ace lightened.

"We will," she assented gladly. "Only, do remember what my constant
prayer about you is. Things, you know, in some respects must go on as
they are, and the country needs its strongest sons. Mr. Foley would
like to bring you even closer to him. I know he is simply aching with
impatience to have you in the Cabinet. Don't do anything rash, Mr.
Maraton. Don't do anything which would make it impossible. There are
many beautiful theories in life which would be simply hateful failures
if one tried to bring them into practice. Try to remember that
experience goes for something. And now--finished! Tell me about
Sheffield? I read Selingman's marvellous article. One could almost see
the whole scene there. How I should love to hear you speak! Not in
Parliament--I don't mean that. I almost realise how impossible you find
that."

"It is only a matter of earnestness," he replied, "and a certain
aptitude for forming phrases quickly. No one can feel deeply about
anything and not find themselves more or less eloquent when they come to
talk about it. By the bye, have you ever met Selingman?"

She shook her head.

"My uncle knew him. He tells me that he asked him here to-night. I
wish that he had come. And yet, I am not sure. Some of his writings I
have hated. He, too, is a theorist, isn't he? I wonder--"

She paused, and looked expectant.

"I often wonder," she went on, "is there nothing else in your life at
all except this passionate altruism? In your younger life, for
instance, weren't there ever any sports or occupations that you cared
for?"

"Yes," he admitted slowly, "for some years I did a good many of the
usual things."

"And now the desire for them has all gone," she asked, "haven't you any
personal hopes or dreams in connection with life? Isn't there anything
you look forward to or desire for yourself?"

"I seem to have so little time. And yet, one has dreams--one always
must have dreams, you know."

"Tell me about yours?" she insisted.

He sat up abruptly. Her fingers fell upon his arm.

"We will go and sit under my rose tree," she suggested.

They moved back into the winter garden until they came to a seat at its
furthest extremity. A fountain was playing a few yards away, and
clusters of great pink roses were drooping down from some trellis-work
before them.

"Here, at least," she continued, as she leaned back, "we will not be
tempted to talk seriously. Tell me about yourself? Do you never lo