At last, having told her story through the interruptions—told it badly, brokenly, but to the end—having given proofs that lead-poisoning among women was on the increase and read out from her poor crumpled, shaking notes, the statistics of infant and still-birth mortality, the unhappy new helper sat down.
Miss Blunt leaned over, and whispered, 'That's all right! I was wrong. This is nearly as bad as Hyde Park,' and with that jumped up to give the crowd a piece of her mind.
They sniggered, but they quieted down, all but one.
'Yes, you are the gentleman, you there with the polo cap, who doesn't believe in giving a fair hearing. I would like to ask that man who thinks himself so superior, that one in the grey cap, whether he is capable of standing up here on this bench and addressing the crowd.'
'Hear, hear.'
'Yes! Get on the bench. Up with him.'
A slight scrimmage, and an agitated man was observed to be seeking refuge on the outskirts.
'Bad as Miss Scammell was, she made me rather ashamed of myself,' Vida confided to Borrodaile.
'Yes,' he said sympathetically, 'it always makes one rather ashamed—even if it's a man making public failure.'
'Oh, that wasn't what I meant. She at least tried. But I—I feel I'm a type of all the idle women the world over. Leaving it to the poor and the ill-equipped to——'