“It is not possible!” I exclaimed. “We have no ship.” “We can travel without a ship,” said Oro. I grew alarmed, and suggested that Bastin or Bickley would be a much better companion than I should in my present weak state. “An empty-headed man, or one who always doubts and argues, would be useless,” he replied sharply. “You shall come and you only.” I expostulated; I tried to get up and fly—which, indeed, I did do, in another sense. But Oro fixed his eyes upon me and slowly waved his thin hand to and fro above my head. My senses reeled. Then came a great darkness. They returned again. Now I was standing in an icy, reeking fog, which I knew could belong to one place only—London, in December, and at my side was Oro. “Is this the climate of your wonderful city?” he asked, or seemed to ask, in an aggrieved tone. I replied that it was, for about three months in the year, and began to look about me. Soon I found my bearings. In front of me were great piles of buildings, looking dim and mysterious in the fog, in which I recognised the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, for both could be seen from where we stood in front of the Westminster Bridge Station. I explained their identity to Oro. “Good,” he said. “Let us enter your Place of Talk.” “But I am not a member, and we have no passes for the Strangers’ Gallery,” I expostulated. “We shall not need any,” he replied contemptuously. “Lead on.” Thus adjured, I crossed the road, Oro following me. Looking round, to my horror I saw him right in the path of a motor-bus which seemed to go over him. “There’s an end to Oro,” thought I to myself. “Well, at any rate, I have got home.” Next instant he was at my side quite undisturbed by the incident of the bus. We came to a policeman at the door and I hesitated, expecting to be challenged. But the policeman seemed absolutely indifferent to our presence, even when Oro marched past him in his flowing robes. So I followed with a like success. Then I understood that we must be invisible. We passed to the lobby, where members were hurrying to and fro, and constituents and pressmen were gathered, and so on into the House. Oro walked up its floor and took his stand by the table, in front of the Speaker. I followed him, none saying us No. As it chanced there was what is called a scene in progress—I think it was over Irish matters; the details are of no account. Members shouted, Ministers prevaricated and grew angry, the Speaker intervened. On the whole, it was rather a degrading spectacle. I stood, or seemed to stand, and watched it all. Oro, in his sweeping robes, which looked so incongruous in that place, stepped, or seemed to step, up to the principal personages of the Government and Opposition, whom I indicated to him, and inspected them one by one, as a naturalist might examine strange insects. Then, returning to me, he said: