h that brilliant, rapid fluency which had marked the
earlier stages of their acquaintance; but at sight of him she coloured
and stretched out her hand with unmistakable cordiality.

"This is indeed an unexpected honour," she said, letting her other
guests move on, and taking up her own position by Paul. "I should not
have thought wild horses would have dragged you to a tea-fight."

"And they would not have done," Paul answered, with a laugh, "had I
known that such a thing was in process; but, finding myself in London,
I came to call in answer to a note of your mother's."

A professional singer at the far end of the room rose preparatory to
singing, and May gave an impatient little exclamation.

"Come into the conservatory and talk; I'm tired of all these people.
You bring a whiff of country air with you."

As she spoke she led the way towards two easy-chairs, placed by the
fountain in the middle of the conservatory, and, sinking into one
herself, she motioned Paul to the other. From the half-open door of
the drawing-room came the confused murmur of voices, dominated by the
tenor soloist; but to Paul that society life seemed miles distant. He
was enfolded by a sense of enchantment: for him, at that moment, there
was but two people in the world--himself and May. To speak would be to
break the brief spell of enjoyment, so he sat silent and content.

"We are wasting the time; I brought you here to talk," said May,
turning towards him with a smile. "How do things fare at Rudham now
Mr. Curzon has gone?"

"Badly; there is a sense of flatness. He embodied the life of the
village in a way one could not believe unless one had lived there.
I've seen a lot of him in the last few months; we were fairly driven
into each other's society."

"How do you get on together?"

"To know Curzon intimately goes halfway towards converting one to his
way of thinking," said Paul, slowly.

May looked up quickly.

"I don't mean that I am fully prepared to accept his opinions, but I
have modified my views concerning them," Paul went on. "A man like
Curzon, and his enormous power for good, cannot be ignored. His creed,
which makes him what he is, must be reckoned with as a motive-force in
the world. I said to myself at one time that, starting from opposite
poles, he and I worked for the same end--the good of the race. But
where I seem only to scratch the surface, he gets below it. Look at
Burney, for example. I believed I had