“Because,” he replied, “except for Miller, their late chief, there are a great many highly intelligent men connected with the administration of the trades unions.  They realised the spirit in which I wrote that article and the condition of the country at the time I wrote it.  My apologia was accepted by every one who counted.  The publication of that article,” he went on, “was Miller’s scheme to drive me out of politics.  It has turned out to be the greatest godsend ever vouchsafed to our cause, for it is going to put Mr. Miller out of the power of doing mischief for a—­many years to come.”

“How I hated him when he called here that day!  Jane murmured reminiscently.”

“Miller is the type of man,” Tallente declared, “who was always putting the Labour Party in a false position.  He was born and he has lived and he has thought parochially.  He is all the time lashing himself into a fury over imagined wrongs and wanting to play the little tin god on Olympus with his threatened strikes.  Now there will be no more strikes.”

“I was reading about that,” she reflected.  “How wonderful it sounds!”

“The greatest power in the country,” Tallente explained, “is that wielded by these trades unions.  There will be no more fights between the Government and them, because they are coaling into the Government.  I am afraid you will think our programme revolutionary.  On the other hand, it is going to be a Government of justice.  We want to give the people their due, each man according to his worth.  By that means we wipe out all fear forever of the scourge of eastern and mid-Europe, the bolshevism and anarchy which have laid great empires bare.  We are not going to make the poor add to the riches of the rich, but on the other hand we are not going to take from the rich to give to the poor.  The sociological scheme upon which our plan of government will be based is to open every avenue to success equally to rich and poor.  The human being must sink or swim, according to his capacity.  Ours will never be a State-aided socialism.”

Parkins had left the room.  She held out her hand.

“How horrid of you!” she murmured.  “You are gibing at me because I lent my farmers a little money.”  He laughed softly.

“You dear!” he exclaimed.  “On my honour, it never entered into my head.  Only I want to bring you gradually into the new way of thinking, because I want so much from you so much help and sympathy.”

“And?” she pleaded.

He looked around to be sure that Parkins was gone and, leaning from his place, kissed her.

“If you care for moonlight motoring,” he whispered, “I think I can give you quite a clear outline of all that I expect from you.”

She drew a little sigh of relief.

“If you had left me behind,” she murmured, “I should have sat here and imagined that it was all a dream.  And I am just a little weary of dreams.”

***End of the project gutenberg EBOOK nobody’s man***