the little group of hysterical---- (_Catches her husband's eye, and instantly checks her flow of words._)

MRS. H. They have lowered the whole sex in the eyes of the entire world.

JEAN (_joining_ GEOFFREY STONOR). I can't quite see what they want--those Suffragettes.

GREAT. Notoriety.

FARN. What they want? A good thrashin'--that's what I'd give 'em.

MISS L. (_murmurs_). Spirited fellow!

LORD J. Well, there's one sure thing--they've dished their goose.

(GREATOREX _chuckles, still reading the account._)

I believe these silly scenes are a pure joy to you.

GREAT. Final death-blow to the whole silly business!

JEAN (_mystified, looking from one to the other_). The Suffragettes don't seem to _know_ they're dead.

GREAT. They still keep up a sort of death-rattle. But they've done for themselves.

JEAN (_clasping her hands with fervour_). Oh, I hope they'll last till the election's over.

FARN. (_stares_). Why?

JEAN. Oh, we want them to get the working man to--(_stumbling and a little confused_)--to vote for ... the Conservative candidate. Isn't that so?

(_Looking round for help. General laughter._)

LORD J. Fancy, Jean----!

GREAT. The working man's a good deal of an ass, but even he won't listen to----

JEAN (_again appealing to the silent_ STONOR). But he _does_ listen like anything! I asked why there were so few at the Long Mitcham meeting, and I was told, "Oh, they've all gone to hear Miss----"

STONOR. Just for a lark, that was.

LORD J. It has no real effect on the vote.

GREAT. Not the smallest.

JEAN (_wide-eyed, to_ STONOR). Why, I thought you said----

STONOR (_hastily, rubbing his hand over the lower part of his face and speaking quickly_). I've a notion a little soap and water wouldn't do me any harm.

LORD J. I'll take you up. You know Freddy Tunbridge.

(STONOR _pauses to shake hands. Exeunt all three._)

JEAN (_perplexed, as_ STONOR _turns away, says to_ GREATOREX). Well, if women are of no importance in politics, it isn't for the reason you gave. There is now and then a week-ender among them.

GREAT. (_shuffles about uneasily_). Hm--Hm. (_Finds himself near_ MRS. FREDDY.) Lord! The perils that beset the feet of man!

(_With an air of comic caution, moves away_, L.)

JEAN (_to_ FARNBOROUGH, _aside, laughing_). Why does he behave like that?

FARN. His moral sense is shocked.

JEAN. Why, I saw him and Mrs. Freddy together at the French Play the other night--as thick as thieves.

MISS L. Ah, that was before he knew her revolting views.

JEAN. What revolting views?

GREAT. Sh! Sunday.

(_As_ GREATOREX _sidles cautiously further away._)

JEAN (_laughing in spite of herself_). I can't believe women are so helpless when I see men so afraid of them.

GREAT. The great mistake was in teaching them to read and write.

JEAN (_over_ MISS LEVERING'S _shoulder, whispers_). _Say_ something.

MISS L. (_to_ GREATOREX, _smiling_). Oh no, that wasn't the worst mistake.

GREAT. Yes, it was.

MISS L. No. Believe me. The mistake was in letting women learn to talk.

GREAT. _Ah!_ (_Wheels about with sudden rapture._) I see now what's to be the next great reform.

MISS L. (_holding up the little volume_). When women are all dumb, no more discussions of the "Paradiso."

GREAT. (_with a gesture of mock rapture_). The thing itself! (_Aside._) That's a great deal better than talking about it, as I'm sure _you_ know.

MISS L. Why do you think I know?

GREAT. Only the plain women are in any doubt.

(JEAN _joins_ MISS LEVERING.)

GREAT. Wait for me, Farnborough. I cannot go about unprotected.

[_Exeunt_ FARNBOROUGH _and_ GREATOREX.

MRS. F. It's true what that old cynic says. The scene in the House has put back the reform a generation.

JEAN. I wish 'd been there.

MRS. F. I _was_.

JEAN. Oh, was it like the papers said?

