his knees; "why, I should rather think so! That isn't
memory; that's _knowledge_!--Goodness! who's this?"

The last remark was addressed _sotto voce_ to Marcella. Supper was just
over, and the two guests, with Hallin, had returned to the window, while
Miss Hallin, stoutly refusing their help, herself cleared the table and
set all straight.

Hallin, hearing a knock, had gone to the door while Leven was speaking.
Four men came crowding in, all of them apparently well known both to
Hallin and his sister. The last two seemed to be workmen; the others
were Bennett, Hallin's old and tried friend among the Labour-leaders,
and Nehemiah Wilkins, M.P. Hallin introduced them all to Marcella and
Leven; but the new-comers took little notice of any one but their host,
and were soon seated about him discussing a matter already apparently
familiar to them, and into which Hallin had thrown himself at once with
that passionate directness which, in the social and speculative field,
replaced his ordinary gentleness of manner. He seemed to be in strong
disagreement with the rest--a disagreement which troubled himself and
irritated them.

Marcella watched them with quick curiosity from the window where she was
sitting, and would have liked to go forward to listen. But Frank Leven
turned suddenly round upon her with sparkling eyes.

"Oh, I say! don't go. Do come and sit here with me a bit. Oh, isn't it
rum! isn't it _rum_! Look at Hallin,--those are the people whom he
_cares_ to talk to. That's a shoemaker, that man to the left--really an
awfully cute fellow--and this man in front, I think he told me he was a
mason, a Socialist of course--would like to string _me_ up to-morrow.
Did you ever see such a countenance? Whenever that man begins, I think
we must be precious near to shooting. And he's pious too, would pray
over us first and shoot us afterwards--which isn't the case, I
understand, with many of 'em. Then the others--you know them? That's
Bennett--regular good fellow--always telling his pals not to make fools
of themselves--for which of course they love him no more than they are
obliged--And Wilkins--oh! _Wilkins_"--he chuckled--"they say it'll come
to a beautiful row in the House before they've done, between him and my
charming cousin, Harry Wharton. My father says he backs Wilkins."

Then suddenly the lad recollected himself and his clear cheek coloured a
little after a hasty glance at his companion. He fell to silence and
looki