was not the man to do it. I am mildly
reasonable in my outlook upon life. To reason with Malcolmson is much
the same as if a man, meaning well, were to offer a Seidlitz powder to
an enraged hippopotamus.

It was not until next day that I found a solution of my problem. Moyne
buttonholed me after breakfast, and invited me, rather wistfully I
thought, to go round the stables with him. He wanted my opinion of a
new filly. I went, pursued by the sound of the Dean's voice.

He was telling the story of a famous case of wife desertion brought
about by the _Ne Temere_ decree. He was telling it to Cahoon, the
Belfast manufacturer, who must, I am sure, have heard it several times
before.

I used, long ago, to be a good judge of horses. I still retained my
eye for a neat filly. Moyne's latest acquisition was more than neat. I
stroked her neck, and patted her flanks with genuine appreciation.
Moyne looked quite cheerful and babbled pleasantly about hunting. Then
Lady Moyne came through the door of the stable. I was very glad to see
her. Her dress, a simple brown tweed, suited her admirably, and her
smile, less radiant, perhaps, than it was the night before when set
off by her diamonds, was most attractive. Moyne, too, though I knew
that he did not want to talk politics, was glad to see her. She came
into the horse-box, and fondled the filly. Then she sighed.

"What a lot we have to go through for a good cause!" she said. "Those
terrible men!"

"Heavy going," said Moyne, "that kind of thing at breakfast. Let's
take out the new car, and go for a spin."

"I should love to," she said, "but I must not. I only ran out to speak
to you for a minute, Lord Kilmore."

Her eyes led me to believe at dinner the night before that I was the
one man among her guests that she really wanted to talk to. Now her
lips said the same thing plainly. I did not believe it, of course;
but I felt quite as much gratified as if it had been true.

"Mr. Conroy comes this afternoon," she said.

"That millionaire fellow?" said Moyne, who was evidently not well up
in the list of his visitors.

"And I want you to take him in hand," said Lady Moyne to me--not to
her husband. "He's very clever, and it's most important to get him
interested in our movement."

"You'd much better take him in hand yourself," I said. "If any one
could interest him--"

"I shall, of course; but I can't always be with him. I'm dreadfully
afraid that if Mr. Babberly talks to him