r clogs and shawls and be at the mill at six. We worked till
twelve, and then in the afternoon we went to school. The next day we went
to school in the morning and to the mill in the afternoon. When we were
thirteen we left school altogether, and worked twelve hours a day in the
mill. In the evenings we had to do housework. In fact, all our housework
was done before half-past five in the morning and after half-past six in
the evening. We had to work just as hard as the men and boys in the mill.
We got a great deal less money and a great deal less decent treatment; but
to make up we had to slave in the early morning and late at night, while
the men either snored or smoked. I was all right. But Susan wasn't. And a
lot of women weren't, especially young mothers with babies. So I learnt
typewriting on the quiet, and left it all to try and find out whether
something couldn't be done. I soon found out--after I'd heard Rosamund
speak. That's the reason I'm not mending stockings. I'm not blaming
anybody. It's no one's fault, really. It certainly isn't men's fault. Only
something has to be altered, and most people detest alterations. Still,
they do get done somehow in the end. And so there you are!"

"I should love to help," said Audrey. "I expect I'm not much good, but I
should love to."

She dared not refer to her wealth, of which, in fact, she was rather
ashamed.

"Well, you can help, all right," said Jane Foley, rising. "Are you a
member?"

"No. But I will be to-morrow."

"They'll give you something to do," said Jane Foley.

"Oh yes!" remarked Miss Ingate. "They'll keep you busy enough--_and_ charge
you for it."

Susan Foley began to clear the table.

"Supper at nine," said she curtly.

CHAPTER XXII

THE DETECTIVE

Audrey and Miss Ingate were writing letters to Paris. Jane Foley had gone
forth again to a committee meeting, which was understood to be closely
connected with a great Liberal demonstration shortly to be held in a
Midland fortress of Liberalism. Miss Nickall, in accordance with medical
instructions, had been put to bed. Susan Foley was in the basement, either
clearing up tea or preparing supper.

Miss Ingate, putting her pen between her teeth and looking up from a
blotting-pad, said to Audrey across the table:

"Are you writing to Musa?"

"Certainly not!" said Audrey, with fire. "Why should I write to Musa?" She
added: "But you can write to him, if you like."

"Oh! Can I?" observed Miss I