the vans."

"Kitty is wonderful," said another.

"Wonderful!"

"I have always longed for prison service," said a voice, "always.
From the beginning. But it's only now I'm able to do it."

A little blond creature close at hand suddenly gave way to a fit of
hysterical laughter, and caught up the end of it with a sob.

"Before I took up the Suffrage," a firm, flat voice remarked, "I could
scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations."

Some one hidden from Ann Veronica appeared to be marshalling the
assembly. "We have to get in, I think," said a nice little old lady in
a bonnet to Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little.
"My dear, can you see in this light? I think I would like to get in.
Which is C?"

Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black
cavities of the vans. Their doors stood open, and placards with big
letters indicated the section assigned to each. She directed the little
old woman and then made her way to van D. A young woman with a white
badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their
vans.

"When they tap the roof," she said, in a voice of authority, "you are to
come out. You will be opposite the big entrance in Old Palace Yard. It's
the public entrance. You are to make for that and get into the lobby if
you can, and so try and reach the floor of the House, crying 'Votes for
Women!' as you go."

She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children.

"Don't bunch too much as you come out," she added.

"All right?" asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing
in the doorway. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile
in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the
women in darkness....

The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way.

"It's like Troy!" said a voice of rapture. "It's exactly like Troy!"

Part 5

So Ann Veronica, enterprising and a little dubious as ever, mingled with
the stream of history and wrote her Christian name upon the police-court
records of the land.

But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some
one else.

Some day, when the rewards of literature permit the arduous research
required, the Campaign of the Women will find its Carlyle, and the
particulars of that marvellous series of exploits by which Miss Brett
and her colleagues nagged the whole Western world into the discussion of
women's position become the mate