He passed on--up Buckingham Gate, towards the Palace. Turning to the left, he was soon aware of two contrasted things:--an evening party going on at a well-known Embassy, cars driving up and putting down figures in flashing dresses, and gold-encrusted uniforms, emerging, and disappearing within its open doors--and only twenty yards away, a group of women huddled together in the cold, outside a closed fish-shop, waiting to buy for a few pence the broken or spoiled fish of the day. But a little further on he suddenly plunged into a crowd coming down Grosvenor Place. He stopped to watch it, and saw that it accompanied a long procession of men tramping back from Hyde Park. A banner held by the leaders bore the words--"Unemployed and starving! Give us work or bread." And Winnington remembered there was a docker's strike going on in Limehouse, passionately backed and defended by the whole body of the local clergy. His eyes examined the faces and forms in the procession. Young and old, sickly and robust, they passed him by, all of them marked and branded by their tyrant, Labour; rolled like the women amid the rocks and whirlpools of the industrial stream; marred and worn like them, only more deeply, more tragically. The hollow eyes accused him as they passed--him, with his ease of honoured life. "What have you made of us, your brethren?--you who have had the lead and the start!--you who have had till now the fashioning of this world in which we suffer! What is wrong with the world? We know no more than you. But it is your business to know! For God's sake, you who have intelligence and education, and time to use them, think for us!--think with us!--find a way out! More wages--more food--more leisure--more joy!--By G--d! we'll have them, or bring down your world and ours in one ruin together!" And then far back, from the middle of the last century, there came to Winnington's listening mind the cry of the founders of English democracy. "The vote!--give us the vote!--and bring in the reign of plenty and of peace." And the vote was given. Sixty years--and still this gaunt procession!--and all through Industrial England, the same unrest, the same bitterness! The vote? What is it actually going to mean, in struggle for life and happiness that lies before every modern Community? How many other methods and forces have already emerged, and must yet emerge, beside it! The men know it. And meanwhile, the women--a section of women--have seized with the old faith, on the confident cries of sixty years ago?--with the same disillusion waiting in the path?