MRS. F. Worse. I've never been so moved in public. No tragedy, no great opera ever gripped an audience as the situation in the House did that night. There we all sat breathless--with everything more favourable to us than it had been within the memory of women. Another five minutes and the Resolution would have passed. Then ... all in a moment----

LADY JOHN (_to_ MRS. HERIOT). Listen--they're talking about the female hooligans.

MRS. H. No, thank you! (_Sits apart with the "Church Times."_)

MRS. F. (_excitedly_). All in a moment a horrible dingy little flag was poked through the grille of the Woman's Gallery--cries--insults--scuffling--the police--the ignominious turning out of the women--_us_ as well as the---- Oh, I can't _think_ of it without----

(_Jumps up and walks to and fro._)

(_Pauses._) Then the next morning! The people gloating. Our friends antagonised--people who were wavering--nearly won over--all thrown back--heart breaking! Even my husband! Freddy's been an angel about letting me take my share when I felt I must--but of course I've always known he doesn't really like it. It makes him shy. I'm sure it gives him a horrid twist inside when he sees my name among the speakers on the placards. But he's always been an angel about it before this. After the disgraceful scene he said, "It just shows how unfit women are for any sort of coherent thinking or concerted action."

JEAN. To think that it should be women who've given the Cause the worst blow it ever had!

MRS. F. The work of forty years destroyed in five minutes!

JEAN. They must have felt pretty sick when they woke up the next morning--the Suffragettes.

MRS. F. I don't waste any sympathy on _them_. I'm thinking of the penalty _all_ women have to pay because a handful of hysterical----

JEAN. Still I think I'm sorry for them. It must be dreadful to find you've done such a lot of harm to the thing you care most about in the world.

MISS L. Do you picture the Suffragettes sitting in sackcloth?

MRS. F. Well, they can't help realising _now_ what they've done.

MISS L. (_quietly_). Isn't it just possible they realise they've waked up interest in the Woman Question so that it's advertised in every paper and discussed in every house from Land's End to John o'Groats? Don't you think _they_ know there's been more said and written about it in these ten days since the scene, than in the ten years before it?

MRS. F. You aren't saying you think it was a good way to get what they wanted?

MISS L. (_shrugs_). I'm only pointing out that it seems not such a bad way to get it known they _do_ want something--and (_smiling_) "want it bad."

JEAN (_getting up_). Didn't Mr. Greatorex say women had been politely petitioning Parliament for forty years?

MISS L. And men have only laughed.

JEAN. But they'd come round. (_She looks from one to the other._) Mrs. Tunbridge says, before that horrid scene, everything was favourable at last.

MISS L. At last? Hadn't it been just as "favourable" before?

MRS. F. No. We'd never had so many members pledged to our side.

MISS L. I thought I'd heard somebody say the Bill had got as far as that, time and time again.

JEAN. Oh no. Surely not----

MRS. F. (_reluctantly_). Y-yes. This was only a Resolution. The Bill passed a second reading thirty-seven years ago.

JEAN (_with wide eyes_). And what difference did it make?

MISS L. The men laughed rather louder.

MRS. F. Oh, it's got as far as a second reading several times--but we never had so many friends in the House before----

MISS L. (_with a faint smile_). "Friends!"

JEAN. Why do you say it like that?

MISS L. Perhaps because I was thinking of a funny story--he said it was funny--a Liberal Whip told me the other day. A Radical Member went out of the House after his speech in favour of the Woman's Bill, and as he came back half an hour later, he heard some Members talking in the Lobby about the astonishing number who were going to vote for the measure. And the Friend of Woman dropped his jaw and clutched the man next him: "My God!" he said, "you don't mean to say they're going to give it to them!"

JEAN. Oh!

MRS. F. You don't think all men in Parliament are like that!

MISS L. I don't think all men are burglars, but I lock my doors.

JEAN (_below her breath_). You think that night of the scene--you think the men didn't _mean_ to play fair?

MISS L. (_her coolness in contrast to the excitement of the others_). Didn't the women sit quiet till ten minutes to closing time?

JEAN. Ten minutes to settle a question like that!

MISS L. (_quietly to_ MRS. FREDDY). Couldn't you see the men were at their old game?

LADY JOHN (_coming forward_). You think they were just putting off the issue till it was too late?

