hear!'

'And to tell you men what improvements you can expect to see w'en women
'as the share in public affairs they ought to 'ave!'

Out of the babel came the question, 'What do you know about it? You
can't even talk grammar.'

His broad smile faltered a little.

'Oh, what shame!' said Jean, full of sympathy. 'He's a dear--that funny
cockney.'

But he had been dashed for the merest moment.

'I'm not 'ere to talk grammar, but to talk Reform. I ain't defendin' my
grammar,' he said, on second thoughts, 'but I'll say in pawssing that if
my mother 'ad 'ad 'er rights, maybe my grammar would 'ave been better.'

It was a thrust that seemed to go home. But, all the same, it was clear
that many of his friends couldn't stomach the sight of him up there
demeaning himself by espousing the cause of the Suffragettes. He kept
on about woman and justice, but his performance was little more than
vigorous pantomime. The boyish chairman looked harassed and anxious,
Miss Ernestine Blunt alert, watchful.

Stonor bent his head to whisper something in Jean Dunbarton's ear. She
listened with lowered eyes and happy face. The discreet little
interchange went on for several minutes, while the crowd booed at the
bald-headed Labourite for his mistaken enthusiasm. Geoffrey Stonor and
his bride-to-be were more alone now in the midst of this shouting mob
than they had been since the Ulland House luncheon-gong had broken in
upon and banished momentary wonderment about the name--that name
beginning with V. Plain to see in the flushed and happy face that Jean
Dunbarton was not 'asking questions.' She was listening absorbed to the
oldest of all the stories.

And now the champion of the Suffragettes had come to the surface again
with his--

'Wait a bit--'arf a minute, my man.'

'Oo you talkin' to? I ain't your man!'

'Oh, that's lucky for me. There seems to be an individual here who
doesn't think women ought to 'ave the vote.'

'One? Oh-h!'

They all but wiped him out again in laughter; but he climbed on the top
of the great wave of sound with--

'P'raps the gentleman who thinks they oughtn't to 'ave a vote, p'raps 'e
don't know much about women. Wot? Oh, the gentleman says 'e's married.
Well, then, fur the syke of 'is wife we mustn't be too sorry 'e's 'ere.
No doubt she's s'ying, "'Eaven be prysed those women are mykin' a
demonstrytion in Trafalgar Square, and I'll 'ave a little peace and
quiet at 'ome for one Sunday in me life."'

T