"I am a man who has written much of love," he continued, "of love and life and all the tangled skein of emotions which make of it a complex thing. And yet so few of us know what love is, so few of us know what companionship is, so few of us know the world in which those others dwell. You have looked at me with your great eyes, Julia, and at first you saw nothing but a fat, plain old man, with plenty of conceit and a humour for idle speeches. And today you think a little differently, and as the days go on you will think more differently still, for I am going to take you with me, Julia, and I am going to keep you with me, and I am going to keep the light in your eyes and the laughter at your lips, in the only way that counts. You will sit with me in my study, you shall see my work come and hear it grow. I shall take you into the world where the music is born, and your eyes will be closed there, and you will only know that there is another soul there who is your guide, and in whom you trust, and for whom you have a strange feeling. That is how love comes, Julia--the only sort of love which lasts. It isn't born in this land, it doesn't even flourish in this universe. If you don't come up in the clouds to find it, it isn't the sort that lasts. You are going to find it with me, dear." She had begun to tremble a little, the tears were in her eyes. "Oh, I know!" he faltered, with a break in his own voice. "But you'll leave your sorrows behind in my world." It was midnight when Maraton left the House. He came out with Mr. Foley, and they stood for a moment at the entrance. An electric coupe rolled swiftly up. "You must come home with me for a minute or two, Maraton," Mr. Foley urged. "It is on your way." The coupe, however, was already occupied. Elisabeth leaned out of the window. She held the door open. "I am going to take Mr. Maraton back with me," she insisted. "The car is there for you, uncle." Mr. Foley smiled. "Quite right," he assented. "Get in, Maraton. I shall be home before you." Maraton obeyed, and they glided out of the Palace yard. "I was there all the time," Elisabeth told him quietly. "I heard everything. I was so glad, so proud. Even your Labour Members had to come and shake hands with you." "I don't think Mr. Dale liked it," he remarked, smiling. "They are not bad fellows at heart, but they've got the poison in their systems which seems, somehow or other, to become part of the equipment of the politician--self-interest, over-egotism, contraction of interest. It makes one almost afraid." She leaned a little towards him.