of Trafalgar women bound themselves in tiers up the entire length
of the Nelson column so that its customary floral decoration had
to be abandoned. Still the Government obstinately adhered to its
conviction that women ought to have the vote.

Then, as a last resort, some woman wit hit upon an expedient which
it was strange that no one had thought of before. The Great Weep
was organized. Relays of women, ten thousand at a time, wept
continuously in the public places of the Metropolis. They wept in
railway stations, in tubes and omnibuses, in the National Gallery,
at the Army and Navy Stores, in St. James's Park, at ballad
concerts, at Prince's and in the Burlington Arcade. The hitherto
unbroken success of the brilliant farcical comedy "Henry's Rabbit"
was imperilled by the presence of drearily weeping women in stalls
and circle and gallery, and one of the brightest divorce cases
that had been tried for many years was robbed of much of its
sparkle by the lachrymose behaviour of a section of the audience.

"What are we to do?" asked the Prime Minister, whose cook had wept
into all the breakfast dishes and whose nursemaid had gone out,
crying quietly and miserably, to take the children for a walk in
the Park.

"There is a time for everything," said the King; "there is a time
to yield. Pass a measure through the two Houses depriving women
of the right to vote, and bring it to me for the Royal assent the
day after to-morrow."

As the Minister withdrew, Hermann the Irascible, who was also
nicknamed the Wise, gave a profound chuckle.