Fontenoy, no doubt, would carry on the fight to the bitter end, counting on a final and hard-wrung victory. The sanguine confidence which had possessed him about the time of the second reading was gone. He did not, Tressady knew, reckon with any certainty on turning out the Government in this coming division. The miserable majority with which they had carried the workshops clause would fall again--it would hardly be altogether effaced. That final wiping-out would come--if indeed it were attained--in the last contest of all, to which Fontenoy was already heartening and urging on his followers. Fontenoy's position, of course, in the matter was clear. It was that of the leader and the irreconcilable. But for the private member, who had seen cause to modify some of his opinions during the course of debate, who had voted loyally with his party up till now--might not the division on the hours clause be said to mark a new stage in the Bill--a stage which restored him his freedom? The House would have pronounced on the main points of the Bill; the country was rallying in a remarkable and unexpected way to the Government--might it not be fairly argued that the war had been carried far enough? He already, indeed, saw signs of that backing down of opposition which he had prophesied to Fontenoy. The key to the whole matter lay, he believed, in the hands of the Old Liberals, that remnant of a once great host, who were now charging the Conservative Government with new and damaging concessions to the Socialist tyranny. These men kept a watchful eye on the country; they had maintained all along that the country had not spoken. George had already perceived a certain weakening among them. And now, this campaign of Maxwell's, this new enthusiasm in the industrial North--no doubt they would have their effect. He hurried on, closely weighing the whole matter, the prey to a strange and mingled excitement. Meanwhile the streets through which he walked had the empty, listless air which marks a stage from which the actors have departed. It was nearing the middle of August, and society had fled. All the same, as he reflected with a relief which was not without its sting, he and Letty would not be alone at dinner. Some political friends were coming, stranded, like themselves, in this West End, which had by now covered up its furniture and shut its shutters.