“I want you to come and pick bluebells,” he said harshly. She stepped out of the train, and they went up a winding country road without a word. “I remember!” she said suddenly. “When you get to the top of this hill you see the wood where the bluebells were, and your little island beyond.” “Come on and see it,” said Owen. They stepped on the crest of the hill and stood. Below them the black factory belched its livid smoke into the air; and where the wood had been were rows of little houses like boxes, built of dirty yellow brick. Hood spoke. “And when you shall see the abomination of desolation sitting in the Holy of Holies--isn’t that when the world is supposed to end? I wish the world would end now; with you and me standing on a hill.” She was staring at the place with parted lips and more than her ordinary pallor; he knew she understood something monstrous and symbolic in the scene; yet her first remark was jerky and trivial. On the nearest of the yellow brick boxes were visible the cheap colours of various advertisements; and larger than the rest a blue poster proclaiming “Vote for Hunter.” With a final touch of tragic pathos, Hood remembered that it was the last and most sensational day of the election. But the girl had already found her voice. “Is that Dr. Hunter?” she asked with commonplace curiosity; “is he standing for Parliament?” A load that lay on Hood’s mind like a rock suddenly rose like an eagle; and he felt as if the hill he stood on were higher than Everest. By the insight of his own insanity, he knew well enough that _she_ would have known well enough whether Hunter was standing, if--if there had been anything like what he supposed. The removal of the steadying weight staggered him, and he had something quite indefensible. “I thought you would know. I thought you and he were probably--well, the truth is I thought you were engaged, though I really don’t know why.” “I can’t imagine why,” said Elizabeth Seymour. “I heard he was engaged to Lord Normantowers’s daughter. They’ve got our old place now, you know.” There was a silence and then Hood spoke suddenly in a loud and cheerful voice. “Well, what I say is ‘Vote for Hunter,’” he said heartily. “After all, why not vote for Hunter? Good old Hunter! I hope he’ll be a Member of Parliament. I hope he’ll be Prime Minister. I hope he’ll be President of the World State that Wells talks about. By George, he deserves to be Emperor of the Solar System.” “But why,” she protested, “why should he deserve all that?” “For not being engaged to you, of course,” he replied. “Oh!” she said, and something of a secret shiver in her voice went through him like a silver bell.