“You are clairvoyant.”

“Not I, but it is so easy to see!  It is the dream of Maxendorf’s life to bring England to the verge of a revolution by paralysing her industries.  Better for him, that, than any violent scheme of conquest.  If he can stop the engine that drives the wheels of the country, they can come over in tourist steamers and tell us how to govern it better.”

“And if they did,” he asked quickly, “isn’t it possible that their rule over the people might be better than the rule of this stubborn generation?”

She drew herself up.  Her eyes flashed with anger.

“Haven’t you a single gleam of patriotism?” she demanded.

He sighed.

“I think that I have,” he replied, “and yet, it lies at the back of my thoughts, at the back of my heart.  It is more like an artistic inspiration, one of those things that lie among the pleasant impulses of life.  Right in the foreground I see the great groaning cycle of humanity being flung from the everlasting wheels into the bottomless abyss.  I cannot take my eyes from the people, you see.”

She sat almost rigid for some brief space of time.  A servant was arranging plates in front of them, their glasses were refilled, the music of a waltz stole in through the open door.  Around them many other people were sitting.  An atmosphere of gaiety began gradually to develop.  Maraton watched his companion closely.  Her eyes were full of trouble, her sensitive mouth quivering a little.  There was a straight line across her forehead.  Her fair hair was arranged in great coils, without a single ornament.  She wore no jewels at all save a single string of pearls around her slim white neck.  Maraton, as the moments passed, was conscious of a curious weakening, a return of that same thrill which the sound of her voice that first day—­half imperious, half gracious—­had incited in him.  He waved his hand towards the crowd of those who supped around them.

“Let us forget,” he begged.  “I, too, feel that I have more in my mind to-night than my brain can cope with.  Let us rest for a little time.”

Her face lightened.

“We will,” she assented gladly.  “Only, do remember what my constant prayer about you is.  Things, you know, in some respects must go on as they are, and the country needs its strongest sons.  Mr. Foley would like to bring you even closer to him.  I know he is simply aching with impatience to have you in the Cabinet.  Don’t do anything rash, Mr. Maraton.  Don’t do anything which would make it impossible.  There are many beautiful theories in life which would be simply hateful failures if one tried to bring them into practice.  Try to remember that experience goes for something.  And now—­finished!  Tell me about Sheffield?  I read Selingman’s marvellous article.  One could almost see the whole scene there.  How I should love to hear you speak!  Not in Parliament—­I don’t mean that.  I almost realise how impossible you find that.”