again, except that she learnt Hubert was not
a church-goer--an atheist, she called him--and cut Helena entirely.
This left the young couple free, without social remorse, to make the
most wonderful excursions on Hubert's one free day. All Sunday; the
afternoon walk; meal-times; after dinner--such was what Hubert gave
her, and for the rest, always half-conscious of his selfishness, he
felt delighted to think whilst working that Helena would not be bored.
She was so busy, dear little simpleton, with this chimaera of her
education!

It was Geoffrey Alison who first took her to causeries and lectures
(she learnt almost at once to recognise a causerie, because the seats
cost more), which took place at the Institute, conveniently after tea.
Surprisingly good men came down--or up?--to speak, and spoke on a
variety of subjects. Helena, always too nervous to air her knowledge
before Hubert who was so clever and looked upon her (she knew) as a
child, gradually began to juggle chaotically in her brain with such
terms as Ethics, Syndicalism, Molecules, Collectivism, and Eugenics.
It was all most difficult, she told herself, but frightfully worth
while.

"Odd of her, this thirst for culture, isn't it?" said Hubert smilingly
to Kenneth Boyd, on one of their rare meetings away from the hostile
wives; "but it's quite harmless and it keeps them quiet."

Kenneth Boyd spoke gloomily. "Not always," he said. Perhaps he knew
more of Woman, even though he never wrote about her. "Sometimes it has
the opposite effect."

"Oh, I know what you mean," Hubert replied, not caring to be
patronised; "but Helena is not that sort. She doesn't want the Vote.
She's such a charming little innocent," and he laughed, half love but
half pity.

"Really?" said the enigmatic Boyd. His thoughts had taken a far ampler
sweep, and he spoke almost darkly.

Hubert did not answer. He was still thinking of the Vote. Most men
persistently whittle down Woman's whole platform to a mere splinter
convenient for smashing.

"Why," he elaborated, "if she were given it, she wouldn't know what she
had got to do with it."

CHAPTER VII

THE CULT OF USELESSNESS

Helena certainly had small ambition towards the life political, even as
anything no more exalted than a latch-key voter. She had been
compelled to read politics in Devonshire but like a schoolboy who is
forced to chapel, found it very dull, and took another course at the
first opportunity. She c