“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: 

“Come away; I have seen and heard enough.  Who would have thought that this nation of yours was struggling for its life in war?”

We passed out of the House and somehow came to Trafalgar Square.  A meeting was in progress there, convened, apparently, to advocate the rights of Labour, also those of women, also to protest against things in general, especially the threat of Conscription in the service of the country.

Here the noise was tremendous, and, the fog having lifted somewhat, we could see everything.  Speakers bawled from the base of Nelson’s column.  Their supporters cheered, their adversaries rushed at them, and in one or two instances succeeded in pulling them down.  A woman climbed up and began to scream out something which could only be heard by a few reporters gathered round her.  I thought her an unpleasant-looking person, and evidently her remarks were not palatable to the majority of her auditors.  There was a rush, and she was dragged from the base of one of Landseer’s lions on which she stood.  Her skirt was half rent off her and her bodice split down the back.  Finally, she was conveyed away, kicking, biting, and scratching, by a number of police.  It was a disgusting sight, and tumult ensued.