to work with him.
No impression is more damning about a man engaged in public life; the
Whips have to put a query to his name, and he cannot be trusted to
confine his revolts to such occasions as those on which Mr. Foster of
Henstead thought an exhibition of independence a venial sin, or in
certain circumstances a prudent act.

"The fact is," Morewood said to Marchmont once, when they had been
talking over his various positions and opinions, "if you want to lead
ordinary people, you must keep on roads that ordinary people can travel,
roads broad enough for the _grande armee_. You may take them quicker or
slower, you may lead them downhill or get them to follow you uphill, but
you must keep to the road. A bye-path is all right and charming for
yourself, for a _tete-a-tete_, or a small party of friends, but you
don't take an army-corps along it."

The unusual length and the oratorical character of this warning were
strong evidence of the painter's feelings. Marchmont nodded a grave and
troubled assent.

"Still if I see the thing one way, I can't act as if I saw it the
other."

"You mustn't see it one way," said Morewood irritably. "If you must be
the slave of your conscience, hang it, you needn't be of your intellect.
Ask the Dean there." (The Dean, who had been drinking his port in
thoughtful peace, started a little.) "He'll tell you that belief is
largely or altogether--which is it?--an affair of the will."

The Dean was prudent; he smiled and finished his glass.

"If I chose to believe in the Crusade, I could," Morewood went on with a
satirical smile. "Or with an adequate effort I could think Jimmy Benyon
brilliant, or Fred Wentworth wise, or Alexander Quisante honest. That's
it, eh, Mr. Dean?"

"Well, the ordinary view may be appreciated, even if it's not entirely
embraced," said the Dean diplomatically. "The points of agreement are
usually much more important, for practice at all events, than those of
difference."

"In fact--shut one eye and go ahead?" asked Marchmont.

"Oh, shut 'em both and walk by the sound of the feet and the cheering."

"Don't say more than you mean, Mr. Morewood," the Dean advised mildly.

"I know what he means," said Marchmont. "And, yes, I rather wish I could
do it."

Morewood began to instance the great men who had done it, including in
his list many whom the common opinion that he praised would not have
characterised at all in the same way. At each name Marchmont denied
eith