‘I am quite surprised you dare show your face at a Women’s Federal League address, Eleanor, after your dalliance with the anti-billites,’ said Mrs Rothe, as though she had rehearsed this line on the carriage ride over and was not about to forgo the pleasure of repeating it now, and in the presence of a number of other ladies of no small import who happened to be within earshot, simply because her friend was, apparently, in the midst of a crisis.

But her remark fell a little flat when none of the ladies present commented on it and Eleanor made no reply.

‘Mrs Dunlevy? I thought it was you! Is it true your husband froze and could not speak a single word at the Premier’s meeting at Bathurst last evening? It is reported in this morning’s Herald.’

And thus was Mrs Rothe trumped, and by Mrs Parkes, who, while she was not strictly speaking related to the great man, did at least share his name.

Eleanor thought, That is why Alasdair returned so suddenly from the west this morning. She had thought it was because of Miss Trent. And perhaps it was still because of her. Perhaps everything her husband did now was because of Miss Trent.

It was news, too, to Blanche Rothe, she saw, as that lady’s gaze fixed on her own face, hoping to see a husband’s public disgrace there, perhaps even a little glad, for Blanche herself had felt the sharp pinpricks of public humiliation in the past. How easy it was to read all this, in an instant, in the other woman’s face, thought Eleanor.

As for Mrs Parkes, who came at her through a large crowd, pushing her way through and swollen, it seemed, with her eagerness to make her cruel remark, the lady had nothing but a name shared with a great man three years dead and to whom she was not actually related. Her husband, a superintendent of works, resided apart from her in some other part of the city.

‘My husband is not with the Premier, Mrs Parkes; he is here in Sydney,’ Eleanor said, which was sufficient to cast doubt on the story. But she was dismayed at how her voice shook—though it was possible no one but herself noticed.

The crowd that gathered in the foyer had now reached such proportions that conversing with one’s neighbour had become impractical and it was acceptable to simply stand and say nothing, to look at no one. The ladies of the Women’s Federal League bustled hither and thither greeting and organising, and presently they urged those gathered to move into the hall. They were to be addressed by Mr Barton himself, which was a coup and a feather in a number of people’s caps, though Mrs Rothe, perhaps perceiving she had an audience, declared she did not particularly care for the gentleman.