Maraton himself saw them out and watched them across the Square.

Somehow or other, his depression had visibly increased as he turned away.

He had come into contact lately, on the other side of the world, with a different order of person--men and women, too, passionately, strenuously in earnest.

They were well-fed, prosperous individuals, these whom he had just dismissed.
Their politics were their business, their position as Members of Parliament a source of unmixed joy to all of them; hard-headed men, very likely, good each in his own department; beyond that, nothing.
He returned presently to his study, where Aaron was already at work, typing letters.
"So that is your committee of Labour Members," Maraton remarked, throwing himself into an easy chair.
Aaron looked up.
"They are all sound men," he declared.

"Peter Dale, too, is a fine speaker." Maraton sighed.
"Yet it isn't from them," he said quietly, "that I can take a mandate.
I must go to the people.