“I knew I should hear or see something of you soon,” said the gardener, shaking the suffragette’s hand as usual an excessive number of times. “And yet I’m awfully surprised too,” admitted the suffragette.
“Just an Easter holiday?” suggested the gardener carelessly. “But what luck you chose the Red Place.”
“It wasn’t exactly luck. I knew you were here.”
Tears had been trembling in the gardener’s eyes since the swallowing of the soup, he very nearly shed them now.
“Waiter,” he called, “move that lady’s place to our table.”
The suffragette was excited and flushed. She looked almost pretty.
“I can’t imagine why I came,” she said when the change was effected and greetings had been exchanged. “I think I must have come in delirium. The woman I used to be never comes into the country except on business, and, in the case of friends, makes a principle of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’”
“I hope you left that woman behind—permanently,” said the gardener.
“No. That’s the worst of it. They’re both here. Each acts as conscience while the other one’s in power. Why wasn’t one brought into the world by oneself?”
“Why, weren’t you?” asked Courtesy; “were you twins?”