“Carried out by you?” “Carried out by me ... and some others.” “You have brought other people in here? Jeffrey, I think that was inexcusable.” “I have not yet attempted to excuse myself.” For a moment his eyes met hers. She saw something, a spark, a flash, from the flames within. It was her first hint that there was, or could be, a flame there at all. It startled her in just the same degree that an actual spark touching her flesh would have startled her—not more. He spoke again at once. “Just now I called this place a laboratory. If I were a poet”—he laughed easily—“I might have used another word. I might have said, ‘This is the crucible out of which has come the new Philosopher’s Stone.’” Raymond lifted her eyebrows. “You’ve not been touched by that mediæval dream?” she said. “This is the twentieth century, Jeffrey.” “Yes,” said Ember slowly. “Yes, the twentieth century, and I said ... ‘a _new_ Philosopher’s Stone.’ The mediæval alchemists dreamed of something that would turn all it touched to gold, that would transmute the baser metals. I have found something which will touch this base civilisation, this rotten fabric with which we have surrounded ourselves, and dissolve it. And when it is in solution there will be gold and to spare.” “What do you mean?” said Lady Heritage. Ember met her frown with a smile. “Was it a week ago that I heard you say, ‘If I could smash it all’? And didn’t you sing: “‘Ah Love, could you and I with Fate conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, Would we not shatter it to bits, and then Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?’ You sang that as if you meant it, Raymond. You sang it with all your heart in your beautiful voice. Well, Fate has conspired for you and given this sorry scheme of things into your hands to shatter—to shatter and re-mould.” Raymond had been leaning a little forward over the back of the chair, touching it lightly. She straightened herself when Ember used her name, and looked at him with a sort of grave displeasure. He laughed a little. “Do you begin to understand?” he said. “I don’t think, Jeffrey, that I want to understand,” said Lady Heritage. “How like a woman,” said Mr. Ember. “Here is what you cried out for. Here is opportunity, power, the greatest adventure that ever has been or ever will be, and you are afraid to face it. I offer you the throne of the world—and you don’t wish to understand.” The extreme quiet of his voice was in sharp contradiction to the flamboyant words. Raymond looked at him in some anxiety. “You’re not well,” she began, and then stopped before the sarcasm of his glance.