when she had entered her flat she sat down at her desk and scowled more deeply still. she was angry not only at her past agitation but at her present disappointment. for seven years now, save for brief lapses, almost forgotten, she had been complete mistress of herself. during the last four she had so far sunk her personality into the great impersonal cause of her adoption that she had had no time to moon about herself after the fashion of idle women.

work! had that been the secret? how commonplace, and how expositive! who, indeed, when speaking, planning, fighting, proselytizing, writing innumerable leaflets, newspaper and magazine articles, drilling recruits, attending thousands of meetings, to say nothing of organizing her own union and fighting army, would find a moment’s time to cast a thought to man save as present enemy and future co-worker. even when in gaol, from which she had been mysteriously released both times at the end of a week, she had deliberately slept when not writing articles in her head. in america she had not gone farther west than chicago, but she suddenly realized that if the question of including california in the itinerary had arisen she should have felt something like panic, possibly the same superstitious fear that had assailed her at three pillar boxes four years earlier. well, indeed, that tay had sent his contribution. she had no desire to have her work interrupted, nor to go through any female throes. to know that she was still hospitable to them was bad enough. switch him out! she took her typewriter from its case, haughtily refusing to sleep.

the telephone beside her rang. she put the receiver to her ear, wondering who dared interrupt her at night in times of peace. although a truce with the government was not formally declared until february 14th, the militants were resting on the laurels won in the general election.

a man’s voice answered her “hello!”

“who is it?”

“guess!”

“i—i can’t.”

“well, i hope my voice has changed some.”

“oh—so you are here. how generous of you to give us those ￡200!”

“generous nothing. you fired me up so with that speech that i came near subscribing my entire letter of credit, and then borrowing back enough to pay my hotel bill and get out.”

“why didn’t you come up to the platform afterward, or wait for me in the lobby?”

“frightened out of my wits. i’m never shy at the other end of the telephone, so thought i’d meet you this way first. if you’d made the usual female speech, i should have remained quite myself. but with all your wit and fire, you’re so finished, so polished—and you look that way, too. my teeth are still chattering. somehow, in spite of everything, i suddenly realized that i’d always remembered you as the little princess on the tower.”

(“and i in the fatal young thirties!”) “nonsense! i’ve merely worked hard these last four years. no one ever dreamed of being afraid of me. of course you’ll call to-morrow?”

“i think i might summon up courage if you would infuse a little cordiality into your voice. you’ve thawed a bit, but not too much.”

“you took me so completely by surprise. i had just made up my mind that you had asked some friend to make that donation in your name.”

“never should have thought of such a thing, although you could have had all i’ve got at any moment. what time may i call to-morrow?”

“when did you arrive?”

“this morning. saw at once that you were going to speak, and thought i’d see what you were like before i ventured. what time may i call to-morrow morning?”

“let me think—i’ve always a thousand things to attend to in the morning?—”

“please cut them out. you need a rest, anyhow. i’d like to call at eleven.”

“well—why not? we might go to the national gallery?—”

“what! you’re not going to begin on that? reminds me of cherry and the torments of my youth. i’d like to talk to you for twelve hours on end, and take you out to lunch and dinner, but i’ll go to no morgues!”

“oh, very well. it will be quite delightful. but as it will be what you call a strenuous day, perhaps i’d better go to bed now. good night.”

“good night, militant princess.”

when julia hung up the receiver she was still smiling. then, to show how completely mistress of herself she was, she went to bed and slept.