stions from which to choose.

By the end of the term they had settled the business of wisdom. The
schedule was complete and they had a short way of dealing with every
problem from the Universality of Nature to the value of the negative
and hypothetical judgment. Of course to achieve a "position" they had
to sacrifice their consciences at times. It was all quite shameless
and quite successful.

"After this," suggested Chard, "you might get made Railway Managers."

"Unless," said Rendell, "we get on to the staff of a certain penny
weekly."

In December Martin went down once more to Devonshire. To his surprise
he found Freda there. Almost two years had elapsed since he had seen
her and he had almost forgotten her existence. But now he remembered
vividly and was glad.

She had not altered and he rediscovered her perfect insignificance.
How ridiculous it seemed that, while Margaret Berrisford with her
health and strength need only work when she chose and as she chose,
this wisp of a woman should have been caught up in the machinery of
industry: ridiculous that one so fragile should be self-maintenant. He
had little chance to talk to her that evening, but on the following
afternoon he went with her to the village and along the Tavistock Road.
He asked her about herself.

"They soon got rid of me," she answered. "The Trades Union people, I
mean. They were naturally sick of my coming late and getting ill and
being a general nuisance. Then I got in with some Suffrage Women and
they gave me work. One of the new peace-and-goodwill societies. They
want to link up the movement and then agitate according to
Lor-an-order. They're so peaceful and orderly that, not being engaged
in fighting other people like tigers, they just quarrel among
themselves like cats. Oh, I do get sick of it."

"What do you do for them? Speak?"

"Oh no. Just the office work. They worked me quite hard and paid me
very little, and, when I murmured, they hinted that if I was only loyal
to my sex I'd do the whole show for nothing. Never work for lovers of
humanity: their love has a background of dividends and West End
drawing-rooms. It's none the worse for that, but they expect your love
to take the form of more work for less pay. It's not good enough. I'd
rather be a genuine wage-slave, thanks very much."

"City office, regular hours, and no nonsense?"

"That's it."

"Have you been ill this winter?"

"Yes. I was rotten for