'What? Oh, yes, if you think'—she had disengaged the chain of her eyeglass at last. 'But isn't that, surely it's——'
'Geoffrey——!' Jean began.
'Lady John's tired,' he interrupted. 'We've had enough of this idiotic——'
'But you don't see who it is, Geoffrey. That last one is——' Suddenly Jean bent forward as he was trying to extricate her from the crowd, and she looked in his face. Something that she found there made her tighten her hold on his arm.
'We can't run away and leave Aunt Ellen,' was all she said; but her voice sounded scared. Stonor repressed a gesture of anger, and came to a standstill just behind two big policemen.
The last-comer to that strange platform, after standing for some seconds with her back to the people and talking to Ernestine Blunt, the tall figure in a long sage-green dust coat and familiar hat, had turned and glanced apprehensively at the crowd.
It was Vida Levering.
The girl down in the crowd locked her hands together and stood motionless.
The Socialist had left the platform with the threat that he was 'coming down now to attend to that microbe that's vitiating the air on my right, while a lady will say a few words to you—if she can myke 'erself 'eard.'
He retired to a chorus of cheers and booing, while the chairman, more harassed than ever, it would seem, but determined to create a diversion, was saying that some one had suggested—'and it's such a good idea I'd like you to listen to it—that a clause shall be inserted in the next Suffrage Bill that shall expressly give to each Cabinet Minister, and to any respectable man, the power to prevent a vote being given to the female members of his family, on his public declaration of their lack of sufficient intelligence to entitle them to one.'