This was a sunny day, an ideal day of southern winter, and they all took tea beneath the awning of the promenade deck. With Harry, Gabrielle was a little constrained and uneasy. She was glad to have him there, and yet felt that in some way his presence was a douche upon her schemes. He spoke of the little world of outer London, not of the wider horizon to which she looked. She had built a tower of her imagination which Harry Lassett would never climb. Indeed, he would have derided it as he had done her American friendship. With her father it was different. She had a long talk with him in his cabin before dinner and she learned again how much importance he had attached to her diplomatic success with John Faber. "It would send me to Yonkers with better credentials than any Englishman ever carried across the seas," he said. "Think of it--John Faber with us! The man who has done more than anyone alive to make war possible in our time." "You will never get him, father. It would be a great wrong against the truth if he came in." "Why should it be wrong, Gabrielle?" "For many reasons. He believes that all our dreams are sentimental moonshine; he never could be in earnest--how should he be when he does not believe?" "Is it not possible to put our view so convincingly that he must believe?" "Are we convinced ourselves? Is it very real to us?" "It is very real to me. I think it must be to every man of culture." "How many that would exclude. Nelson could not have been a man of culture." He looked up, pained. "Faber has been talking to you." "No, I have been talking to myself. I think with you that war is a very great crime against humanity, but, after all, God allows it." He sighed and began to sort out his papers. "There is a great deal which seems to be permitted. It is another way of saying that mankind has been left a great work to do. We are fortunate if we are called to bear the smallest burden. I think disappointments should be numbered among them." "Oh! I agree with you. And, of course, I shall still hope for Mr. Faber's name." "If you think it a wrong, that would be an inconsistency." "Not altogether; it might be a great victory. He is a man with whom you can argue." "Then I hope you will see him again at Corfu." Gabrielle did not answer that. Her own words accused her in some way. A great victory! A woman's victory! What would that mean in this case? For the moment she let ambition run away with her and imagination reared fine castles. They went down with a crash when she heard Harry Lassett calling her. She made some excuse and went out--just as she had gone when Harry called below her window at Hampstead. III