start of the Radicals, who found some hitch in the
choice of their candidate. The Young England League leaped into
practical enthusiasm over their champion. Seldom has young candidate
had so glad a welcome. And behind him stood his Sophie, an inspiring
goddess.

It so happened that for a date a few days hence had been fixed the
Annual General Meeting of the Forlorn Widows' Fund, when Report and
Balance Sheet were presented to the society. The control of this
organization Paul had not allowed to pass into the alien hands of
Townsend, the Winwoods' new secretary. Had not his Princess, for the
most delicious reasons in the world, been made President? He scorned
Ursula Winwood's suggestion that for this year he would allow Townsend
to manage affairs. "What!" cried he, "leave my Princess in the lurch on
her first appearance? Never!" By telephone he arranged an hour for the
next day, when they could all consult together over this important
matter.

"But, my dear boy," said Miss Winwood, "your time is not your own.
Suppose you're detained at Hickney Heath?"

"The Conqueror," he cried, with a gay laugh, "belongs to the
Detainers--not the Detained."

She looked at him out of her clear eyes, and shook an indulgent head.

"I know," said he, meeting her glance shrewdly. "He has got to use his
detaining faculty with discretion. I've made a study of the little ways
of conquerors. Ali! Dearest lady!" he burst out suddenly, in his
impetuous way, "I'm talking nonsense; but I'm so uncannily happy!"

"It does me good to look at you," she said.

CHAPTER XVII

PAUL leaned back in his leather writing chair, smoking a cigarette and
focussing the electioneering situation. Beside a sheet of foolscap on
which he had been jotting down notes lay in neat piles the typewritten
Report of the Forlorn Widows' Fund, the account book and the banker's
pass book. He had sat up till three o'clock in the morning preparing
for his Princess. Nothing now remained but the formal "examined and
found correct" report of the auditors. For the moment the Forlorn
Widows stood leagues away from Paul's thoughts. He had passed a
strenuous day at Hickney Heath, lunching in the committee room on
sandwiches and whisky and soda obtained from the nearest tavern,
talking, inventing, dictating, writing, playing upon dull minds the
flashes of his organizing genius. His committee was held up for the
while by a dark rift in the Radical camp. They had not yet chosen