"
Lankester pushed back a very shabby pot-hat to a still more rakish
angle, buttoning up an equally shabby coat the while against the east
wind. He was a tall fair-haired fellow, half a Dane in race and aspect:
broad-shouldered, loose-limbed, with a Franciscan passion for poverty
and the poor. But a certain humorous tolerance for all sorts and
conditions of men, together with certain spiritual gifts, made him
friends in all camps. Bishops consulted him, the Socialists claimed him;
perhaps it was the East End children who possessed him most wholly.
Nevertheless, there was a fierce strain in him; he could be a fanatic,
even a hard fanatic, on occasion.
Marsham did not show much readiness to take up the reference to himself.
As he walked beside the others, his slender elegance, his handsome head,
and fashionable clothes marked him out from the rugged force of Barton,
the middle-class alertness of McEwart, the rubbed apostolicity of
Lankester. But the face was fretful and worried.
"Ferrier has not the smallest intention of going to the Lords!" he said,
at last--not without a touch of impatience.
"That's the party's affair.
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