She called to him from the doorway, “I’m through, Mr. Yaverland!” She was wearing a tam-o’-shanter and a mackintosh, which she buttoned right up to her chin, and she looked just a brown pipe with a black knob at the top, a mere piece of plumbing.  He thought it very probable that never before in the history of the human race had a beautiful girl dressed herself so unbecomingly.  But that she had done so seemed so peculiarly and deliciously amusing that as he walked by her side he could hardly keep from looking at her smilingly in a way that would have puzzled and annoyed her.  And outside the hall, when they found that the mist, like a sour man who will not give way to his temper but keeps on dropping disagreeable remarks, was letting down just enough of itself to soak Edinburgh without giving it the slightest hope that it would rain itself out by the morning, he caught again this queer flavour of her that in its sharpness and its freshness reminded him of the taste of fresh celery.  He asked her if she hadn’t an umbrella, and she replied, “I’ve no use for umbrellas; I like the feel of the rain on my face, and I see no sense in paying three-and-eleven for avoiding a positive pleasure.”

By that time Ellen was almost sure that he was smiling to himself in the darkness, and was miserable.  It was a silly, homely thing to have said.  “Ah, what for can he be wanting to see me home?” she thought helplessly.  “He is so wonderful.  But then, so am I!  So am I!” And as they went through the dark tangle of small streets she turned loose on him her enthusiasm for the meeting, so that he might see that women also have their serious splendours.  Hadn’t it been a magnificent meeting?  Wasn’t Mrs. Ormiston a grand speaker?  Could he possibly, if he cared anything for honesty, affirm that he had ever heard a man speaker who came within a hundred miles of her?  And wasn’t Mrs. Mark Lyle beautiful, and didn’t she remind him of the early Christian martyrs?  Didn’t he think the women who were forcibly fed were heroines, and didn’t he think the Liberal Governments were the most abominable bloodstained tyrants of our times?  “Though, mind you, I’d be with the Liberal Party myself if they’d only give us the vote.”  It was rather like going for a walk with a puppy barking at one’s heels, but he liked it.  Through her talk he noticed little things about her.  She had had very little to do with men, perhaps she had never walked with a man before, for she did not naturally take the wall when they crossed the road.  Her voice was soft and seemed to cling to her lips, as red-haired people’s voices often do.  Her heels did not click on the pavements; she walked noiselessly, as though she trod on grass.

Suddenly she clapped her bare hands.  “Ah, if you’re a sympathiser you must join the Men’s League for Women’s Suffrage.  You will?  Oh, that’s fine!  I’ve never brought in a member yet....”  She paused, furious with herself, for she was so very young that she hated ever to own that she was doing anything for the first time.  It was her aim to appear infinitely experienced.  Usually, she thought, she succeeded.