turned on himself.

"And I might have done something," he said; "but I've wasted most of my
life."

"Wasted it?" she echoed in a wondering question.

"I don't know why I talk about it to-night, still less why I talk about
it to you. I talked about it last to--to my wife."

"Ah! But your daughter?"

"Daisy!" he laughed tenderly. "Poor little Daisy! I don't bother her
with it all." Then he added, "Really I've no business to bother you
either, Miss Derosne. I break out sometimes. I'm afraid I'm not 'a
silent, strong man.' Does it bore you?"

"You know--you know--" Alicia stammered.

"And now," he said, rising in his excitement, "even now, what have I?
The place--the form--the name of power; and these creatures hold me back
and hang on my flank and--I can do nothing." He sank back on the bench
where she sat.

Alicia put her hand out and drew it back. Then she stretched it out
again, and laid it on his arm.

"I am so sorry," she said, and her voice faltered. "Oh, if I could--but
how absurd!"

Medland turned suddenly and looked her in the face.

"You will help some one," he answered, "some better man. And I--I beg
your pardon. Come."

Alicia asked herself afterwards if she ought to be ashamed of what she
did then. She caught the Premier by the arm, and said,

"But I want to stay with you." And then she sat trembling to hear his
answer.

For a moment he did not answer. He passed his hand over his brow; then
he smiled sadly.

"Nearly twenty years ago a woman said that to me," he said. "But
she--well, it wasn't to talk politics."

"Oh, to call it _talking politics_!" she answered, with a little gasping
laugh.

With another swift turn of his head, he bent his eyes on hers. She
turned her head away, and neither spoke. Alicia played nervously with
one glove which she had stripped off, while Medland gravely watched her
face, beautiful in its pure outline and quivering with unwonted
emotions. With a start he roused himself.

"Come," he said imperiously, offering his arm. She took it, and, without
more words, they turned towards the house.

They had not gone far, when Eleanor Scaife met them. She was walking
quickly, looking round as she went, as though in search. When she saw
them she started, and cried,

"Oh, I want you, Alicia."

Medland immediately drew aside, and with a bow took his way. Alicia,
calming herself with an effort, asked what was the matter.

"Why, it's that wretched brother of yours. I