The sad thing is that the natural good manners of English people are so largely corrupted by snobbery of different kinds, and it is the women who are worst affected by this taint, since it is through them that lines of social intercourse are drawn, while men hover more easily on both sides of the fence. The tinge of snobbery may be fierce or faint, but the least trace of it is a stain on the fair face of good manners. The Maria of Mrs John Lane, observed as she is with such witty and lamentable accuracy, is a type of too many Englishwomen. She pushes, struggles and demeans herself daily with lies, subterfuges and petty dishonesties, imposing on the weak, toadying upon the stronger, with an eye of scorn for those below and a beam of adulation for those above—and all for such a sorry end. I saw the suffragettes throw themselves in waves, sobbing hysterically, against the rocky breasts of Westminster policemen till their strength gave out and their hair came down: it was a ridiculous and ugly spectacle, but a worthy cause gave rise to it. The spectacle of our Marias, charging and jostling against social barriers, is more ridiculous and more ugly because it is sanctified by no ideal of any possible value. How the ladies do push and jostle, to be sure! Woman struggling with her own sex is indeed a tigress. The feminine assault upon a popular ’bus at Piccadilly Circus is a _mêlée_ from which all but the most pugnacious of men would shrink, preferring to be ground to a powder by the trituration of multitudinous humanity in the tube than to be exposed to the shovings and stampings of ’bus-crazed women. They know it themselves, the dear things. My young friend Camilla, who is of the kind who consorts with Cabinet Ministers, told me the other day that in a ’bus-scrum not long ago she felt a peculiarly aggressive blow from behind. Turning round with a heart more furious than Dido’s, to quell her unmannerly aggressor with a look of hatred, an abusive phrase and perchance the jerk of a sharp elbow, she beheld her panting sister, Antonia, in all the frenzy of going over the top. The sisters called a truce, but were not in the least shame-faced. They both meant to get home at any cost, and had declared legitimate war upon the crowd. At a popular sale, so I hear, or in a busy shop, they sweep down like the Assyrians and positively fight for garments, or nearly tear shop-assistants in twain as Pentheus was torn by the Bacchanals.