They had discussed the latest raid. At Alwynne's age and period all conversational roads led to the suffrage question, and he had found her re-hash of Mona Hamilton's arguments sufficiently entertaining. He guessed a plagiarism of the matter, but the manner was obviously her own. She was full of second-hand indignation over the conduct of a certain Cabinet Minister.
"He won't even see them!" she explained grievously. "Not even a deputation from the constitutional section! Just because some women are fools--and burn things----" The pause was eloquent. "It's so utterly unreasonable," declaimed Alwynne. "But of course men are unreasonable," said Alwynne, pensively reflective.
He considered her ingenuous countenance--
"If it's not a delicate question--how many do you know?" said Roger softly.
"Surely a page of Shakespeare is more real than dozens of real people's lives."
"Side issue! I'm not to be deflected. How many men do you know, in real life, well enough to discuss the suffrage with?"
"I'm always kept at school the day the vicar comes to tea," she said suggestively.
She saw his drift, but defended herself, smiling.
"The assistants are most intelligent at the circulating library."
"There were music masters at school. I didn't mean _you_ were unreasonable," she deprecated.
He began to laugh, openly, mischievously, delighting in her discomfiture.
"Anyhow, I know a lot about women," said Alwynne heatedly.
"I'm sure you do. But we were talking of men. And on the whole--you make me a polite exception--as a result of your wide knowledge, your complicated experience of Us--as a class--you consider that we are unreasonable?"
But he spoke into space. Alwynne had retired, pinkly, to a sofa and a novel. But he thought, as he settled to his own reading, that he heard a strangled chuckle. Alwynne, caught napping, always tickled Alwynne.
Over the top of his book, he considered her bent head approvingly. He liked her sense of fun. It was not every girl who could appreciate the smut on her own nose ... quite a pretty nose too ... indeed the whole profile was unexceptionable.... He noticed how well the patch of sky and the slopes of Witch Hill framed it ... and her hair ... it regularly mopped up the sunlight! He felt that he wanted to take the great heavy rope and twist it like a wet cloth till the gold dropped out on to the floor in shining pools.