bout you--he is your friend, too,"
she said, resuming her seat. "How would it suit you to stay with us
altogether?"

Paul started bolt upright in his chair. "What do you mean?" he asked
breathlessly, for the heavens had opened with dazzling unexpectedness.

"In some such position as confidential secretary--at a decent salary,
of course. We've not been able to find a suitable man since Mr.
Kinghorne left us in the spring. He got into Parliament, you know, for
Reddington at the by-election--and we've been muddling along with
honorary secretaries and typists. I shouldn't suggest it to you," she
went on, so as to give him time to think, for he sat staring at her,
openmouthed, bewildered, his breath coming quickly--"I shouldn't
suggest it to you if there were no chances for you in it. You would be
in the thick of public affairs, and an ambitious man might find a path
in them that would lead him anywhere. I've had the idea in my head,"
she smiled, "for-some time. But I've only spoken to my brother about it
this afternoon--he has been so busy, you see--and I intended to have
another talk with him, so as to crystallize things--duties, money, and
so forth--before making you any proposal. I was going to write to you
with everything cut and dried. But"--she hesitated delicately--"I'm
glad I didn't. It's so much more simple and friendly to talk. Now, what
do you say?"

Paul rose and gripped his hands together and looked again into the
fire. "What can I say? I could only go on my knees to you--and that--"

"That would be beautifully romantic and entirely absurd," she laughed.
"Anyhow, it's settled. Tomorrow we can discuss details." She rose and
put out her hand. "Good night, Paul."

He bowed low. "My dearest lady," said he in a low voice, and went and
held the door open for her to pass out.

Then he flung up his arms wildly and laughed aloud and strode about the
room in exultation. All he had hoped for and worked for was an exit of
fantastic and barren glory. After which, the Deluge--anything. He had
never dreamed of this sudden blaze of Fortune. Now, indeed, did the
Great Things to which he was born lie to his hand. Queerly but surely
Destiny was guiding him upward. In every way Chance had worked for him.
His poverty had been a cloak of honour; the thrice-blessed pawn ticket
a patent of nobility. His kingdom lay before him, its purple mountains
looming through the mists of dawn. And he would enter into it as the
Awakener of