And yet!--all his knowledge of human life, all his tenderness for human suffering, rushed in to protest that the great question was only half answered, when it was answered so. He seemed to see the Spirit of England, Janus-like, two-faced, with one aspect looking out to sea, the other, brooding over the great city at its feet, and turned inland towards the green country and studded towns beyond. And as to that other, that home-face of England, his dreaming sense scarcely knew whether it was man or woman. There was in it male power, but also virgin strength, and mother love. Men and women might turn to it equally--for help. No need for women in the home tasks--the national house-keeping of this our England? He laughed--like France--at the mere suggestion of the doubt. Why, that teeming England, north and south, was crying out for the work of women, the help of women! Who knew it better than he? But call in thought!--call in intelligence! Find out the best way to fit the work to the organism, the organism to the work. What soil so rich as England in the seed of political ideas? What nation could so easily as we evolve new forms out of the old to fit new needs? But what need for patience in the process--for tolerance--for clear thinking! And while England ponders, bewildered by the very weight of her own load, and its responsibilities, comes, suddenly, this train of Maenads rushing through the land, shrieking and destroying. He groaned in spirit, as he thought of Delia's look that day--of the tragic-comic crowd around her. Again his thoughts flew hither and thither, seeking to excuse, to understand her, and always, as it seemed, with her dear voice in his ears--trembling--rushing--with the passionate note he knew. "Mr. Winnington!" He looked up. An elderly woman, plain-featured, ill-dressed, stood beside him, her kind eyes blinking under the lamp overhead. He recognised Miss Dempsey, and grasped her by the hand. "My dear lady, where have you sprung from?" She hesitated, and then said, supporting herself on the parapet of the bridge, as though thankful for the momentary rest. "I had to go in search of someone." He knew very well what she meant. "You've found her?" "Yes." "Can anyone help?" "No. The poor thing's safe--with good people who understand." He asked no more about her errand. He knew very well that day after day, and week after week, her tired feet carried her on the same endless quest--seeking "that which was lost." But the stress of thought in his own mind found expression in a question which surprised her. "Would the vote help you? Is that why you want it?" She smiled.