The famous portrayer of Jewry passed; his face, despite its lineal coarseness, had an amazing beauty in its character. A few minutes later Bailey was talking with the novelist and introduced John, who found himself magnetised by an intense personality with great charm. He was a man with a hundred fights against poverty, prejudice and ill-health, but he had triumphed nobly. He had interpreted the Jews to a scornful world, displayed their poverty, revealed their poetry. As a dramatist he had assumed the role of a reformer; he entertained the crowd, but he lectured it. After a few minutes' chat he left them to speak to Lord Rendon, who, despite his elephantine exterior, had a nimble mind versed in the subtleties of politics and philosophy. At this moment John's attention was arrested by the re-appearance of the girl in red. She was talking to an astounding man whose hair straggled in disorder down to and over a soft brown collar. He wore a pair of black metal pince-nez, smoked a stubby pipe, the bowl of which he pressed from time to time with fingers that scorned the need of the manicurist. The Socialist was written all over him; there was sabotage in his eyes, repressed defiance in his gestures. He wore, to accentuate his untidy eccentricity, a faded brown sports coat, the pockets bulging with papers, and most of the buttons missing. "Ah," said Bailey, "now you've seen the nut-food man--that's Adams of the _Argus_--clever chap, but thinks untidiness is a sign of intellect." "I see he knows the model--he's a Bohemian?" "Yes--at least he hopes so. We haven't any real Bohemians in this country. They live on the Continent. When Englishmen try to be Bohemian they only succeed in being lazy or noisy. You'll find that each of them is regarded as a rising poet, a rising novelist or a rising dramatist. They're always rising until they are middle-aged, when they disappear somewhere. Really, Bohemians are the dullest persons; they've no topics but their egotism. Avoid them, Dean--they're never hygienic. I can enjoy a third-rate artist who is ornamental, but these people are merely extravagant." "But he looks interesting," urged John. "So he is--you want to meet him?" "Well--" He was desperately anxious to know Adams, for Adams knew the girl. He must speak to her before the play ended. Bailey guessed the hope and buttonholed Adams who shook hands. "This is Mr. Dean. Tilly," he said, turning to the girl who had drawn aside. "Miss Topham," he informed John. The girl looked at him casually, and merely exclaimed, "Oh!" It was a shock to the eager youth and for two or three minutes she ignored him. Then-- "You're new to London?" she said coldly. "Yes, but who told you?" answered John. "No one,--I could see you were by the way you've been looking at people." This was a set back. John gave her a frightened look and she was pleased by this success. "Have I--I hope I don't appear--" he stammered.