Whereupon he plucked himself together with a swift toss of the head, and laughed his gay laugh.  “Of course I’m going on, if you will let me.  This is only the beginning of what I’ve got to tell you of the Englishman who fouls the nest of England—­who fouls the nest of all that matters in the future history of mankind.”

There was more applause.  It was the orator’s appeal to the mass.  It set Paul back into the stream of his argument.  He forgot Barney Bill and Jane, and went on with his speech, pointedly addressing the young, telling them what England was, what England is, what Englishmen, if they are true to England, shall be.  It was for the young, those who came fresh to life with the glories of England fresh in their memories, from Crecy to the Armada, from the Armada to Waterloo, to keep the banner of England flying over their topmost roofs.

It was a fighting, enthusiastic, hyperbolic speech, glowing, as did the young face of the speaker, with the divine fire of youth.  It ended triumphantly.  He sat down to an ovation.  Smiles and handshakes and words of praise surrounded him on the platform.  Miss Winwood pressed his hand and said, “Well done.”  The Princess regarded him with flushed cheeks and starry eyes.  It was only when silence fell on the opening words of the Dean of Halifax that he searched the rows in front for Barney Bill and Jane.  They were still there.  Impulsively he scribbled a few lines on a scrap of paper torn from his rough notes:  “I must see you.  Wait outside the side entrance for me after the meeting is over.  Love to you both.  Paul.”  A glance round showed him an attendant of the hall lurking at the back of the platform.  He slipped quietly from his seat by the Chairman’s side and gave the man the paper with directions as to its destination.  Then he returned. just before the Dean ended, he saw the note delivered.  Jane read it, whispered its contents to Bill and seemed to nod acquiescence.  It was fitting that these two dear ghosts of the past should appear for the first time in his hour of triumph.  He longed to have speech with them, The Dean of Halifax was brief, the concluding ceremonies briefer.  The audience gave Paul a parting cheer and dispersed, while Paul, the hero of the evening, received the congratulations of his friends.

“Those are things that needed saying, but we’re too cautious to say them,” remarked the Chairman.

“We’ve got to be,” said Colonel Winwood.

“The glory of irresponsibility,” smiled the Dean.

“You don’t often get this kind of audience,” Paul answered with a laugh.  “A political infants’ school.  One has to treat things in broad splashes.”

“You almost persuade me to be an Englishwoman,” said. the Princess.

Paul bowed.  “But what more beautiful thing can there be than a Frenchwoman with England in her heart?  Je ne demande pas mieux.”

And the Princess did not put her hands to her ears.