“Please explain what you mean by that,” she begged.

“Why, yes.  I mean a man who will understand how enormously more important is the welfare of our own people, the people of whom we are making slaves, than this feverish Imperialism and war cant.  Mind, I think our patriotism should be a thing wholly understood.  It needn’t be talked about.  It makes showy fireworks for the platform, but it’s all unnecessary and to my mind very undignified.  If only people would take that for granted and go on to something worth while.”

“Are things any better in Medchester just now?” she asked.

“On the surface, yes, but on the surface only.  More factories are running half-time, but after all what does that mean?  It’s slow starvation.  A man can’t live and keep a family on fifteen shillings a week, even if his wife earns a little.  He can’t do it in a dignified manner, and with cleanliness and health.  That is what he has a right to.  That is what the next generation will demand.  He should have room to expand.  Cleanliness, air, fresh food.  Every man and woman who is born into the world has a God-given right to these, and there are millions in Medchester, Manchester, and all the great cities who are denied all three.”

“So all Henslow’s great schemes, his Royal Commissions, his Protection Duties, his great Housing Bill, have come to nothing then?” she remarked.

“To less than nothing,” he answered, gloomily.  “The man was a fraud.  He is not worth attempting to bully.  He is a puppet politician of a type that ought to have been dead and buried generations ago.  Enoch Stone is our only hope in the House now.  He is a strong man, and he has hold of the truth.”

“Have they decided upon Henslow’s successor?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he answered.

She looked up at him.

“I heard from uncle this morning,” she said, smiling meaningly.

He shook his head.

“Well, it was mentioned,” he said, “but I would not hear of it.  I am altogether too young and inexperienced.  I want to live with the people for a year or two first.  That is why I am glad to get to London.”

“With the people?” she asked, “in Jermyn Street?”

He laughed good-humouredly.

“I have also lodgings in the Bethnal Green Road,” he said.  “I took possession of them last week.”

“Anywhere near Merry’s Corner?” she asked.

“What do you know about Merry’s Corner?” he exclaimed, with uplifted eyebrows.  “Yes, my rooms are nearly opposite, at the corner of the next street.”

“I’ve been down there once or twice lately,” she said.  “There’s a mission-hall just there, and a girl named Kate Stuart gave me a letter to go three times a week.”

He nodded.

“I know the place.  Week-night services and hymn-singing and preaching.  A cold, desolate affair altogether.  I’m thankful I went in there, though, for it’s given me an idea.”