No--I suppose she doesn't think it right." By this time they were settled at table, and Diana, convinced that she had found one of the two Socialists promised her, looked round for the other.

Ah! there he was, beside Mrs.Fotheringham--who was talking to him with an eagerness rarely vouchsafed to her acquaintances.

A powerful, short-necked man, in the black Sunday coat of the workman, with sandy hair, blunt features, and a furrowed brow--he had none of the magnetism, the strange refinement of the lady in the frills.

Diana drew a long breath.
"How odd it all is!" she said, as though to herself.
Her companion looked at her with amusement.
"What is odd?
The combination of this house--with Barton--and Miss Vincent ?" "Why do they consent to come here ?" she asked, wondering.

"I suppose they despise the rich." "Not at all! The poor things--the rich--can't help themselves--just yet.
_We_ come here--because we mean to use the rich." "You!--you too ?" "A Fabian--" he said, smiling.