uaded him to remain for the night. His presence seemed to make
dancing a misdemeanor, and the rich house, with its services and
appurtenances, an organized crime. But if his personality was the
storm-point of the scene, charged with potential lightning, Marion
Vincent's was the still small voice, without threat or bitterness, which
every now and then spoke to a quick imagination like Diana's its message
from a world of poverty and pain. And sometimes Diana had been startled
by the perception that the message seemed to be specially for her. Miss
Vincent's eyes followed her; whenever Diana passed near her, she
smiled--she admired. But always, as it seemed to Diana, with a meaning
behind the smile. Yet what that meaning might be the girl could
not tell.

At last, as she watched her, Marion Vincent looked up.

"Mr. Barton would talk to me just now about the history of his own life.
I suppose it was the dance and the supper excited him. He began to
testify! Sometimes when he does that he is magnificent. He said some
fine things to-night. But I am run down and couldn't stand it."

Diana asked if Mr. Barton had himself gone through a great struggle with
poverty.

"The usual struggle. No more than thousands of others. Only in him it is
vocal--he can reflect upon it.--You had an easy triumph over him last
night," she added, with a smile, turning to her companion.

"Who wouldn't have?" cried Diana. "What outrageous things he said!"

"He doesn't know much about India--or the Colonies. He hasn't travelled;
he reads very little. He showed badly. But on his own subjects he is
good enough. I have known him impress or convert the most unlikely
people--by nothing but a bare sincerity. Just now--while the servants
were handing champagne--he and I were standing a little way off under
the gallery. His eyes are weak, and he can't bear the glare of all these
lights. Suddenly he told me the story of his father's death."

She paused, and drew her hand across her eyes. Diana saw that they were
wet. But although startled, the girl held herself a little aloof and
erect, as though ready at a moment's notice to defend herself against a
softening which might involve a treachery to glorious and sacred things.

"It so chanced"--Miss Vincent resumed--"that it had a bearing on
experiences of my own--just now."

"You are living in the East End?"

"At present. I am trying to find out the causes of a great wave of
poverty and unemployment in a p