There she stood, obviously very much frightened, with the unaccustomed colour coming and going in her white face—farther back than any of the practised speakers—there she stood like one who too much values the space between her and the mob voluntarily to lessen it by half an inch. The voice was steady enough, though low, as she began.
'Mr. Chairman, men, and women——'
'Speak up.'
She flushed, came nearer to the edge of the platform, and raised the key a little.
'I just wanted to tell you that I was—I was present in the police court when the women were charged for creating a disturbance.'
'You oughtn't to get mix'd up in wot didn't concern you!'
'I—I——' She stumbled and stopped.
'Give the lady a hearing,' said a shabby art-student, magisterially. He seemed not ill-pleased when he had drawn a certain number of eyes to his long hair, picturesque hat, and flowing Byronic tie.
'Wot's the lydy's nyme?'
'I ain't seen this one before.'