He had interrupted her warm assurances of personal devotion with a matter-of-fact inquiry.

He found her, as he had already found several other latter-day women that night, less well informed than charming.

Suddenly, struggling against the eddying drift of nearer melody, the song of the Revolt, the great song he had heard in the Hall, hoarse and massive, came beating down to him.
Ah! Now he remembered! He glanced up startled, and perceived above him an _oeil de boeuf_ through which this song had come, and beyond, the upper courses of cable, the blue haze, and the pendant fabric of the lights of the public ways.
He heard the song break into a tumult of voices and cease.

He perceived quite clearly the drone and tumult of the moving platforms and a murmur of many people.

He had a vague persuasion that he could not account for, a sort of instinctive feeling that outside in the ways a huge crowd must be watching this place in which their Master amused himself.
Though the song had stopped so abruptly, though the special music of this gathering reasserted itself, the _motif_ of the marching song, once it had begun, lingered in his mind.
The bright-eyed lady was still struggling with the mysteries of Eadhamite when he perceived the girl he had seen in the theatre again.