pledges. Their day is to come."

"You believe that Foley will keep his word?" Selingman asked.

"I know that he will," Maraton replied. "As soon as the Bills are
drafted, he will go to the country. It will be a new Party--the
National Party. Stay and see it, Selingman--a new era in the politics
of the world, a very wonderful era. The country is going to be governed
for the people that are worth while."

"If one could but live long enough!" Selingman sighed. "All over the
universe it comes. Where was it one read of footsteps that sounded
amongst the hills like footsteps upon wool? In the night-watches you
can hear those footsteps. The world trembles with them."

"And after all," Maraton continued, "the sun of the world's happiness is
made up of the happiness of units. Presently we shall have time to
think of those things."

"It is true," Selingman said disconsolately. "I find myself rejoicing
in the good which is coming to humanity and forgetting personal sorrows.
There is that wonderful, that adorable secretary of your--Julia. What
should you say to me, my friend Maraton, if I were indeed to rob you of
her? For once I am in earnest."

Maraton started for a moment. The idea at first was ludicrous.

"I suppose," he admitted, "I should reconcile myself to the inevitable.
Times are going to be different. I dare say that Aaron will be the only
secretary I shall need. But will she go? Remember, she is a woman of
the people. I think that she will never settle down, even with your
splendid work to control. She is less a poet than a humanitarian."

"What am I, man," Selingman retorted, striking himself on the chest,
"but a humanitarian? Listen to the wonderful proof--it is not a
secretary I require; it is a wife!"

Maraton was staggered.

"Have you told her?"

"What is the use?" Selingman growled. "She is yours, body and soul.
You have but to lift up your finger, and she would follow you to the end
of the world. I don't idealize women, you know, Maraton, and virtue
isn't a fetish with me. But I know that girl. If you hold out your
hands, she is yours, but if you withhold them, she is the most virginal
creature that ever breathed."

"She is a splendid character," Maraton said softly.

"Why don't you marry her yourself?" Selingman asked abruptly. "How can
you look at her, hear her speak, watch her, without wanting to marry
her? What are you made of?"

Maraton sighed.

"I am one of the victims, I suppose, of that