'To make nice little speeches with composure? So I did. So I do----' as he looked down upon the upturned face he seemed to lose his thread. She was for helping him to recover it. 'Don't you remember how you said----' 'That you have very pink cheeks? Well, I stick to it.' She smiled. 'Sh! Don't tell everybody.' 'And you're the only female creature----' 'That's a most proper sentiment.' 'The only one I ever saw who didn't look a fright in motor things.' 'I'm glad you don't think me a fright. Oh!'--she turned at the sound of applause--'we're forgetting all about----' A big sandy man, not hitherto seen, was rolling his loose-knit body up and down the platform, smiling at the people and mopping a great bony skull, on which, low down, a few scanty wisps of colourless hair were growing. 'If you can't afford a bottle of Tatcho,' a boy called out, 'w'y don't you get yer 'air cut?' He just shot out one hand and wagged it in grotesque greeting, not in the least discomposed. 'I've been addressin' a big meetin' at 'Ammersmith this morning, and w'en I told 'em I wus comin' 'ere this awfternoon to speak fur the women--well--then the usual thing began.' An appreciative roar rose from the crowd. 'Yes,' he grinned, 'if you want peace and quiet at a public meetin', better not go mentionin' the lydies these times!' He stopped, and the crowd filled in the hiatus with laughter. 'There wus a man at 'Ammersmith, too, talkin' about Woman's sphere bein' 'Ome. 'Ome do you call it? _'Ome!_' and at the word his _bonhomie_ suffered a singular eclipse. ''Ome!' he bellowed, as if some one had struck him in a vital spot, and the word was merely a roar of pain. '_'Ome!_ You've got a kennel w'ere you can munch your tommy. You got a corner w'ere you can curl up fur a few hours till you go out to work again. But 'omes! No, my men, there's too many of you ain't able to _give_ the women 'omes fit to live in; too many of you in that fix fur you to go on jawin' at those o' the women 'oo want to myke the 'omes a little more deservin' o' the name.' 'If the vote ain't done us any good,' a man bawled up at him, ''ow'll it do the women any good?' 'Look 'ere! See 'ere!' he rolled his shapeless body up and down the stone platform, taking in great draughts of cheer from some invisible fountain. 'Any men here belongin' to the Labour Party?' he inquired. To an accompaniment of shouts and applause he went on, smiling and rubbing his hands in a state of bubbling Brotherliness. 'Well, I don't need tell those men the vote 'as done us _some_ good. They _know_ it. And it'll do us a lot more good w'en you know 'ow to use the power you got in your 'and.' 'Power!' grumbled an old fellow. 'It's those fellows at the bottom of the street'--he hitched his head toward St. Stephen's--'it's them that's got the power.'