She asked: "Do you know any suffragists?
Do you know any men who write plays or novels, or any musicians or painters--or actresses ?" And again and again by an air of assurance Ethel tried to hide her dismay, as her sister subtly made all this seem like a school-girl's fancies.
"Yes," Amy would say good-humouredly, "there are such people, I suppose--plenty of them, all over town.

And they talk and talk and hold meetings, and they go to high-brow plays--and some women even work.

But it doesn't sound very thrilling, does it?
I don't know.

They never seem to me quite real." And then Amy would go on to hint what did seem real to her in life.

And again that picture of the town, all centred on what emerged from the shops and poured into the cafes to dance, was painted for her sister.
But behind her smiling manner of one with an intimate knowledge of life, Amy would glance at the girl by her side in a curious, rather anxious way.