“Another fortnight must see the end of the employers’ resources,” he said with conviction. “The game of bluff can’t last longer.” “And are you sure that the Rosenthal story is a myth?” “As sure as I am that the moon is shining on your face.” Upon the word, the moon disappeared behind a cloud. Lady Phayre started, and touched his sleeve. “Oh, what a bad omen!” But Daniel laughed. Omens had no place in his downright philosophy. “Well, Juliet calls the moon inconstant,” said Lady Phayre gaily. “So we won’t believe it.” “I only have to keep the men up till then,” said Goddard. “And you will do it, Mr. Goddard,” she replied. “It will be a great victory, and we shall all be so proud of you.” So Goddard went to sleep that night with hope thrilling through his dreams. And he woke up the next morning and went about his work, and longed for Lady Phayre. She might be back in five days. But before the five days were up, Rosenthal’s support of the Employers’ Association became a matter of public certainty. “I will not believe it,” shouted Goddard to the grey-faced secretary. “Nothing but the sight of Rosenthal’s cheque would convince me. If you give in now, you’ll be throwing up the most glorious victory labour ever won in this country. You are fools--wretched, cowardly, credulous fools.” But the tide of conviction had set in. He was powerless against it. He strove with the passionate rage of his nature, exhausted himself in wild, furious effort. The end came with overwhelming rapidity. Goddard felt that he had lost his Waterloo. CHAPTER IX--SOME PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENTS Goddard mounted the stairs of Queen’s Court Mansions with a heavy tread. He was physically tired, and his heart was sullenly sore. He had felt himself irresistibly drawn hither, though his pride hated the ordeal of confessing his failure to a woman, especially to Lady Phayre. The old, fierce class feeling was ineradicable. She was above him. Success, brilliance alone could keep him on her level. Failure brought him down. A glimmering realisation of this had come to him in the train, and he had pulled up his coat-collar angrily, and doggedly resolved to swallow his humble-pie to the last mouthful. But it did not occur to do otherwise than drive straight to her from the railway station. He deposited his bag and ulster in the hall, and followed the servant into the drawing-room. The first glimpse of it cheered him. The subdued light, the dancing fire, the warm tones of carpet and curtains, the cosy atmosphere, the charm of perfectly harmonised surroundings, struck gratefully upon his sense. Lady Phayre dropped on the hearthrug the book she was reading, and rising quickly, made a step or two to meet him. Her eyes were wide, in great concern. “Oh, how tired you are looking. Come and sit down, in the big chair by the fire. It was good of you to come. See, I have been waiting for you--with Monmouth.”