"Do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, Sir?" said the knight, rising. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. Contrasted with the confused movement and presences of a Fabian meeting, or the inexplicable enthusiasm behind the suffrage demand, with the speeches that were partly egotistical displays, partly artful manoeuvres, and partly incoherent cries for unsoundly formulated ends, compared with the comings and goings of audiences and supporters that were like the eddy-driven drift of paper in the street, this long, quiet, methodical chamber shone like a star seen through clouds. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way.
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