It began to remind Mary of the dikes in Holland.

For centuries, working unconsciously more often than not, men had built walls that kept women out of certain industries.

Then through their own strike, the men at New Bethel had made a small hole in the wall—­and the women had started to trickle through.  With the growth of the strike, the gap in the wall had widened and deepened.  More and more women were pouring through, with untold millions behind them, a flowing flood of power that was beginning to make Mary feel solemn.  Like William the Thoughtful, she, too, saw that she had started something which was going to be hard to stop....

All over the country, women had been watching for the outcome of her experiment, and when the last announcement appeared, a stream of letters and inquiries poured upon her desk....  The reporters returned in greater strength than ever....  It sometimes seemed to Mary that the whole dike was beginning to crack....  Even Jove must have felt a sense of awe when he saw the effect of his first thunderbolt....

“If they would only go slowly,” she uneasily told herself, “it would be all right.  But if they go too fast...”

She made a helpless gesture—­again the gesture of those who have started something which they can’t stop—­but just before she went home that evening she received a telegram which relieved the tension.

“May we confer with you Monday at your office regarding situation at New Bethel?”

That was the telegram.  It was signed by three leaders of labour—­the same men, Mary remembered, whom Judge Cutler had seen when he had visited headquarters.

“Splendid men, all of them,” she remembered him reporting.  “I’m sure you’d like them, Mary.”

“Perhaps they’ll be able to help,” she told herself.  “Anyhow, I’m not going to worry any more until I have seen them.”

That night, after dinner, two callers appeared at the house on the hill.

The first was Helen.

Dinner was hardly over when Mary saw her smart coupe turn in to the garage.  A minute later Helen ran up the steps, a travelling bag in her hand.  She kissed her cousin twice, quotation marks of affection which enclosed the whisper, “Do you mind if I stay all night?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Mary, laughing at her earnestness.  “What’s the matter?  Wally out of town?”

“Oh, don’t talk to me about Wally! ...  No; he isn’t out of town.  That’s why I’m here....  Can I have my old room?”

She was down again soon, her eyes brighter than they should have been, her manner so high strung that it wasn’t far from being flighty.  As though to avoid conversation, she seated herself at the piano and played her most brilliant pieces.

“I think you might tell me,” said Mary, in the first lull.

“I told you long ago.  Men are fools!  But if he thinks he can bully me—!”

“Who?”