Rain splashed upon the windows of the carriage. The face so near him in the gloom was like the vision of a master-artist, too perfect for the poor human hand. The pressure of her shoulder; the fragrance of her presence; the voice of her which stirred within him the primal mystery of other lives--against such he fought for strength.... It was not passion in the red meaning of the word, but a love that made the railway gates at Charing Cross his portals to living death. “Think what you will,” he commanded, after a moment. “God knows, I do not want you to think me devilish, but you must be silent to others about me.... You will make me suffer more than you know--if you stand against London for me--when I am gone. It was a magnificent life labor of your father’s which purchased for you--your place in London.... Noreen Cardinegh, I shall leave the carriage as we approach Charing Cross; and in the name of God, do nothing to further attract my infamy to your name!” “We will say no more about that,” she answered quietly. “I shall avoid every man and woman in London who would dare to speak of infamy and Routledge-san in one breath, but if they seek me out!... But I have other things to say. You must go, and I must stay. Before you go, I shall tell you what you have done for Noreen Cardinegh, and what you mean to her--to me.... You are my bravest man, Routledge-san.... When I was but a little girl my father told me of you. I have heard all the men speak of you. Yours would have been the greatest of all welcomes at the Armory last night--save for this terrible mystery. I saw the way that little boy looked up at you this morning. I know what he thought--for the same thoughts were mine in Japan when I was but a little older. And your work has been deep and important to me--a personal, illuminating service. It has made me see the vanity of piled stones, the futility of possessions. In looking the way you pointed--I have found that real life is not food and metal----” The tension was eased for a moment. Routledge laughed softly. “Why, I am but a dealer in war-stuff--the most godless of all matter, Noreen,” he said. “A dealer in war-stuff--to make the world see the horrible farce of it! Oh, don’t think I have failed to see the import of your work, or failed to contrast it with the ponderous egotism of certain other English war-correspondents, who build their careers upon wars--with their dull studies of tactics, their heavy handling of strategies--so comically like a child panting with heavy stones. Do you think that I did not see, in spite of your brilliant description how the Japanese caught and held the van at Tientsin, the real picture of your whole story--that of a cruel, ruthless nation of insensate boys--running to jaw instead of mind?”