Wayward Winds by Michael Phillips Page B

hers.
    â€œMr., er . . . Mr. Halifax,” she said, attempting without success to act surprised, “whatever are you doing in a hall full of ladies?”
    Some of the women tittered. The newsman took it in stride.
    â€œMy paper ran a piece yesterday announcing your little shindig,” he answered with a good-natured grin. “I thought I ought to come down and report on the affair firsthand.”
    â€œAnd what will you report?” asked Amanda. She drew in a steadying breath which she hoped would be invisible. Among so many women, she must not let it show that she was nervous around a man .
    â€œI must say I am impressed at the turnout,” replied Halifax, gesturing about the hall.
    â€œWhat about the content of what you heard?”
    â€œI must decline committing myself,” he smiled.
    â€œAnd we all know what that means,” rejoined Amanda with significant yet playful tone. “It is a rare man who has the courage to approve of what we are doing,” she added. Her voice contained more fun than jab. It was impossible not to be charmed by the man’s smile.
    â€œI told you when we first met, Miss Rutherford, that I was adept at walking many sides of many fences.”
    â€œDid you say that?” she laughed.
    â€œI think I said something like it,” Halifax rejoined. “So don’t be too quick to judge my opinions. I think you will find me more open-minded than most men, even most progressives.”
    Seeing that she was apparently acquainted with the stranger, the three Pankhursts now joined Amanda. Mrs. Pankhurst did little to hide her curiosity.
    â€œEmmeline,” said Amanda as her mentor approached, “I would like you to meet Mr. Ramsay Halifax—our lone male listener today. Mr. Halifax—Emmeline Pankhurst.”
    â€œI am honored to meet you, Mrs. Pankhurst,” said the journalist, extending his hand. “I have followed your career for some time with interest.”
    â€œMr. Halifax is a reporter for the Daily Mail ,” added Amanda.
    â€œNow your presence makes sense,” said Pankhurst, shaking his hand and allowing a smile of heightened interest onto her face. Publicity was the stock-in-trade of the movement she was spearheading. “These are my two daughters—Christabel and Sylvia.”
    â€œCharmed,” said Halifax, shaking each of their hands in turn.
    â€œYou are doing a story on our cause?” said Pankhurst.
    â€œActually, no,” replied Halifax. “I am here chiefly because of my acquaintance with Miss Rutherford.”
    A moment’s hesitation followed.
    â€œAh, I see . . . well, we are happy to have you here in any case,” said Mrs. Pankhurst. “There are many men, you know, who support our cause. So you are welcome anytime. I hope your paper will see fit to give the event the attention it deserves.”
    â€œI will speak to my editor about running a feature piece.”
    â€œThis is the largest such gathering yet.—But now you must excuse me. I see they are waiting for me across the hall. I am pleased to have met you, Mr. Halifax.”
    â€œLikewise, Mrs. Pankhurst,” he replied, with a respectful nod of the head.
    Both Pankhurst daughters smiled, then turned and followed their mother. Amanda and the journalist were left alone for the first time.
    â€œHow did you come down from the city?” he asked.
    â€œBy train,” Amanda answered.
    â€œDo you have more duties here?”
    â€œIf you mean more speeches,” laughed Amanda, “no—I am through for the day.”
    â€œWhat would you say, then, to accepting an invitation to ride back to London with me?”
    â€œI don’t know—do you mean on the train?”
    â€œOf course not,” he laughed. “Anyone can ride the train. I mean by motorcar. It’s a lovely day—we’ll have a drive up the coast to Dover, then back up into town.—What do