B. was the venomous
Private Secretary of a former Chancellor of the Exchequer and put
him up to most of his anti-suffrage dodges); and meeting Vivien
Rossiter soon afterwards I said, "How _could_ you?" "How could I
what?" "Dine with the people you once hated." "Oh I don't know, it's
all past and done with; we've got the Vote and somehow after those
years in Brussels I seem to have no hates and few loves
left"--However this is anticipating. I only insert this protest
because I may seem to be expressing a bitterness the protagonists
have ceased to feel, a triumph at the victory of their cause which
produces in them merely a yawn.
Where is Mrs. Pankhurst? Somehow one thought she would never rest
till she was in the Cabinet. And Christabel? And Annie Kenney?
Married perchance to some permanent under Secretary of State and
viewing "direct action" with growing disapproval.
And the Pethick Lawrences? Some one told me the other day that
they'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be forcibly fed.
But in November, 1910, we all--we that were whole-hearted reformers,
true Liberals, not wolves in sheep's clothing, took very much to
heart what happened on the 18th of that month, when the Prime
Minister of the time announced that the Conference between the House
of Lords and the House of Commons on the Veto question having broken
down he had advised His Majesty to dissolve Parliament.
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