The man obeyed. The little crowd had halted. It looked as if the thief, or drunken woman, or what not, had been surrounded and overwhelmed. The end of the street abutted on Pimlico Pier. Two or three knots of people were still standing about, talking and looking up the street at the little crowd of shouting, gesticulating rowdies. A woman with a perambulator, making up her mind at just the wrong moment to cross the road, found herself almost under the feet of the Fox-Moore horses. The coachman pulled up sharply, and before he had driven on, the lady's eyes had fallen on an inscription in white chalk on the flagstone-- 'VOTES FOR WOMEN. 'Meeting here to-night at a quarter to six.' The occupant of the carriage turned her head sharply in the direction of the 'disturbance,' and then-- 'After all, I must go up that street. Drive fast till you get near those people. Quick!' 'Up _there_, miss?' 'Yes, yes. Make haste!' For the crowd was moving on, and still no sign of a policeman. By the time the brougham caught up with them, the little huddle of folk had nearly reached the top of the street. In the middle of the _melee_ a familiar face. Ernestine Blunt! 'Oh, Henderson!'--Miss Levering put her head out of the window--'that girl! the young one! She's being mobbed.' 'Yes, miss.' 'But something must be done! Hail a policeman.' 'Yes, miss.' 'Do you _see_ a policeman?' 'No, miss.' 'Well, stop a moment,' for even at this slowest gait the brougham had passed the storm centre. The lady hanging out of the window looked back and saw that Ernestine's face, very pink as to cheeks, very bright as to eyes, was turned quite unruffled on the rabble. 'Can't you see the meeting's over?' she called out. 'You boys go home now and think about what we've told you.' The reply to that was a laugh and a concerted 'rush' that all but carried the girl and her companions off their feet. To Henderson's petrifaction, the door of the brougham was hastily opened and then slammed to, leaving Miss Levering in the road, saying to him over her shoulder-- 'Wait just round the corner, unless I call.' With which she hurried across the street, her eyes on the little face that, in spite of its fresh colouring, looked so pathetically tired. Making her way round the outer fringe of the crowd, Vida saw on the other side--near where Ernestine and her sore-beset companions stood with their backs to the wall--an opening in the dingy ranks. Fleet of foot, she gained it, thrust an arm between the huddled women, and, taking the foolhardy girl by the sleeve, said, _sotto voce_-- 'Come! Come with me!' Ernestine raised her eyes, fixed them for one calm instant on Vida Levering's face, and then, turning round, said-- 'Where's Mrs. Brown?' 'Never mind Mrs. Brown!' whispered the strange lady, drawing off as the rowdy young men came surging round that side.