CHAPTER THE TENTH Ann Veronica: A Modern Love Story | ||
2
The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. Ann Veronica woke rather later than usual, and lay awake for some minutes before she remembered a certain resolution she had taken in the small hours. Then instantly she got out of bed and proceeded to dress.
She did not start for the Imperial College. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. She turned a resolute face southward.
She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. She studied the painted names of firms and persons and enterprises on the wall, and discovered that the Women's Bond of Freedom occupied several contiguous suites on the first floor. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women's Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. She opened one and found herself in a large untidy room set with chairs that were a little disarranged as if by an overnight
She walked across to this apartment and, opening the door a little wider, discovered a press section of the movement at work.
“I want to inquire,” said Ann Veronica.
“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction.
In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica's diffident entry.
“I want to know more about this movement,” said Ann Veronica.
“Are you with us?” said the tired woman.
“I don't know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. I want very much to do something for women. But I want to know what you are doing.”
The tired woman sat still for a moment. “You haven't come here to make a lot of difficulties?” she asked.
“No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know.”
The tired woman shut her eyes tightly for a moment, and then looked with them at Ann Veronica. “What can you do?” she asked.
“Do?”
“Are you prepared to do things for us? Distribute bills? Write letters? Interrupt meetings? Canvass at elections? Face dangers?”
“If I am satisfied —”
“If we satisfy you?”
“Then, if possible, I would like to go to prison.”
“It isn't nice going to prison.”
“It would suit me.”
“It isn't nice getting there.”
“That's a question of detail,” said Ann Veronica.
The tired woman looked quietly at her. “What are your objections?” she said.
“It isn't objections exactly. I want to know what you are doing; how you think this work of yours really does serve women.”
“We are working for the equal citizenship of men and women,” said the tired woman. “Women have been and are treated as the inferiors of men, we want to make them their equals.”
“Yes,” said Ann Veronica, “I agree to that. But —”
The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest.
“Isn't the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica.
“You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. Shall I make an appointment for you?”
Miss Kitty Brett was one of the most conspicuous
“Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?” — “Why are human beings viviparous?” — “Why are people hungry thrice a day?” — “Why does one faint at danger?”
She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. It looked as if it had taken its world for granted and prospered on that assumption —a world in which children were trained to obey their elders and the wills of women over-ruled as a matter of course. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving
CHAPTER THE TENTH Ann Veronica: A Modern Love Story | ||