."

He began to sketch the future extension of Britannic lordship and
influence. Kingdoms were overthrown with a joke, continents were
annexed in a boyish phrase; Armageddon transacted itself in sheer
lightness of heart. Laughing, he waded through the blood of nations,
and in the end seated himself with crossed legs upon the throne of the
universe.

"Do you know what it makes me wish?" said Irene, looking wicked.

"That you may live to see it?"

"No. That someone would give us a good licking, for the benefit of our
souls."

Having spoken it, she was ashamed, and her lip quivered a little. But
the train had slackened speed; they entered a station.

"Rugby!" she exclaimed, with relief. "Have you any views about
treatment of the phylloxera?"

"Odd that you should mention that. Why?"

"Only because my father has been thinking about it: we have a friend
from Avignon staying with us--all but ruined in his vineyards."

Jacks had again taken out his letter-case. He selected a folded sheet
of paper, and showed what looked like a dry blade of grass. The wheat,
he said, on certain farms in his Company's territory had begun to
suffer from a strange disease; here was an example of the
parasite-eaten growth; no one yet had recognised the disease or
discovered a check for it.

"Let my father have it," said Irene. "He is interested in all that kind
of thing."

"Really? Seriously?"

"Quite seriously. He would much like to see it."

"Then I will either call on him, or write to him, when I get back."

Miss Derwent had not yet spoken of her destination. She mentioned, now,
that she was going to spend a week or two with relations at a country
place in Cheshire. She must change trains at Crewe. This gave a lighter
turn to the conversation. Arnold Jacks launched into frank gaiety, and
Irene met him with spirit. Not a little remarkable was the absence of
the note of sex from their merry gossip in the narrow seclusion of a
little railway compartment. Irene was as safe with this
world-conquering young man as with her own brother; would have been so,
probably, on a desert island. They were not man and woman, but English
gentleman and lady, and, from one point of view, very brilliant
specimens of their kind.

At Crewe both alighted, Arnold to stretch his legs for a moment.

"By the bye," he said, as Miss Derwent, having seen to her luggage, was
bidding him farewell, "I'm sorry to hear that young Otway has been very
ill."

"