MISS L. (_in a detached tone_). _I_ wasn't there, but I haven't heard anybody deny that the women waited till ten minutes to eleven. Then they discovered the policeman who'd been sent up at the psychological moment to the back of the gallery. Then, I'm told, when the women saw they were betrayed once more, they utilised the few minutes left, to impress on the country at large the fact of their demands--did it in the only way left them.

(_Sits leaning forward reflectively smiling, chin in hand._)

It does rather look to the outsider as if the well-behaved women had worked for forty years and made less impression on the world then those fiery young women made in five minutes.

MRS. F. Oh, come, be fair!

MISS L. Well, you must admit that, next day, every newspaper reader in Europe and America knew there were women in England in such dead earnest about the Suffrage that the men had stopped laughing at last, and turned them out of the House. Men even advertised how little they appreciated the fun by sending the women to gaol in pretty sober earnest. And all the world was talking about it.

(MRS. HERIOT _lays down the "Church Times" and joins the others._)

LADY JOHN. I have noticed, whenever the men aren't there, the women sit and discuss that scene.

JEAN (_cheerfully_). _I_ shan't have to wait till the men are gone. (_Leans over_ LADY JOHN'S _shoulder and says half aside_) He's in sympathy.

LADY JOHN. How do you know?

JEAN. He told the interrupting women so.

(MRS. FREDDY _looks mystified. The others smile._)

LADY JOHN. Oh!

(MR. FREDDY _and_ LORD JOHN _appear by the door they went out of. They stop to talk._)

MRS. F. Here's Freddy! (_Lower, hastily to_ MISS LEVERING.) You're judging from the outside. Those of us who have been working for years ... we all realise it was a perfectly lunatic proceeding. Why, _think_! The only chance of our getting what we want is by _winning over_ the men.

(_Her watchful eye, leaving her husband for a moment, catches_ MISS LEVERING'S _little involuntary gesture._)

What's the matter?

MISS L. "Winning over the men" has been the woman's way for centuries. Do you think the result should make us proud of our policy? Yes? Then go and walk in Piccadilly at midnight.

(_The older women glance at_ JEAN.)

No, I forgot----

MRS. H. (_with majesty_). Yes, it's not the first time you've forgotten.

MISS L. I forgot the magistrate's ruling. He said no decent woman had any business to be in London's main thoroughfare at night unless she has _a man with her_. I heard that in Nine Elms, too. "You're obliged to take up with a chap!" was what the woman said.

MRS. H. (_rising_). JEAN! Come!

(_She takes_ JEAN _by her arm and draws her to the window, where she signals_ GREATOREX _and_ FARNBOROUGH. MRS. FREDDY _joins her husband and_ LORD JOHN.)

LADY JOHN (_kindly, aside to_ MISS LEVERING). My dear, I think Lydia Heriot's right. We oughtn't to do anything or _say_ anything to encourage this ferment of feminism, and I'll tell you why: it's likely to bring a very terrible thing in its train.

MISS L. What terrible thing?

LADY JOHN. Sex antagonism.

MISS L. (_rising_). It's here.

LADY JOHN (_very gravely_). Don't say that.

(JEAN _has quietly disengaged herself from_ MRS. HERIOT, _and the group at the window returns and stands behind_ LADY JOHN, _looking up into_ MISS LEVERINGS'S _face._)

MISS L. (_to_ LADY JOHN). You're so conscious it's here, you're afraid to have it mentioned.

LADY JOHN (_turning and seeing_ JEAN. _Rising hastily_). If it's here, it is the fault of those women agitators.

MISS L. (_gently_). No woman _begins_ that way. (_Leans forward with clasped hands looking into vacancy._) Every woman's in a state of natural subjection (_smiles at_ JEAN)--no, I'd rather say allegiance to her idea of romance and her hope of motherhood. They're embodied for her in man. They're the strongest things in life--till man kills them.

(_Rousing herself and looking into_ LADY JOHN'S _face._)

Let's be fair. Each woman knows why that allegiance died.

