ickly, what is he like?"

"Not yet," Aaron replied. "To-night they say that he goes first to
visit the Prime Minister. He will come to us afterwards."

"It is great news," she murmured. "If only one could see him!"

The office boy reappeared.

"Guvnor says why aren't you at your work, Miss Thurnbrein," he remarked,
as he climbed on to his stool. "You won't get through before closing
time, as it is."

She turned reluctantly away. There was something in her face from which
even Aaron could scarcely remove his eyes.

"I must go," she declared. "We are busy here, and so many of the girls
are away--down with the heat, I suppose. Thank you for coming, Aaron."

"I would like," he answered, "to walk the streets of London one by one,
and stand at the corners and shout to the passers-by that Maraton has
come. Only I wonder if they would understand. I wonder!"

He passed out into the street and the girl returned to her work. After
a few yards he felt suddenly giddy. There was a little enclosure across
the road, called by courtesy a playground--a few benches, a dusty space,
and some swings. He threw himself into a corner of one of the benches
and closed his eyes. He was worn out, physically exhausted. Yet all
the time the sense of something wonderful kept him from collapse.
Maraton had come!

CHAPTER II

Westward, the late June twilight deepened into a violet and moonless
darkness. The lights in St. James's Park glittered like motionless
fireflies; a faint wind rustled amongst the drooping leaves of the
trees. Up here the atmosphere was different. It seemed a long way from
Shoreditch.

Outside the principal of the official residences in Downing Street,
there was a tented passage-way and a strip of drugget across the
pavement. Within, the large reception rooms were crowded with men and
women. There was music, and many forms of entertainment were in
progress; the popping of champagne corks; the constant murmur of
cheerful conversation. The Prime Minister was giving a great political
reception, and men and women of every degree and almost every
nationality were talking and mingling together. The gathering was
necessarily not select, but it was composed of people who counted. The
Countess of Grenside, who was the Prime Minister's sister and the head
of his household, saw to that.

They stood together at the head of the staircase, a couple curiously
unlike not only in appearance but in disposition and tastes. Lady
Gr