'Which of us d'you mean?' demanded a threatening voice.
'Well,' said the Socialist, coolly looking down, 'it takes about ten of your sort to make a man, so you may take it I mean the lot of you.' Again the hands shot out and scattered scorn amongst his critics.
There were angry, indistinguishable retorts, and the crowd swayed. Miss Ernestine Blunt, who had been watching the fray with serious face, turned suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end of the platform. She jumped up, saying audibly to the speaker as she passed him, 'Here she is,' and proceeded to offer her hand to help some one to get up the improvised steps behind the lion.
The Socialist had seized with fervour upon his last chance, and was flinging out showers of caustic advice among his foes, stirring them up to frenzy.
Stonor, with contracted brows, had stared one dazed instant as the head of the new-comer came up behind the lion on the left.
Jean, her eyes wide, incredulous, as though unable to accept their testimony, pressed a shade nearer the monument. Stonor made a sharp move forward, and took her by the arm.
'We're going now,' he said.
'Not yet—oh, please not just yet,' she pleaded as he drew her round. 'Geoffrey, I do believe——'
She looked back, with an air almost bewildered, over her shoulder, like one struggling to wake from a dream.
Stonor was saying with decision to Lady John, 'I'm going to take Jean out of this mob. Will you come?'