(LADY JOHN _turns hastily, sees_ LORD JOHN _coming down with_ MR. FREDDY _and meets them at the foot of the stairs._ MISS LEVERING _has turned to the table looking for her gloves, &c., among the papers; unconsciously drops the handkerchief she had in her little book._)

JEAN (_in a low voice to_ MISS LEVERING). All this talk against the wicked Suffragettes--it makes me want to go and hear what they've got to say for themselves.

MISS L. (_smiling with a non-committal air as she finds the veil she's been searching for_). Well, they're holding a meeting in Trafalgar Square at three o'clock.

JEAN. This afternoon? But that's no use to people out of town---- Unless I could invent some excuse....

LORD J. (_benevolently_). Still talking over the Shelter plans?

MISS L. No. We left the Shelter some time ago.

LORD J. (_to_ JEAN). Then what's all the chatterment about?

(JEAN, _a little confused, looks at_ MISS LEVERING.)

MISS L. The latest thing in veils. (_Ties hers round her hat._)

GREAT. The invincible frivolity of woman!

LORD J. (_genially_). Don't scold them. It's a very proper topic.

MISS L. (_whimsically_). Oh, I was afraid you'd despise us for it.

BOTH MEN (_with condescension_). Not at all--not at all.

JEAN (_to_ MISS LEVERING _as_ FOOTMAN _appears_). Oh, they're coming for you. Don't forget your book.

(FOOTMAN _holds out a salver with a telegram on it for_ JEAN.)

Why, it's for me!

MISS L. But it's time I was----

(_Crosses to table._)

JEAN (_opening the telegram_). May I? (_Reads, and glances over the paper at_ MISS LEVERING.) I've got your book. (_Crosses to_ MISS LEVERING, _and, looking at the back of the volume_) Dante! Whereabouts are you? (_Opening at the marker._) Oh, the "Inferno."

MISS L. No; I'm in a worse place.

JEAN. I didn't know there was a worse.

MISS L. Yes; it's worse with the Vigliacchi.

JEAN. I forget. Were they Guelf or Ghibelline?

MISS L. (_smiling_). They weren't either, and that was why Dante couldn't stand them. (_More gravely._) He said there was no place in Heaven nor in Purgatory--not even a corner in Hell--for the souls who had stood aloof from strife. (_Looking steadily into the girl's eyes._) He called them "wretches who never lived," Dante did, because they'd never felt the pangs of partizanship. And so they wander homeless on the skirts of limbo among the abortions and off-scourings of Creation.

JEAN (_a long breath after a long look. When_ MISS LEVERING _has turned away to make her leisurely adieux_ JEAN'S _eyes fall on the open telegram_). Aunt Ellen, I've got to go to London.

(STONOR, _re-entering, hears this, but pretends to talk to_ MR. FREDDY, _&c._)

LADY JOHN. My dear child!

MRS. H. Nonsense! Is your grandfather worse?

JEAN (_folding the telegram_). No-o. I don't think so. But it's necessary I should go, all the same.

MRS. H. Go away when Mr. Stonor----

JEAN. He said he'd have to leave directly after luncheon.

LADY JOHN. I'll just see Miss Levering off, and then I'll come back and talk about it.

LORD J. (_to_ MISS LEVERING). Why are you saying goodbye as if you were never coming back?

MISS L. (_smiling_). One never knows. Maybe I shan't come back. (_To_ STONOR.) Goodbye.

(STONOR _bows ceremoniously. The others go up laughing._ STONOR _comes down_.)

JEAN (_impulsively_). There mayn't be another train! Miss Levering----

STONOR (_standing in front of her_). What if there isn't? I'll take you back in the motor.

JEAN (_rapturously_). _Will_ you? (_Inadvertently drops the telegram._) I must be there by three!

STONOR (_picks up the telegram and a handkerchief lying near, glances at the message_). Why, it's only an invitation to dine--Wednesday!

JEAN. Sh! (_Takes the telegram and puts it in her pocket._)

STONOR. Oh, I see! (_Lower, smiling._) It's rather dear of you to arrange our going off like that. You _are_ a clever little girl!

JEAN. It's not that I was arranging. I want to hear those women in Trafalgar Square--the Suffragettes.

STONOR (_incredulous, but smiling_). How perfectly absurd! (_Looking after_ LADY JOHN.) Besides, I expect she wouldn't like my carrying you off like that.

