'’Inderin' policemen!'—'Mykin' rows in the street;' and a voice called out so near Jean that the girl jumped, 'It's the w'y yer goes on as mykes 'em keep ye from gettin' votes. They see ye ain't fit to 'ave——'
And then all the varied charges were swallowed in a general uproar.
'Where's Geoffrey? Oh, isn't she too funny for words?'
The agitated chairman had come forward. 'You evidently don't know,' he said, 'what had to be done by men before the extension of suffrage in '67. If it hadn't been for demonstrations——' But the rest was drowned.
The brown-serge woman stood there waiting, wavering a moment; and suddenly her shrill note rose clear over the indistinguishable Babel.
'You s'y woman's plyce is 'ome! Don't you know there's a third of the women in this country can't afford the luxury of stayin' in their 'omes? They got to go out and 'elp make money to p'y the rent and keep the 'ome from bein' sold up. Then there's all the women that 'aven't got even miserable 'omes. They 'aven't got any 'omes at all.'
'You said you got one. W'y don't you stop in it?'
'Yes, that's like a man. If one o' you is all right he thinks the rest don't matter. We women——'
But they overwhelmed her. She stood there with her gaunt arms folded—waiting. You felt that she had met other crises of her life with just that same smouldering patience. When the wave of noise subsided again, she was discovered to be speaking.
'P'raps your 'omes are all right! P'raps your children never goes 'ungry. P'raps you aren't livin', old and young, married and single, in one room.'