But it's just these problems of behavior under difficulties that our
club wants to solve. I'd like to put you on the road to express yourself
and your ambitions without the necessity of--say marriage for
convenience. You're a dancer, aren't you?"

"Um, a ballet girl," said Jenny as usual, careful not to presume the
false grandeur of an isolated stellar existence.

"Are you keen on your dancing?"

"I was once. When I began. Only they crush you at the Orient. Girls
there hate to see you get on. I'm sick of it."

"I wonder," said Miss Ragstead half to herself; "I wonder if active work
for the cause would give you a new zest for life. It might. You feel all
upside down just now, don't you?"

"I feel as if nothing didn't matter. Not _any_thing," replied Jenny
decidedly.

"That's terrible for a girl of your age. You can't be more than eighteen
or nineteen."

"Twenty-one in October."

"So much as that? Yes"--the older woman continued after a reflective
pause--"yes, I believe you want some spur, some excitement quite outside
your ordinary experience. You know I am a doctor, so without
impertinence I can fairly prescribe for you."

"Well, what have I got to do?" Jenny asked. She was almost fascinated
by this lady with her cool hands and deep-set, passionate eyes.

"I wish I could invite you to spend some time with me in Somerset, but
I'm too busy now for a holiday. I feel rather uncertain whether, after
all, to advise you to plunge into the excitement of this demonstration.
And yet I'm sure it would be good for you. Dear child, I hope I'm not
giving bad advice," said Miss Ragstead earnestly as she leaned forward
and took hold of Jenny's hand.

So it came about that Jenny was enrolled in the ranks of the great
demonstration that was to impress the autumnal session of Parliament.
She kept very quiet about her intention and no one, except Lilli, knew
anything about it. The worst preliminary was the purple, green and white
sash which contained her unlucky color. Indeed, at first she could
hardly be persuaded to put it across her shoulders. But when the booming
of the big drum marked the beat, she felt aflame with nervous
expectation and never bothered about the sash or the chance of casual
recognition.

The rhythm of the march, the crashing of the band, the lilting motion,
the unreality of the crowds gaping on the pavements intoxicated her, and
she went swinging on to the tune in a dream of excitement. In the
narrowe