She nodded.

“Willingly.  I was surprised at your house, at being received by a man servant—­at everything,” she added, with a glance at his attire.  “Yet what does that matter?  It is because I do not understand.”

The little lines about his eyes deepened.  He laughed softly.

“I only hope that the others will adopt your attitude.  I hear that many of them have very decided views about evening dress and small luxuries of any description.”

“Graveling and Peter Dale—­especially Dale—­are terrible,” she declared.  “Dale is very narrow, indeed.  You must bear with them if they are foolish at first.  They are uncultured and rough.  They do not quite understand.  Sometimes they do not see far enough.  But to-morrow you will meet them.  You will be at the Clarion to-morrow?”

“I am not sure,” he answered thoughtfully.  “I am thinking matters over.  To-morrow I shall meet the men of whom you have spoken, and a few others whose names I have on my list, and consult with them.  Personally, I am not sure as to the wisdom of opening my lips until after our meeting at Manchester.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” she begged.  “What we all need so much is encouragement, inspiration.  Our greatest danger is lethargy.  There are millions who stare into the darkness, who long for a single word of hope.  Their eyes are almost tired.  Come and speak to us to-morrow as you spoke to the men and women of Chicago.”

He smiled a little grimly.

“You forget that this is England.  Until the time comes, one must choose one’s words.  It is just what would please our smug enemies best to have me break their laws before I have been here long enough to become dangerous.”

“You broke the laws of America,” she protested eagerly.

“I had a million men and women primed for battle at my back,” he reminded her.  “The warrant was signed for my arrest, but no one dared to serve it.  All the same, I had to leave the country with some work half finished.”

“It was a glorious commencement,” she cried enthusiastically.

“One must not forget, though,” he sighed, “that England is different.  To attain the same ends here, one may have to use somewhat different methods.”

For the moment, perhaps, she was stirred by some prophetic misgiving.  The hard common sense of his words fell like a cold douche upon the furnace of her enthusiasms.  She had imagined him a prophet, touched by the great and unmistakable fire, ready to drive his chariot through all the hosts of iniquity; irresistible, unassailable, cleaving his way through the bending masses of their oppressors to the goal of their desires.  His words seemed to proclaim him a disciple of other methods.  There were to be compromises.  His attire, his dwelling, this luxuriously furnished room, so different from anything which she had expected, proclaimed it.  She herself held it part of the creed of her life