must remember that a democracy
seldom possesses the imperialistic spirit, and a great empire can
scarcely survive without it."

"Arrant nonsense!" was the vigorous reply. "A great empire, from
hemisphere to hemisphere, can be kept together a good deal better by
democratic control. Force is always the arriere pensee of the individual
and the autocrat."

"These are generalities," Julian declared. "I want to know your opinion
about a peace at the present moment."

"Not having any, thanks. You're a dilettante journalist by your own
confession, Julian, and I am not going to be drawn."

"There is something in it, then?"

"Maybe," was the careless admission. "You're a visitor worth having,
Julian. '70 port and homegrown walnuts! A nice little addition to my
simple fare! Must you go back to-morrow?"

Julian nodded.

"We've another batch of visitors coming,--Stenson amongst them, by the
bye."

Furley nodded. His eyes narrowed, and little lines appeared at their
corners.

"I can't imagine," he confessed. "What brings Stenson down to Maltenby.
I should have thought that your governor and he could scarcely spend ten
minutes together without quarrelling!"

"They never do spend ten minutes together alone," Julian replied drily.
"I see to that. Then my mother, you know, has the knack of getting
interesting people together. The Bishop is coming, amongst others. And,
Furley, I wanted to ask you--do you know anything of a young woman--she
is half Russian, I believe--who calls herself Miss Catherine Abbeway?"

"Yes, I know her," was the brief rejoinder.

"She lived in Russia for some years, it seems," Julian continued. "Her
mother was Russian--a great writer on social subjects."

Furley nodded.

"Miss Abbeway is rather that way herself," he remarked. "I've heard her
lecture in the East End. She has got hold of the woman's side of the
Labour question as well as any one I ever came across."

"She is a most remarkably attractive young person," Julian declared
pensively.

"Yes, she's good-looking. A countess in her own right, they tell me, but
she keeps her title secret for fear of losing influence with the working
classes. She did a lot of good down Poplar way. Shouldn't have thought
she'd have been your sort, Julian."

"Why?"

"Too serious."

Julian smiled--rather a peculiar, introspective smile.

"I, too, can, be serious sometimes," he said.

His friend thrust his hands into his trousers pocket and, leaning bac