As soon as they had recovered breath and complete consciousness, had wiped the blood from cut heads, noses, and lips, they looked hard at each other.

"Thank you _so_ much," said Vivie, "it _was_ good of you." "That's enough," said her defender, "it wanted the voice to make me sure; but somehow I thought all along it _was_ Vivie.

Don't you know me?
Frank Gardner!" While waiting for the formalities to be concluded and their transference to cells in which they were to pass the night, Frank told Vivie briefly that he had returned from Rhodesia a prosperous man on a brief holiday leaving his wife and children to await his return.

Hearing there was likely to be an unusual row that evening over the Suffrage question he had sauntered down from the Strand to see what was going on and had been haunted by the conviction that he would meet Vivie in the middle of the conflict.

But when he rushed to her defence his action was instinctive, the impulse of any red-blooded man to defend a woman that was being brutally maltreated.
The next morning they were haled before the magistrate.