way.

Little as Mr. Fox-Moore thought of his wife's taste, either in clothes
or in amusements, he would have been more mystified than ever he had
been in his life had he seen her hansom, ten minutes later, stop on the
north side of Trafalgar Square, opposite the National Gallery.

'Look out and see,' she said, retiring guiltily into the corner of the
conveyance. 'Are they there?' And it was plain that nothing could more
have relieved Mrs. Fox-Moore at that moment than to hear 'they' were
not.

But Vida, glancing discreetly out of the side window, had said--

'There? I should think they are--and a crowd round them already. Look at
their banners!' and she laughed as she leaned out and read the legend,
'We demand VOTES FOR WOMEN' inscribed in black letters on the white
ground of two pieces of sheeting stretched each between a pair of
upright poles, standing one on either side of the plinth of Nelson's
column. In the very middle, and similarly supported, was a banner of
blood red. Upon this one, in great white letters, appeared the legend--

'EFFINGHAM, THE ENEMY
OF
WOMEN AND THE WORKERS.'

As Vida read it out--

'_What!_' ejaculated her sister. 'They haven't really got that on a
banner!' And so intrigued was she that, like some shy creature dwelling
in a shell, cautiously she protruded her head out of the shiny, black
sheath of the hansom.

But as she did so she met the innocent eye of a passer-by, tired of
craning his neck to look back at the meeting. With precipitation Mrs.
Fox-Moore withdrew into the innermost recesses of the black shell.

'Come, Janet,' said Vida, who had meanwhile jumped out and settled the
fare.

'Did that man know us?' asked the other, lifting up the flap from the
back window of the hansom and peering out.

'No, I don't think so.'

'He stared, Vida. He certainly stared very hard.'

Still she hesitated, clinging to the friendly shelter of the hansom.

'Oh, come on! He only stared because---- He took you for a Suffragette!'
But the indiscretion lit so angry a light in the lady's eye, that Vida
was fain to add, 'No, no, do come--and I'll tell you what he was really
looking at.'

'What?' said Mrs. Fox-Moore, putting out her head again.

'He was struck,' said Vida, biting her lip to repress smiles, 'by the
hat of the Woman of the People.'

But the lady was too entirely satisfied with her hat to mind Vida's
poking fun at it.

'"Effingham, the Enemy!"' Mrs. Fox