“He wrung my hand,” said Honora, “and got through the preliminary amenities with a dispatch I never have seen excelled.  Then he demanded you.  ‘Is she upstairs?’ he asked.  ’May I go right up?  She wrote me she had a parlor of her own.’  ‘She has a parlor,’ I said, ’but she isn’t in it.’  He balanced on the end of a toe.  ‘Where is she?’ I thought he was going to fly.  ‘She’s out with the suffragists,’ I said.  I didn’t try to excuse you.  I thought you deserved something pretty bad.  But I did tell him you’d promised to go and that you hadn’t known he was coming that day.  ‘She’s in that mess?’ he cried.  ’I saw the Amazon march as I came along.  You don’t mean Kate’s tramping the streets with those women!’ ‘Yes, she is,’ I said, ’and she’s proud to do it.  But she was sorry not to be here to welcome you.’  ‘Sorry!’ he said; ’why, Mrs. Fulham, I’ve been dreaming of this meeting for months.’  Honestly, Kate, I was ashamed for you.  I asked him in.  I told him you’d be home before long.  But he would not come in.  ‘Tell her I—­I came,’ he said.  Then he went.”

It was late at night, and Kate was both worn and exhilarated with her marching.  Honora’s words let her down considerably.  She sat with tears in her eyes staring at her friend.

“But couldn’t he see,” she pleaded, “that I had to keep my word?  Didn’t he understand how important it was?  I can see him to-morrow just as well.”

“Then you’ll have to send for him,” said Honora decisively.  “He’ll not come without urging.”

She went up to bed with a stern aspect, and left Kate sitting staring before her by the light of one of Mary’s foolish candles.

“They seem to think I’m a very unnatural woman,” said Kate to herself.  “But can’t they see how much more important it was that the demonstration should be a success than that two lovers should meet at a certain hour?”

The word “lovers” had slipped inadvertently into her mind; and no sooner had she really recognized it, looked at it, so to speak, fairly in the face, than she rejected it with scorn.

“We’re just friends,” she protested.  “One has many friends.”

But her little drawing-room, all gay and fresh, accused her of deceiving herself; and a glimpse of the embroidered frock reminded her that she was contemptibly shirking the truth.  One did not make such preparations for a mere “friend.”  She sat down and wrote a note, put stamps on it to insure its immediate delivery, and ran out to the corner to mail it.  Then she fell asleep arguing with herself that she had been right, and that he ought to understand what it meant to give one’s word, and that it could make no difference that they were to meet a few hours later instead of at the impetuous moment of his arrival.

* * * * *