he whispered, "the feeling of this storm has been in my
heart for days. I am afraid--afraid for all of us!"

"Afraid of what?" he asked gently.

"Afraid," she went on, "because it seems to me that I can hear, at
times like this, when one is alone, the sound of what one of your
writers called footsteps amongst the hills, footsteps falling upon
wool, muffled yet somehow ominous. There is trouble coming. I know it.
I am sure of it."

"In this country they do not think so," he reminded her. "Most of our
great statesmen of today have come to the conclusion that there will be
no more war."

"You have no great statesmen," she answered simply. "You have plenty of
men who would make very fine local administrators, but you have no
statesmen, or you would have provided for what is coming."

There was a curious conviction in her words, a sense of one speaking who
has seen the truth.

"Tell me," he asked, "is there anything that you know of--"

"Ah! but that I may not tell you," she interrupted, turning away from the
window. "Of myself just now I say nothing--only of you. I am here for a
day or two. It is through me that you have suffered this humiliation. I
wanted to know just how far it went. Is there anything I can do?"

"What could any one do?" he asked. "I am the victim of circumstances."

"But for a whole year!" she exclaimed. "You are not like so many young
Englishmen. You do not wish to spend your time playing polo and golf,
and shooting. You must do something. What are you going to do with
that year?"

He moved across the room and took a cigarette from a box.

"Give me something to drink, please," she begged.

He opened a cupboard in his sideboard and gave her some soda-water. She
had still the air of waiting for his reply.

"What am I going to do?" he repeated. "Well, here I am with an idle
twelve months. It makes no difference to anybody what time I get up, what
time I go to bed, with whom or how I spend the day. I suppose to some
people it would sound like Paradise. To me it is hateful. Shall I be your
secretary?"

"How do you know that I need a secretary?" she asked.

"How should I?" he replied. "Yet you are not altogether an idler in
life, are you?"

For a moment she did not answer. The silence in the room was almost
impressive. He looked at her over the top of the soda-water syphon whose
handle he was manipulating.

"What do you imagine might be my occupation, then?" she asked.

"I have heard it