“It looks as if it was from Nick,” she murmured.

Miss Ingate, as she was putting on her spectacles, remarked: 

“I hope you weren’t hurt—­me not coming with you and Musa in the taxi from the gardens this afternoon, dear.”

“Me?  Oh no!”

“It wasn’t that I was so vehy interested in my sketch.  But to my mind there’s nothing more ridiculous than several women all looking after one man.  Miss Thompkins thought so, too.”

“Oh!  Did she?...  What does Nick say?”

Miss Ingate had put the letter flat on the table in the full glare of the lamp, and was leaning over it, her grey hair brilliantly illuminated.  Audrey kept in the shadow and in the distance.  Miss Ingate had a habit of reading to herself under her breath.  She read slowly, and turned pages over with a deliberate movement.

“Well,” said Miss Ingate twisting her head sideways so as to see Audrey standing like a ghost afar off.  “Well, she has been going it!  She’s broken a window in Oxford Street with a hammer; she had one night in the cells for that.  And she’d have had to go to prison altogether only some unknown body paid the fine for her.  She says:  ’There are some mean persons in the world, and he was one.  I feel sure it was a man, and an American, too.  The owners of the shops are going to bring a law action against me for the value of the plate-glass.  It is such fun.  And our leaders are splendid and so in earnest.  They say we are doing a great historical work, and we are.  The London correspondent of the New York Times interviewed me because I am American.  I did not want to be interviewed, but our instructions are—­never to avoid publicity.  There is to be no more window breaking for the present.  Something new is being arranged.  The hammer is so heavy, and sometimes the first blow does not break the window.  The situation is very serious, and the Government is at its wits’ end.  This we know.  We have our agents everywhere.  All the most thoughtful people are strongly in favour of votes for women; but of course some of them are afraid of our methods.  This only shows that they have not learnt the lessons of history.  I wonder that you and dear Mrs. Moncreiff do not come and help.  Many women ask after you, and everybody at Kingsway is very curious to know Mrs. Moncreiff.  Since Mrs. Burke’s death, Betty has taken rooms in this house, but perhaps Tommy has told you this already.  If so, excuse.  Betty’s health is very bad since they let her out last.  With regard to the rent, will you pay the next quarter direct to the concierge yourselves?  It will save so much trouble.  I must tell you——­’”

Slowly Audrey moved up to the table and leaned over the letter by Miss Ingate’s side.

“So you see!” said Miss Ingate.  “Well, we must show it to Tommy in the morning.  ‘Not learnt the lessons of history,’ eh?  I know who’s been talking to Nick. I know as well as if I could hear them speaking.”