oking curiously at the approaching couple.

"Never saw a man," he said, half to himself, "who looked the part so
little. Fellow must be well-bred, Foley."

Mr. Foley nodded.

"No one knows who his people were. It doesn't really matter, does it?
Accident has made him a gentleman--accident or fate. Perhaps that is
why he has gained such an ascendency over the people. The working
classes of the country are most of them sick of their own Labour
Members. The practical men can see no further than their noses, and the
theorists are too far above their heads. Maraton is the only one who
seems to understand. You must have a talk with him, Armley."

Lady Elisabeth, with a little smile, had turned towards the tennis
courts, and Maraton came on alone. Mr. Foley turned to his companion.

"Armley," he said, "this is Mr. Maraton--Lord Armley."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Maraton," Lord Armley declared, as
the two men shook hands, "in such peaceful surroundings. The Press over
here has not been too kind to you. Our ideas of your personality are
rather based, I am afraid, upon the _Punch_ caricature. You've seen it,
perhaps?"

Maraton's eyes lit up with mirth.

"Excellent!" he observed. "I have had one framed."

"He is standing," Lord Armley continued, turning to Mr. Foley, "on the
topmost of three tubs, his hair flying in the wind, his mouth open to
about twice its normal size, with fire and smoke coming out of it. And
below, a multitude! It is a splendid caricature. They tell me, Mr.
Maraton, that it is your intention to kindle the fires in England, too."

Maraton was suddenly grave.

"Lord Armley," he said, "all the world speaks of me as an apostle of
destruction and death. It is because they see a very little distance.
In my own thoughts, if ever I do think of myself, it is as a builder,
not as a destroyer, that I picture myself. Only in this world, as in
any other, one must destroy first to build upon a sound foundation."

"Good reasoning, sir," Lord Armley replied, "only one should be very
sure, before one destroys, that the new order of things will be worthy
of the sacrifice."

"After dinner," Mr. Foley remarked, as he lit a cigarette, "we are
going to talk. At present, Maraton is under a solemn promise to play
tennis."

Maraton looked towards the house.

"If I might be allowed," he said, "I will go and put on my flannels.
Lady Elisabeth is making up a set, I think."

He turned towards the house. The t