hate England. A little black disk an inch or two
in diameter if cunningly focussed can obscure the sun in heaven from
human eye. There was England still behind the little black disk, though
Paul for the moment saw it not.

Wilson pulled his scrubby moustache and made no retort to Paul's
anathema. To him Paul was one of the fine flower of the Upper Classes
to which lower middle-class England still, with considerable
justification, believes to be imbued with incomprehensible and
unalterable principles of conduct. The grand old name of gentleman
still has its magic in this country--and is, by the way, not without
its influence in one or two mighty republics wherein the equality of
man is very loudly proclaimed. Wilson, therefore, gladly suffered
Paul's lunatic Quixotry. For himself he approved hugely of the cartoon.
If he could have had his way, Hickney Heath would have flamed with
poster reproductions of it. But he had a dim appreciation of, and a
sneaking admiration for, the aristocrat's point of view, and, being a
practical man, evaded a discussion on the ethics of the situation.

The situation was rendered more extraordinary because the Liberal
candidate made no appearance in the constituency. Paul inquired
anxiously. No one had seen him. After lunch he drove alone to his
father's house. The parlour-maid showed him into the hideously
furnished and daub-hung dining-room. The Viennese horrors of plaster
stags, gnomes and rabbits stared fatuously on the hearth. No fire was
in the grate. Very soon Jane entered, tidy, almost matronly in buxom
primness, her hair as faultless as if it had come out of a convoluted
mould, her grave eyes full of light. She gave him her capable hand.

"It's like you to come, Paul."

"It's only decent. My father hasn't shown up. What's the matter with
him?"

"It's a bit of a nervous breakdown," she said, looking at him steadily.
"Nothing serious. But the doctor--I sent for him--says he had better
rest--and his committee people thought it wiser for him not to show
himself."

"Can I see him?"

"Certainly not." A look of alarm came into her face. "You're both too
excited. What would you say to him?"

"I'd tell him what I feel about the whole matter."

"Yes. You would fling your arms about, and he would talk about God, and
a precious lot of good it would do to anybody. No, thank you. I'm in
charge of Mr. Finn's health."

It was the old Jane, so familiar. "I wish," said he, with a smile--"