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She lingered outside while Maraton shook hands with his two visitors, then would have hurried on in advance, but that Elisabeth stopped her. "Do tell me," she asked, "you are the Miss Thurnbrein who has written so much upon woman labour, aren't you?" "I have written one or two articles," Julia replied, looking straight ahead of her.
"So you are Julia Thurnbrein." "And you," she replied, still with that note of suppressed yet passionate reverence in her tone, "are Maraton." He smiled. "The women workers of the world owe you a great deal," he said. "But it is so little that one can do," she answered, quivering with pleasure at his words. "One needs inspiration, direction.
She recalled his looks, his words, his little acts of kindness. She realised in those few moments how completely he filled her thoughts. She began to tremble. "Better have your place by the window back again, Miss Thurnbrein," the girl at her side said suddenly. "You're looking like Clara, just before she popped off. My, ain't it awful!" Julia came back to herself and refused the child's offer.
"He is behind," she answered, in a dull, lifeless tone. "Since you took him with you to Bermondsey, he does no work. What does it matter? We starve a little sooner. Take him to another meeting, if you will. I'd rather you taught him how to steal. There's rest in the prisons, at least." Aaron Thurnbrein brushed past her, inattentive, unlistening. She was not amongst those who counted.
He passed out, followed by Weavel. Graveling only lingered upon the threshold. He was looking towards Julia. "Miss Thurnbrein," he said, "can I have a word with you?" "You cannot," she replied steadily. He remained there, dogged, full of suppressed wrath. The sight of her taking her place before the typewriter seemed to madden him.
Aaron Thurnbrein crossed the street, entered the unimposing doorway and knocked at the door which led into the busy but unassuming offices. A small boy threw open a little glass window and looked at him doubtfully. "I don't know that you can see Miss Thurnbrein even for a minute," he declared, in answer to Aaron's confident enquiry. "It's our busiest time. What do you want?"
"The pages of history are littered with the bodies of strong men who have opened their lips to the poisoned spoon." Aaron Thurnbrein spat upon the floor. "There is but one Maraton," he cried fervently. "There has been but one since the world was shaped. He is come, and the first step towards our deliverance is at hand."
"They will be all around him like flies over a carcass!" he muttered. "Mr. Foley Foley the Prime Minister sent for him directly he arrived," Aaron Thurnbrein announced. "He is to see him to-night at his own house in Downing Street. It makes no difference." "Who can tell?" the other remarked despondently.
"Miss Thurnbrein," Maraton begged, "will you see Mr. Foley and Lady Elisabeth out? It sounds cowardly, doesn't it," he added, "but I really don't think that I dare show myself." Julia rose slowly to her feet and passed towards the door, which Maraton was holding open.
And we aren't, you know. There isn't any one I'd like to meet and talk with so much as Julia Thurnbrein." He nodded sympathetically. "They are prejudiced," he admitted. "All of them are disgusted with me for being down here. They look with grave suspicion upon my ability to wear a dress suit.
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