well, because, it seemed, she had been engaged
or was engaged to marry him. "All these people," she said, "are pushing
things about, affecting millions of lives, hurting and disordering
hundreds of thousands of people. They don't seem to know what they
are doing. They have no plans in particular.... And you are getting
something going that will be a plan and a direction and a conscience
and a control for them? You will find my father extremely difficult, but
some of our younger men would love it.

"And," she went on; "there are American women who'd love it too. We're
petted. We're kept out of things. We aren't placed. We don't get enough
to do. We're spenders and wasters--not always from choice. While these
fathers and brothers and husbands of ours play about with the fuel and
power and life and hope of the world as though it was a game of poker.
With all the empty unspeakable solemnity of the male. And treat us as
though we ought to be satisfied if they bring home part of the winnings.

"That can't go on," she said.

Her eyes went back to the long, low, undulating skyline of the downs.
She spoke as though she took up the thread of some controversy that had
played a large part in her life. "That isn't going on," she said with an
effect of conclusive decision.

Sir Richmond recalled that little speech now as he returned from
Salisbury station to the Old George after his farewell to Martineau. He
recalled too the soft firmness of her profile and the delicate line of
her lifted chin. He felt that this time at any rate he was not being
deceived by the outward shows of a charming human being. This young
woman had real firmness of character to back up her free and independent
judgments. He smiled at the idea of any facile passion in the
composition of so sure and gallant a personality. Martineau was very
fine-minded in many respects, but he was an old maid; and like all old
maids he saw man and woman in every encounter. But passion was a thing
men and women fell back upon when they had nothing else in common. When
they thought in the pleasantest harmony and every remark seemed to weave
a fresh thread of common interest, then it wasn't so necessary. It might
happen, but it wasn't so necessary.... If it did it would be a secondary
thing to companionship. That's what she was,--a companion.

But a very lovely and wonderful companion, the companion one would not
relinquish until the very last moment one could keep with her.