"An so there's nothink but _settin_', as I said before--settin' till yer can't set no more. If I begin o' seven, I gets Mr. Dickson to put the teathings an the loaf andy, so as I don't 'ave to get up more'n jes to fetch the kettle; and the chillen gets the same as me--tea an bread, and a red 'erring Sundays; an Mr. Dickson, 'e gets 'is meals out. I gives 'im the needful, and 'e don't make no trouble; an the children is dreadful frackshus sometimes, and gets in my way fearful. But there, if I can _set_--set till I 'ear Stepney Church goin twelve--I can earn my ten shillin a week, an keep the lot of 'em. Wot does any lidy or genelman want, a comin' meddlin down 'ere? Now, that's the middle an both ends on it. Done? Well, I dessay I is done. Lor, I ses to em in the orspital it do seem rummy to me to be layin abed like that. If Tom was 'ere, why, 'e'd--" She made a queer, significant grimace. But the audience laughed no longer. They stared silently at the gaunt creature, and with their silence her own mood changed. Suddenly she whipped up her apron. She drew it across her eyes, and flung it away again passionately. "I dessay we shall be lyin abed in Kingdom Come," she said defiantly, yet piteously. "But we've got to git there fust. An I don't want no shops, thank yer!" She rambled on a little longer, then, at a sign from the lady-secretary, made a grinning curtsy to the audience and departed. "What do they get out of that?" said Watton, in Tressady's ear--"Poor galley-slave in praise of servitude!" "Her slavery keeps her alive, please." "Yes--and drags down the standard of a whole class!" "You'll admit she seemed content?" "It's that content we want to kill.--Ah! _at last!_" and Watton clapped loudly, followed by about half the meeting, while the rest sat silent. Then Tressady perceived that the chair-woman had called upon Lady Maxwell to move the next resolution, and that the tall figure had risen. She came forward slowly, glancing from side to side, as though doubtful where to look for her friends. She was in black, and her head was covered with a little black lace bonnet, in the strings of which, at her throat, shone a small diamond brooch. The delicate whiteness of her face and hands, and this sparkle of light on her breast, that moved as she moved, struck a thrill of pleasure through Tressady's senses. The squalid monotony and physical defect of the crowd about him passed from his mind. Her beauty redressed the balance. "'Loveliness, magic, and grace--they are here; they are set in the world!'--and ugliness and pain have not conquered while this face still looks and breathes." This, and nothing less, was the cry of the young man's heart and imagination as he strained forward, waiting for her voice. Then he settled himself to listen--only to pass gradually from expectation to nervousness, from nervousness to dismay.