From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. Miss Ellicot pursed her lips and sat a little more upright. Presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face.
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