g the world with advanced thinkers every year, every month!
Inherited prejudices can never survive the next few generations. The
fusion of classes must come."

She shook her head.

"You are sanguine, my friend," she said. "Many generations have come and
gone since the wonderful pages of history were opened to us. And during
all these years how much nearer have the serf and the aristocrat come
together? Nay, have they not rather drifted apart?... But listen! This
is the great chorus. We must not miss it."

"So the Prince has brought back the wanderer," Lady Carey whispered to
Mr. Sabin behind her fan. "Hasn't he rather the air of a sheep who has
strayed from the fold?"

Mr. Sabin raised the horn eyeglass, which he so seldom used, and
contemplated Brott steadily.

"He reminds me more than ever," he remarked, "of Rienzi. He is like a
man torn asunder by great causes. They say that his speech at Glasgow
was the triumph of a born orator."

Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders.

"It was practically the preaching a revolution to the people," she said.
"A few more such, and we might have the red flag waving. He left Glasgow
in a ferment. If he really comes into power, what are we to expect?"

"To the onlookers," Mr. Sabin remarked, "a revolution in this country
would possess many interesting features. The common people lack the
ferocity of our own rabble, but they are even more determined. I may yet
live to see an English Duke earning an honest living in the States."

"It depends very much upon Brott," Lady Carey said. "For his own sake it
is a pity that he is in love with Lucille."

Mr. Sabin agreed with her blandly.

"It is," he affirmed, "a most regrettable incident."

She leaned a little towards him. The box was not a large one, and their
chairs already touched.

"Are you a jealous husband?" she asked.

"Horribly," he answered.

"Your devotion to Lucille, or rather the singleness of your devotion to
Lucille," she remarked, "is positively the most gauche thing about you.
It is--absolutely callow!"

He laughed gently.

"Did I not always tell you," he said, "that when I did marry I should
make an excellent husband?"

"You are at least," she answered sharply, "a very complaisant one."

The Prince leaned forward from the shadows of the box.

"I invite you all," he said, "to supper with me. It is something of an
occasion, this! For I do not think that we shall all meet again just as
we are now for a very lo