For she was sure now that she had the hold of the "Novum" on him, and that that hold was not altogether the single-minded devotion to his duty he had made it out to be on that day when she had last gone to the office. Not that she thought too unkindly of him on that account. The labourer, even in the field of Imperial Politics, is still worthy of his hire, and poor Edgar, like the rest of the world, had to make the best compromise he could between what he would have liked to do and what circumstances actually permitted him to do. Of course he would be anxious to keep his job. If he didn't keep it a worse man would get it, and India would be no better off, but probably worse. She sighed that all work should be subject to compromises of this kind. Edgar, in a word, was no longer a hero to her, but, by his very weakness, something a little nearer and dearer still. But for all that she had not hesitated to use her "pull" in order to get him to The Witan that day. She saw him as she advanced to the glass again. He was nearly a quarter of a mile down the road. She found a little secret delight in watching his approach when he was unconscious of her watching. His figure was still very small, and she indulged herself with a fancy, closing her eyes for a moment in order to do so. Suppose he had been, not approaching, but going away--then when she opened her eyes again he would look smaller still.... She opened them, and experienced a little thrill at seeing him nearer and plainer. She could distinguish the red spot of his tie. Now he turned his head to look at some people who passed. Now he stepped off the pavement to make room for somebody. Now he was on the pavement again--now hidden by a tree--now once more disclosed, and quite near---- She straightened herself, gave a last look into the glass, and descended. She met him in the hall. They shook hands, but did not speak. There was no need for him to ask whether anybody had come; the babble of noise could be plainly heard through the closed studio door. They walked along the passage, descended the two steps into the garden, and reached the studio. Strong opened the door, and-- "_Ha, ha, ha!_ I shall tell them that at the Nursery!----" "No--just living together----" "Corin!--Corin!----" "The eighteenth, at the Little Theatre----" Then the voice of Mr. Crabtree vociferating to his friend Mr. Wilkinson. "I thowt ye telled me 'at Pratt knew all about it----" "One day in the High, just opposite Queens----" "Not know the '_Internationale_'!--Debout, les damnés de la terre----!" Next, sonorously, Miss Belchamber. "Yes, I dance 'Rufty Tufty' and 'Catching of Quails'----" "But my good chap, don't you see that the Referendum----" "Oh, throw it down anywhere--on the hearth----" "Really, the bosh he talks----" "The Minority Report----" "Corin!----" "Plato----" "Prang----"