_She'd_ never come to 'ear of it. An'
after one or two such honeymoons you'd soon get tired of 'im,
specially now you're gettin' on a bit in years, and may be you'd
settle down quietly after that. Or if you ain't reg'lar set on
_'im_, why not giv' up this suffrage business and live a bit with me
here? There's plenty of upstanding, decent, Belgian men in good
positions as'd like to have an English wife. _They_ wouldn't look
too shy at my money..."
_Vivie_: "Get thee behind me, Satan! Mother, you oughtn't to make
such propositions. Don't you understand, we must all have a religion
somewhere. Some principle to which we sacrifice ourselves. Rossiter
would be horrified if he could hear you. His mistress is Science,
besides which he is really devoted to his wife and would do nothing
that could hurt her. You don't know England, it's clear. Supposing
for one moment I could consent--and I couldn't--we should be found
out to a certainty, and then Michael's career would be ruined.
"My religion, though I sometimes weary of it and sneer at it, is
Women's Rights: women must have precisely the same rights as men, no
disqualification whatever based merely on their being women. Did you
read those disgusting letters in the _Times_ by the surgeon, the
midwifery man, Sir Wrigsby Blane? Declaring that the demand for the
Vote was based on immorality, and pretending that once a month, till
they were fifty, and for several years _after_ they were fifty,
women were not responsible for their actions, because of what he
vaguely called 'physiological processes.
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