But the elderly gentleman from the Highlands, to whom she thus unkindly
referred, went on humming and hawing as before, while the House lumbered or
fidgeted, hats well over noses and legs stretched to infinity.

"Oh, there is Arthur!" cried Marcia, having just discovered her brother
among the shadows under the gallery to the left. "I couldn't make him out
before. One can see he's on wires."

For while everybody else, after the excitement of the two opening speeches,
which was now running its course through the crowded lobbies outside, had
sunk into somnolence within the House itself, the fair-haired youth on whom
her eyes were bent was sitting erect on the edge of his seat, papers in
hand, his face turned eagerly toward the speaker on the other side of the
House. His attitude gave the impression of one just about to spring to his
feet.

But Marcia was of opinion that he would still have to wait some time before
springing. She knew the humming and hawing gentleman--had heard him often
before. He was one of those plagues of debate who rise with ease and cease
with difficulty. She would certainly have time to get a cup of tea and come
back. So with a word to her mother she groped her way through the dark
gallery across the corridor toward a tearoom. But at the door of the
gallery she turned back. There through the lattice which shuts in the
Ladies' Gallery, right across the House, she saw the Strangers' Gallery at
the other end. The man whose head had been propped on his hands when she
first discovered his presence was now sitting upright, and seemed to be
looking straight at herself, though she knew well that no one in the
Ladies' Gallery was really visible from any other part of the House. His
face was a mere black-and-white patch in the distance. But she imagined the
clear, critical eyes, their sudden frown or smile.