Ann Veronica was in their very forefront.

In an instant the expectant calm of Westminster was ended, and the very Speaker in the chair blenched at the sound of the policemen’s whistles.  The bolder members in the House left their places to go lobbyward, grinning.  Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world.  In Old Palace Yard everybody ran.  They either ran to see or ran for shelter.  Even two Cabinet Ministers took to their heels, grinning insincerely.  At the opening of the van doors and the emergence into the fresh air Ann Veronica’s doubt and depression gave place to the wildest exhilaration.  That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again.  Before her was a great Gothic portal.  Through that she had to go.

Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—­“B-r-r-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands.  The policemen were closing in from the sides to intervene.  The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps.

Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground.

At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror.  She had never experienced anything so disagreeable in her life as the sense of being held helplessly off her feet.  She screamed involuntarily—­she had never in her life screamed before—­and then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her.

The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust.  Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it.  She felt she must suffocate if these men did not put her down, and for a time they would not put her down.  Then with an indescribable relief her feet were on the pavement, and she was being urged along by two policemen, who were gripping her wrists in an irresistible expert manner.  She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—­damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right.

Then they had released her arms and were trying to push her away.

“You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman.  “This ain’t no place for you.”

He pushed her a dozen yards along the greasy pavement with flat, well-trained hands that there seemed to be no opposing.  Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue.  She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure.  But at the word “home” she turned again.