difference between me and the others was that I hit back.  Yes I did.  And I did worse.  I wasnt ladylike.  I cursed.  I called names.  I heard words that I didnt even know that I knew, coming out of my mouth just as if somebody else had spoken them.  The policeman repeated them in court.  The magistrate said he could hardly believe it.  The policeman held out his hand with his two teeth in it that I knocked out.  I said it was all right; that I had heard myself using those words quite distinctly; and that I had taken the good conduct prize for three years running at school.  The poor old gentleman put me back for the missionary to find out who I was, and to ascertain the state of my mind.  I wouldnt tell, of course, for your sakes at home here; and I wouldnt say I was sorry, or apologize to the policeman, or compensate him or anything of that sort.  I wasnt sorry.  The one thing that gave me any satisfaction was getting in that smack on his mouth; and I said so.  So the missionary reported that I seemed hardened and that no doubt I would tell who I was after a day in prison.  Then I was sentenced.  So now you see I’m not a bit the sort of girl you thought me.  I’m not a bit the sort of girl I thought myself.  And I dont know what sort of person you really are, or what sort of person father really is.  I wonder what he would say or do if he had an angry brute of a policeman twisting his arm with one hand and rushing him along by the nape of his neck with the other.  He couldnt whirl his leg like a windmill and knock a policeman down by a glorious kick on the helmet.  Oh, if theyd all fought as we two fought we’d have beaten them.

MRS KNOX.  But how did it all begin?

MARGARET.  Oh, I dont know.  It was boat-race night, they said.

MRS KNOX.  Boat-race night!  But what had you to do with the boat race?  You went to the great Salvation Festival at the Albert Hall with your aunt.  She put you into the bus that passes the door.  What made you get out of the bus?

MARGARET.  I dont know.  The meeting got on my nerves, somehow.  It was the singing, I suppose:  you know I love singing a good swinging hymn; and I felt it was ridiculous to go home in the bus after we had been singing so wonderfully about climbing up the golden stairs to heaven.  I wanted more music—­more happiness—­more life.  I wanted some comrade who felt as I did.  I felt exalted:  it seemed mean to be afraid of anything:  after all, what could anyone do to me against my will?  I suppose I was a little mad:  at all events, I got out of the bus at Piccadilly Circus, because there was a lot of light and excitement there.  I walked to Leicester Square; and went into a great theatre.

MRS KNOX. [horrified] A theatre!

MARGARET.  Yes.  Lots of other women were going in alone.  I had to pay five shillings.

MRS KNOX. [aghast] Five shillings!

MARGARET. [apologetically] It was a lot.  It was very stuffy; and I didnt like the people much, because they didnt seem to be enjoying themselves; but the stage was splendid and the music lovely.  I saw that Frenchman, Monsieur Duvallet, standing against a barrier, smoking a cigarette.  He seemed quite happy; and he was nice and sailorlike.  I went and stood beside him, hoping he would speak to me.