ou 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.'

'I suppose life is like that for a good many people,' Jean Dunbarton
turned round to say.

'Oh, yes,' said her aunt.

'I come from a plyce where many fam'lies, if they're to go on livin' _at
all_, 'ave to live like that. If you don't believe me, come and let me
show you!' She spread out her lean arms. 'Come with me to Canning
Town--come with me to Bromley--come to Poplar and to Bow. No, you won't
even think about the over-worked women and the underfed children, and
the 'ovels they live in. And you want that _we_ shouldn't think
neither----'

'We'll do the thinkin'. You go 'ome and nuss the byby.'

'I do nurse my byby; I've nursed seven. What have you done for yours?'
She waited in vain for the answer. 'P'raps,' her voice quivered, 'p'raps
your children never goes 'ungry, and maybe you're satisfied--though I
must say I wouldn't a thought it from the look o' yer.'

'Oh, I s'y!'

'But we women are not satisfied. We don't only want better things for
our own children; we want better things for all. _Every_ child is our
child. We know in our 'earts we oughtn't to rest till we've mothered 'em
every one.'

'Wot about the men? Are _they_ all 'appy?'

There was derisive laughter at that, and 'No! No!' 'Not precisely!'
'_'Appy?_ Lord!'

'No, there's lots o' you men I'm sorry for,' she said.

'Thanks, awfully!'

'And we'll 'elp you if you let us,' she said.

''Elp us? You tyke the bread out of our mouths.'

'Now you're goin' to begin about us blackleggin' the men! _W'y_ does any
woman tyke less wyges than a man for the same work? On