JEAN. Then she'll have to make an excuse and come too.

STONOR. Ah, it wouldn't be quite the same----

JEAN (_rapidly thinking it out_). We could get back here in time for dinner.

(GEOFFREY STONOR _glances down at the handkerchief still in his hand, and turns it half mechanically from corner to corner._)

JEAN (_absent-mindedly_). Mine?

STONOR (_hastily, without reflection_). No. (_Hands it to_ MISS LEVERING _as she passes._) Yours.

(MISS LEVERING, _on her way to the lobby with_ LORD JOHN _seems not to notice._)

JEAN (_takes the handkerchief to give to her, glancing down at the embroidered corner; stops_). But that's not an L! It's Vi----!

(GEOFFREY STONOR _suddenly turns his back and takes up the newspaper._)

LADY JOHN (_from the lobby_). Come, Vida, since you will go.

MISS L. Yes; I'm coming.

[_Exit_ MISS LEVERING.

JEAN. _I_ didn't know her name was Vida; how did you?

(STONOR _stares silently over the top of his paper_.)

CURTAIN.

## ACT II

SCENE: _The north side of the Nelson Column in Trafalgar Square. The Curtain rises on an uproar. The crowd, which momentarily increases, is composed chiefly of weedy youths and wastrel old men. There are a few decent artisans; three or four "beery" out-o'-works; three or four young women of the domestic servant or Strand restaurant cashier class; one aged woman in rusty black peering with faded, wondering eyes, consulting the faces of the men and laughing nervously and apologetically from time to time; one or two quiet-looking, business-like women, thirty to forty; two middle-class men, who stare and whisper and smile. A quiet old man with a lot of unsold Sunday papers under one arm stands in an attitude of rapt attention, with the free hand round his deaf ear. A brisk-looking woman of forty-five or so, wearing pince-nez, goes round with a pile of propagandist literature on her arm. Many of the men smoking cigarettes--the old ones pipes. On the outskirts of this crowd, of several hundred, a couple of smart men in tall shining hats hover a few moments, single eyeglass up, and then saunter off. Against the middle of the Column, where it rises above the stone platform, is a great red banner, one supporting pole upheld by a grimy sandwichman, the other by a small, dirty boy of eight. If practicable only the lower portion of the banner need be seen, bearing the final words of the legend_--

"VOTES FOR WOMEN!"

_in immense white letters. It will be well to get, to the full, the effect of the height above the crowd of the straggling group of speakers on the pedestal platform. These are, as the Curtain rises, a working-class woman who is waving her arms and talking very earnestly, her voice for the moment blurred in the uproar. She is dressed in brown serge and looks pinched and sallow. At her side is the_ CHAIRMAN _urging that she be given a fair hearing._ ALLEN TRENT _is a tall, slim, brown-haired man of twenty-eight, with a slight stoop, an agreeable aspect, well-bred voice, and the gleaming brown eye of the visionary. Behind these two, looking on or talking among themselves, are several other carelessly dressed women; one, better turned out than the rest, is quite young, very slight and gracefully built, with round, very pink cheeks, full, scarlet lips, naturally waving brown hair, and an air of childish gravity. She looks at the unruly mob with imperturbable calm. The_ CHAIRMAN'S _voice is drowned._

WORKING WOMAN (_with lean, brown finger out and voice raised shriller now above the tumult_). I've got boys o' me own and we laugh at all sorts o' things, but I should be ashymed and so would they if ever they was to be'yve as you're doin' to-d'y.

(_In laughter the noise dies._)

People 'ave been sayin' this is a middle-class woman's movement. It's a libel. I'm a workin' woman myself, the wife of a working man. (_Voice_: "Pore devil!") I'm a Poor Law Guardian and a----

NOISY YOUNG MAN. Think of that, now--gracious me!

(_Laughter and interruption._)

OLD NEWSVENDOR (_to the noisy young man near him_). Oh, shut up, cawn't yer?

NOISY YOUNG MAN. Not fur _you_!

VOICE. Go'ome and darn yer old man's stockens!

VOICE. Just clean yer _own_ doorstep!