‘“Britons awake! Arise! Oh, British lion!” cried Eugenia Malmains in thrilling tones. She stood on an overturned wash-tub on Chalford village green and harangued about a dozen aged yokels. Her straight hair, cut in a fringe, large, pale-blue eyes, dark skin, well-proportioned limbs and classical features, combined with a certain fanaticism of gesture to give her the aspect of a modern Joan of Arc. . . . “The Union Jack movement is a youth movement,” Eugenia cried passionately, “we are tired of the old. We see nothing through their eyes no longer. We see nothing admirable in that debating society of aged and corrupt men called Parliament,” . . .At this point a very old lady came up to the crowd, pushed her way through it and began twitching at Eugenia’s skirt. “Eugenia, my child,” she said brokenly, “do get off that tub, pray, please get down at once. Oh! When her ladyship hears of this I don’t know what will happen.” “Go away Nanny,” said Eugenia, who in the rising tide of oratory seemed scarcely aware that she had been interrupted.’