“This way, Mr. Raeburn,” said a policeman, with alacrity.  “Stand back, please!  Is your carriage there, sir?”

“Let Ann Mullins take her—­put them into the cab—­I want to speak to Mr. Wharton,” said Marcella in Aldous’s ear.

“Get me a cab at once,” he said to the policeman, “and tell my carriage to wait.”

“Miss Boyce!”

Marcella turned hastily and saw Wharton beside her.  Aldous also saw him, and the two men interchanged a few words.

“There is a private room close by,” said Wharton, “I am to take you there, and Mr. Raeburn will join us at once.”

He led her along a corridor, and opened a door to the left.  They entered a small dingy room, looking through a begrimed window on a courtyard.  The gas was lit, and the table was strewn with papers.

“Never, never more beautiful!” flashed through Wharton’s mind, “with that knit, strenuous brow—­that tragic scorn for a base world—­that royal gait—­”

Aloud he said: 

“I have done my best privately among the people I can get at, and I thought, before I go up to town to-night—­you know Parliament meets on Monday?—­I would show you what I had been able to do, and ask you to take charge of a copy of the petition.”  He pointed to a long envelope lying on the table.  “I have drafted it myself—­I think it puts all the points we can possibly urge—­but as to the names—­”

He took out a folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket.

“It won’t do,” he said, looking down at it, and shaking his head.  “As I said to you, it is so far political merely.  There is a very strong Liberal and Radical feeling getting up about the case.  But that won’t carry us far.  This petition with these names is a demonstration against game preserving and keepers’ tyranny.  What we want is the co-operation of a neighbourhood, especially of its leading citizens.  However, I explained all this to you—­there is no need to discuss it.  Will you look at the list?”

Still holding it, he ran his finger over it, commenting here and there.  She stood beside him; the sleeve of his gown brushed her black cloak; and under his perfect composure there beat a wild exultation in his power—­without any apology, any forgiveness—­to hold her there, alone with him, listening—­her proud head stooped to his—­her eye following his with this effort of anxious attention.

She made a few hurried remarks on the names, but her knowledge of the county was naturally not very serviceable.  He folded up the paper and put it back.

“I think we understand,” he said.  “You will do what you can in the only quarter”—­he spoke slowly—­“that can really aid, and you will communicate with me at the House of Commons?  I shall do what I can, of course, when the moment comes, in Parliament, and meanwhile I shall start the matter in the Press—­our best hope.  The Radical papers are already taking it up.”

There was a sound of steps in the passage outside.  A policeman opened the door, and Aldous Raeburn entered.  His quick look ran over the two figures standing beside the table.