wered down propaganda on the City; now and then, just to show
what violence it could accomplish if it liked, it burned down a house or
two in a pure and consecrated ecstasy of Feminism. It was bringing to
perfection its last great tactical manoeuvre, the massed raid followed
by the hunger-strike in prison. And it was considering seriously the
very painful but possible necessity of interfering with British
sport--say the Eton and Harrow Match at Lord's--in some drastic and
terrifying way that would bring the men of England to their senses.

And Dorothea's soul had swung away from the sweep of the whirlwind. It
would never suck her in. She worked now in the office of the Social
Reform Union, and wrote reconstructive articles for _The New
Commonwealth_ on Economics and the Marriage Laws.

Frances was not afraid for her daughter. She knew that the revolution
was all in Dorothea's brain.

When she said that Michael was being drawn in she meant that he was
being drawn into the vortex of revolutionary Art. And since Frances
confused this movement with the movements of Phyllis Desmond she judged
it to be terrible. She understood from Michael that it was _the_ Vortex,
the only one that really mattered, and the only one that would ever
do anything.

And Michael was not only in it, he was in it with Lawrence Stephen.

Though Frances knew now that Lawrence Stephen had plans for Michael, she
did not realize that they depended much more on Michael himself than on
him. Stephen had said that if Michael was good enough he meant to help
him. If his poems amounted to anything he would publish them in his
_Review_. If any book of Michael's poems amounted to anything he would
give a whole article to that book in his _Review_. If Michael's prose
should ever amount to anything he would give him regular work on
the _Review_.

In nineteen-thirteen Michael Harrison was the most promising of the
revolutionary young men who surrounded Lawrence Stephen, and his poems
were beginning to appear, one after another, in the _Green Review_. He
had brought out a volume of his experiments in the spring of that year;
they were better than those that Reveillaud had approved of two years
ago; and Lawrence Stephen had praised them in the _Green Review_.

Lawrence Stephen was the only editor "out of Ireland," as he said, who
would have had the courage either to publish them or to praise them.

And when Frances realized Michael's dependence on Lawrence St