"There is no question about where we stand in the matter, Mrs. Dalloway. Our organization is wholly in sympathy with your movement. We should not be socialists if we were not. It's one of our cardinal doctrines that women are entitled to equal rights with men in everything."
"I know it is," replied the visitor sharply. "But theory is one thing and practice is another. I want to see your organization actually and definitely doing something for woman suffrage."
The secretary turned toward her books.
"I'll bring your matter before the board," she said, "at the earliest opportunity."
"Very well. See that you do."
And the society suffragist flounced out as abruptly as she had entered.
But Mrs. Bradley did not yet take up her tasks. She sat with her face in her hands in silent contemplation. After a little while she rose and began pacing up and down the floor of her office. It was apparent that for some reason she was greatly perturbed. Was it because Barry Malleson had made love to her? Poor Barry! He was as far from Mary Bradley's thought in that moment as her thought was from the golden streets of the New Jerusalem.
Finally she took down her hat and coat from the peg where they were hanging, put them on, and went out into the street.
At the first corner she met Stephen Lamar. He was in a jocose mood.
"'Where are you going, my pretty maid?'" he asked her.
"'I'm going to school, kind sir, she said.'"
"'May I go with you, my pretty maid?'"
"You would be turned out, and have to feed on grass," she answered him.
"But I would be feeding on clover while I was with you."
