behaviour in not giving a speaker a fair hearing.

A man held up a walking-stick. 'Will you just tell me one thing,
miss----'

'Not now. When the last speaker has finished there will be ten minutes
for questions. And I may say that it is a great and rare pleasure to
have any that are intelligent. Don't waste anything so precious. Just
save it up till you're asked for it. I want you now to give a fair
hearing to Mrs. Bewley.'

This was a wizened creature of about fifty, in rusty black, widow of a
stonemason and mother of four children--'four _livin'_,' she said with
some significance. She added her mite of testimony to that of the 96,000
organized women of the mills, that the workers in her way of life
realized how their condition and that of the children would be improved
'if the women 'ad some say in things.'

'It's quite certain,' she assured the people, 'there ought to be women
relief-officers and matrons in the prisons. And it's very 'ard on women
that there isn't the same cheap lodgin'-'ouse accommodation fur single
women as there is fur single men. It's very 'ard on poor girls. It's
worse than 'ard. But men won't never change that. We women 'as got to do
it.'

'Go 'ome and get your 'usban's tea!' said a new-comer, squeezing her way
into the tight-packed throng, a queer little woman about the same age as
the speaker, but dressed in purple silk and velvet, and wearing a
wonderful purple plush hat on a wig of sandy curls. She might have been
a prosperous milliner from the Commercial Road, and she had a meek man
along who wore the husband's air of depressed responsibility. She was
spared the humiliating knowledge, but she was taken at first for a
sympathizer with the Cause. In manners she was precisely like what the
Suffragette was at that time expected to be, pushing her way through the
crowd, and vociferating 'Shyme!' to all and sundry. The men who had been
pleasantly occupied in boo-ing the speaker turned and glared at her. The
hang-dog husband had an air of not observing. Some of the boys pushed
and harried her, but, to their obvious surprise, they heard her advising
the rusty widow: 'Go 'ome and get your 'usban's tea!' She varied that
advice by repeating her favourite 'Shyme!' varied by 'Wot
beayviour!--old enough to know better. Every good wife oughter stay at
'ome and darn 'er 'usban's socks and make 'im comftubble.'

After delivering which womanly sentiment she would nod her purple
plumes and smile at