She leaned towards him, and once more Maraton was conscious of the
splendid mobility of her trembling body. She was a revelation to him--a
modern Joan of Arc.

"Remember that I am no magician," he warned her.

"Ah, but your very presence alters everything!" she cried. "It makes
everything possible--everything. My brother, too, is mad with
excitement. He hoped that you might have been at the Clarion Hall
to-night, before you went to Downing Street. You have seen Mr. Foley
and talked with him?"

"I have come straight from there," he told her. "Foley is a shrewd man.
He sees the writing upon the wall. He is afraid."

She looked at him and laughed.

"They will try to buy you," she remarked scornfully. "They will try to
deal with you as they did with Blake and others like him--you--Maraton!
Oh, I wonder if England knows what it means, your coming!--if she really
feels the breaking dawn!"

"Tell me about yourself?" Maraton asked, a little abruptly--"your work?
I know you only by name, remember--your articles in the reviews and your
evidence before the Woman Labour Commission.

"I am a tailoress," she replied. "It is horrible work, but I have the
good fortune to be quick. I can make a living--there are many who
cannot."