Yes, in the great palace he found himself an honoured guest.  His name was known independently of his work for the Winwoods.  He was doing good service to his party.  The word had gone abroad—­perhaps Frank Ayres had kindly spoken it—­that he was the coming man.  Lady Chudley said:  “I wonder if you remember what we talked about when I first met you.”

Paul laughed, for she did not refer to the first meeting of all.  “I’m afraid I was very young and fatuous,” said he.  “It was years ago.  I hadn’t grown up.”

“Never mind.  We talked about waking the country from its sleep.”

“And you gave me a phrase, Lady Chudley—­’the Awakener of England.’  It stuck.  It crystallized all sorts of vague ambitions.  I’ve never forgotten it for five consecutive minutes.  But how can you remember a casual act of graciousness to an unimportant boy?”

“No boy who dreams of England’s greatness is unimportant,” she said.  “You’ve proved me to be right.  Your dreams are coming true—­see, I don’t forget!”

“I owe you far more than you could possibly imagine,” said Paul.

“No, no.  Don’t.  Don’t exaggerate.  A laughing phrase—­that’s nothing.”

“It is something.  Even a great deal.  But it’s not all,” said he.

“What else is there?”

“You were one of the two or three,” he said earnestly, thinking of the Bludston factory, “who opened new horizons for me.”

“I’m a proud woman,” said Lady Chudley.

The next day, Sunday, old Lord Chudley dragged him into his own private den.  He had a very red, battered, clean-shaven face and very red hair and side whiskers; and he was a very honest gentleman, believing implicitly in God and the King and the House of Lords, and Foxes, and the Dutch School of Painting, and his responsibility as a great landowner toward the two or three thousand human beings with whom he had business relations.

“Look here, Savelli.  I’ve looked into your League.  It’s a damned good thing.  About the only thing that has been invented which can stem the tide of Socialism.  Catch ’em young.  That’s the way.  But you want the sinews of war.  You get subscriptions, but not enough; I’ve seen your last balance sheet.  You want a little army of—­what the devil shall we call ’em?”

“Big Englanders,” Paul suggested at a venture.

“Good.  We want an army of ’em to devote their whole time to the work.  Open a special fund.  You and Ursula Winwood will know how to work it.  What Ursula Winwood doesn’t know in this sort of business isn’t worth knowing—­and here’s something to head the list with.”

And he handed Paul a cheque, which after a dazed second or two he realized to be one for five thousand pounds.

That was the beginning of the financial prosperity and the real political importance of the Young England League.  Paul organized a great public dinner with the Leader of the Opposition in the chair and an amazing band of notables around the tables.  Speeches were made, the Marquis of Chudley’s patriotism extolled, and subscription lists filled up and handed to a triumphant organizing secretary.