of others by the
simple process of comparing them with the self-centred John Dene.

She would smile at his eccentricities, his intolerance, his supreme
belief in himself, and his almost fanatical determination to
"ginger-up" any and every one in the British Empire whose misfortune it
was to exist outside the Dominion of Canada.

At odd moments he told her much about Canada, and how little that
country was understood in England. How blind British statesmen were to
the fact that the eyes of many Canadians were turned anxiously towards
the great republic upon their borders; how in the rapid growth of the
U.S.A. they saw a convincing argument in favour of a tightening of the
bonds that bound the Dominion to the Old Country.

When on the subject he would stride restlessly up and down the room,
snapping out short, sharp sentences of protest and criticism. His
Imperialism was that of the enthusiast. To him a Canada lost to the
British Empire meant a British Empire lost to itself. His great idea
was to see the Old Country control the world by virtue of its power,
its brain and its justice.

His memory was amazing. If Dorothy found her notes obscure, and to
complete a sentence happened to insert a word that was not the one he
had dictated, John Dene would note it as he read the letter with a
little grunt, sometimes of approval, sometimes of doubt or correction.

There were times when she felt, as she expressed it to her mother, as
if she had been dining off beef essence and oxygen. Sometimes she
wondered where John Dene obtained all his amazing vitality. He was a
small eater, seeming to regard meals as a waste of time, and he seldom
drank anything but water.

At the end of the day Dorothy would feel more tired than she had ever
felt before; but she had caught something of John Dene's enthusiasm,
which seemed to carry her along and defy the fatigues of the body. Had
it not been for the Saturday afternoons, and the whole day's rest on
Sunday, she felt that she would not have been able to continue.

In his intolerance John Dene was sometimes amusing, sometimes
monotonous; but always uncompromising. One day Dorothy ventured a word
of expostulation. He had just been expressing his unmeasured contempt
for Mr. Blair.

"You mustn't judge the whole British Navy by Mr. Blair," she said,
looking up from her note-book with a smile.

"One fool makes many," he had snapped decisively.

"So that if I prove a fool," continu