“Why, because as President,” he cried, “it is clearly the sort of sacrifice that I ought to make myself.” “But I don’t see why,” I said, again trying to release myself. “But don’t you see,” he cried, still holding my hands, “how symbolic it would then become—the marriage of one of the most prominent of our younger ex-actresses with the Anti-Dramatic and Saltatory Union?” “But she wouldn’t be marrying the Union,” I said. “Not if she married you,” he said, “who are merely the Vice-President. But if she married me, Augustus, it would be different. It would become the sacrifice of the whole Union.” “But, my dear Ezekiel,” I said, “ought you to sacrifice the whole Union without consulting all its members?” “Oh, but I should,” he said, “I certainly should, and any that objected I should ask to resign.” I reflected for a moment. Admirable as was his character, it was in many respects singularly bigoted, while his intelligence, sometimes so brilliant, was at others inferior even to that of his sisters. Since the burial of his parents, too, a couple of years previously, and the consequent augmentation of his own income, I had been conscious in him of a rather unexpected and somewhat disturbing vein of arrogance. I therefore decided, for the present at any rate, that the wisest policy was one of postponement. “But surely in that case,” I said, “they should have an opportunity of seeing her.” “Oh, of course,” he said, “of course.” “Before they married her, I mean—as an Union.” “Oh, certainly,” he said, “certainly.” Then his hair parted for a moment, revealing his teeth. “In fact I was just going to suggest,” he smiled, “asking her to one of our meetings.” “I’ll certainly do so,” I said. “I’ll ask her to-morrow.” “Well both ask her,” he replied. “But you won’t be there,” I said. “Yes, I shall,” he answered. “I shall come with you.” “But she hasn’t invited you,” I said, again trying to free my hands. “But, my dear Augustus,” he said, gripping them a little tighter, “surely you don’t expect me to wait for that? Does the powerful swimmer refrain from plunging until the drowning victim has asked him to do so, or the hurrying policeman refuse to cut the rope because the would-be suicide has not invited it? Does the fireman hesitate before the smouldering nightgown until the female inside it has shown him her card?” “Perhaps not,” I said, stepping a pace backwards. “Certainly not,” he said, following me. “But on the other hand,” I said, stepping sideways, “if a powerful swimmer has already plunged, if a hurrying policeman is already there, if a soaring fireman has already stooped——” “Then that is all the more reason,” he said, also stepping sideways, “why the hero should be helped as I mean to help you.” “Well, I can’t promise,” I said, “that she will be willing to receive you.” “Not when she knows,” he asked, “that I’m the Adult Gripe Water?” “Well, she might,” I said. “I’ll do my best, of course.”