woman;
which is one of the ways of strong men to confess themselves ageing.
'Not,' said she, with her usual keen justness 'not that I've, a word
against Delilah. I look upon her as a patriot; she dallied and she used
the scissors on behalf of her people. She wasn't bound to Samson in
honour,--liked a strong man, probably enough. She proved she liked her
country better. The Jews wrote the story of it, so there she stands for
posterity to pelt her, poor wretch.'

'A tolerably good analogy for the story of men and women generally,'
said Weyburn.

'Ah, well, you've a right to talk; you don't run miauling about women.
It 's easy to be squashy on that subject. As for the Jews, I don't go by
their history, but now they 're down I don't side with the Philistines,
or Christians. They 're good citizens, and they 've got Samson in the
brain, too. That comes of persecution, a hard education. They beat the
world by counting in the head. That 's because they 've learnt the value
of fractions. Napoleon knew it in war, when he looked to the boots and
great-coats of his men; those were his fractions. Lord Ormont thinks he
had too hard-and-fast a system for the battle-field.'

'A greater strategist than tactician, my lady? It may be,' said Weyburn,
smiling at her skips.

'Massing his cannon to make a big hole for his cavalry, my brother says;
and weeding his infantry for the Imperial Guard he postponed the moment
to use.'

'At Moskowa?'

'Waterloo. I believe Lord Ormont would--there! his country 's lost him,
and chose it. They 'll have their day for repentance yet. What a rapture
to have a thousand horsemen following you! I suppose there never was
a man worthy of the name who roared to be a woman. I know I could have
shrieked half my life through to have been born male. It 's no matter
now. When we come to this hateful old age, we meet: no, we 're no sex
then--we 're dry sticks. I 'll tell you: my Olmer doctor--that 's an
impudent fellow who rode by staring into my carriage. The window's down.
He could see without pushing his hat in.'

Weyburn looked out after a man cantering on.

'A Mr. Morsfield,' he said. 'I thought it was he when I saw him go by.
I've met him at the fencing-rooms. He 's one of the violent fencers,
good for making his point, if one funks an attack.'

'That man Morsfield, is it? I wonder what he's doing on the road here.
He goes over London boasting--hum, nothing to me. But he 'll find Lord
Ormont's arm can