As the two men neared the door of the school, where the press was densest, they were recognised as probably belonging to the Maxwell party, and found themselves a good deal jeered and hustled, and could hardly make any way at all. However, a friendly policeman came to their aid. They were passed into a lobby, and at last, with much elbowing and pushing, found themselves inside the schoolroom. So crowded was the place and so steaming the atmosphere, that it was some minutes before Tressady could make out what was going on. Then he saw that Naseby was speaking--Naseby, looking remarkably handsome and well curled, and much at his ease, besides, in the production of a string of Laodicean comments on the Bill, his own workshop scheme, and the general prospects of East End labour. He described the scheme, but in such a way as rather to damn it than praise it; and as for the Bill itself, which he had undertaken to compare with former Factory Bills, when he sat down he left it, indeed, in a parlous case--a poor, limping, doubtful thing, quite as likely to ruin the East End as to do it a hand's turn of good. Just as the speaker was coming to his peroration Tressady suddenly caught sight of a delicate upraised profile on the platform, behind Naseby. The repressed smile on it set him smiling, too. "What on earth do they make Naseby speak for!" said Watton, indignantly. "Idiocy! He spoils everything he touches. Let him give the money, and other people do the talking. You can see the people here don't know what to make of him in the least. Look at their faces.--Who's he talking to?" "Lady Madeleine, I think," said Tressady. "What amazing red hair that girl has! and what queer, scared eyes! It is like an animal--one wants to stroke her." "Well, Naseby strokes her," said Watton, laughing. "Look at her; she brightens up directly he comes near." Tressady thought of the tale Fontenoy had just told him, and wondered. Consolation seemed to come easy to maidens of quality. Meanwhile various trade-unionists--sturdy, capable men, in black coats--were moving and seconding resolutions; flinging resentful comments, too, at Naseby whenever occasion offered. Tressady heard very little of what they had to say. His eyes and thoughts were busy with the beautiful figure to the left of the chair. Its dignity and charm worked upon him like a spell--infused a kind of restless happiness. When he woke from his trance of watching, it was to turn upon Watton with impatience. How long was this thing going on? The British workman spoke with deplorable fluency. Couldn't they push their way through to the platform? Watton looked at the crowd, and shrugged his shoulders. "Not yet--I say! who's this they've put up. Come, my dear fellow, that looks like the real thing!"