hat it
was you who broke the British and Imperial Granaries?"

"If there is such a thing," Wingate answered with a smile, "as a world of
underground politics--the Princess herself coined the phrase--then I
think I may claim that what passed between me and the directors of that
company is secret history. As a matter of fact, though, I think I was to
some extent responsible for smashing that horrible syndicate."

"It ought never to have been allowed to flourish," the Minister
pronounced. "Its charter was cunningly devised to cheat our laws, and it
succeeded. After all, though, it is good to think that the days when
such an institution could live for a moment have passed. Labour and the
reconstructionists have joined hands in sane legislation. It is my belief
that for the next few decades, at any rate, the British Empire and
America--for the two move now hand in hand--are entering upon a period of
world supremacy."

The American diplomatist had something to say.

"For that," he declared, "we may be thankful to those responsible for the
destruction of militarism. Industrial triumphs were never possible under
its shadow. An era of prosperity will also be an era of peace."

"For how long, I wonder?" the Princess whispered "Human nature has shown
remarkably little change through all the ages. Don't you think that some
day soon one person will have what another covets, and the world will
rock again to the clash of arms?"

"We are all selfish," Josephine murmured. "Life closes in around us, and
we are mostly concerned with what may happen in our own time. I think
that for as long as we live, peace is assured."

"I am sure I hope so," Sarah declared. "I should hate Jimmy to have to go
and fight again."

"What sort of a husband does he make?" Wingate enquired.

"Wonderful!" Sarah acknowledged with emphasis. "He has developed gifts
of which I had not the slightest apprehension. Of course, Josephine would
scratch me if I ventured upon such a thing as comparison,-so I'll be
content with saying that I think we are both very happy women."

Josephine laughed gaily. The almost peachlike bloom of girlhood had come
back to her cheeks. She wore a rope of pearls, her husband's wedding
gift, which had belonged to an Empress, and her white gown was the _chef
d'oeuvre_ of a great French artiste's most wonderful season. She looked
across the table. How was it, she wondered, with a little glad thrill,
that the eyes for which she sought