My first conversation with Mr. Bradlaugh was brief, direct, and satisfactory.  We found that there was little real difference between our theological views, and my dislike of the name “Atheist” arose from my sharing in the vulgar error that the Atheist asserted, “There is no God”.  This error I corrected in the draft of my essay, by inserting a few passages from pamphlets written by acknowledged Atheists, to which Mr. Bradlaugh drew my attention; with this exception the essay remained as it was sketched, being described by Mr. Bradlaugh as “a very good Atheistic essay”, a criticism which ended with the smiling comment:  “You have thought yourself into Atheism without knowing it.”

Very wise were some of the suggestions made:  “You should never say you have an opinion on a subject until you have tried to study the strongest things said against the view to which you are inclined”.  “You must not think you know a subject until you are acquainted with all that the best minds have said about it.”  “No steady work can be done in public unless the worker study at home far more than he talks outside.”  And let me say here that among the many things for which I have to thank Mr. Bradlaugh, there is none for which I owe him more gratitude than for the fashion in which he has constantly urged the duty of all who stand forward as teachers to study deeply every subject they touch, and the impetus he has given to my own love of knowledge by the constant spur of criticism and of challenge, criticism of every weak statement, challenge of every hastily-expressed view.  It will be a good thing for the world when a friendship between a man and a woman no longer means protective condescension on one side and helpless dependence on the other, but when they meet on equal ground of intellectual sympathy, discussing, criticising, studying, and so aiding the evolution of stronger and clearer thought-ability in each.

A few days after our first discussion, Mr. Bradlaugh offered me a place on the staff of the National Reformer at a small weekly salary; and my first contribution appeared in the number for August 30th, over the signature of “Ajax”; I was obliged to use a nom de guerre at first, for the work I was doing for Mr. Scott would have been injured had my name appeared in the columns of the terrible National Reformer, and until the work commenced and paid for was concluded I did not feel at liberty to use my own name.  Later, I signed my National Reformer articles, and the tracts written for Mr. Scott appeared anonymously.

The name was suggested by the famous statue of “Ajax crying for light”, a cast of which stands in the centre walk of the Crystal Palace.  The cry through the darkness for light, even if light brought destruction, was one that awoke the keenest sympathy of response from my heart: 

  “If our fate be death,
  Give light, and let us die!”