ur thrones? If you can afford it, WE can't. We
can't afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our
Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort
of man. Womanhood is sacred to me. My politics in that matter wouldn't
be to give women votes. I'm a Socialist, Miss Stanley."

"WHAT?" said Ann Veronica, startled.

"A Socialist of the order of John Ruskin. Indeed I am! I would make this
country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should
be the Queen. They should never come into contact with politics or
economics--or any of those things. And we men would work for them and
serve them in loyal fealty."

"That's rather the theory now," said Ann Veronica. "Only so many men
neglect their duties."

"Yes," said Mr. Manning, with an air of emerging from an elaborate
demonstration, "and so each of us must, under existing conditions, being
chivalrous indeed to all women, choose for himself his own particular
and worshipful queen."

"So far as one can judge from the system in practice," said Ann
Veronica, speaking in a loud, common-sense, detached tone, and beginning
to walk slowly but resolutely toward the lawn, "it doesn't work."

"Every one must be experimental," said Mr. Manning, and glanced round
hastily for further horticultural points of interest in secluded
corners. None presented themselves to save him from that return.

"That's all very well when one isn't the material experimented upon,"
Ann Veronica had remarked.

"Women would--they DO have far more power than they think, as
influences, as inspirations."

Ann Veronica said nothing in answer to that.

"You say you want a vote," said Mr. Manning, abruptly.

"I think I ought to have one."

"Well, I have two," said Mr. Manning--"one in Oxford University and one
in Kensington." He caught up and went on with a sort of clumsiness: "Let
me present you with them and be your voter."

There followed an instant's pause, and then Ann Veronica had decided to
misunderstand.

"I want a vote for myself," she said. "I don't see why I should take it
second-hand. Though it's very kind of you. And rather unscrupulous. Have
you ever voted, Mr. Manning? I suppose there's a sort of place like a
ticket-office. And a ballot-box--" Her face assumed an expression of
intellectual conflict. "What is a ballot-box like, exactly?" she asked,
as though it was very important to her.

Mr. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a