“I suppose,” she went on, a little drearily, “that even if I told you upon my honour, of my certain knowledge, that the due delivery of that packet might save the lives of thousands of your countrymen, might save hearts from breaking, homes from becoming destitute--even if I told you all this, would it help me in my prayer?” “Nothing could help you,” he assured her, “but your whole confidence, and even then I fear that the result would be the same.” “Oh, but you are very hard!” she murmured. “My confidence belongs to others. It is not mine alone to give you.” “You see,” he explained, “I know beforehand that you are speaking the truth as you see it. I know beforehand that any scheme in which you are engaged is for the benefit of our fellow creatures and not for their harm. But alas! you make yourself the judge of these things, and there are times when individual effort is the most dangerous thing in life.” “If you were any one else!” she sighed. “Why be prejudiced about me?” he protested. “Believe me, I am not a frivolous person. I, too, think of life and its problems. You yourself are an aristocrat. Why should not I as well as you have sympathy and feeling for those who suffer?” “I am a Russian,” she reminded him, “and in Russia it is different. Besides, I am no longer an aristocrat. I am a citizeness of the world. I have eschewed everything in life except one thing, and for that I have worked with all my heart and strength. As for you, what have you done? What is your record?” “Insignificant, I fear,” he admitted. “You see, a very promising start at the Bar was somewhat interfered with by my brief period of soldiering.” “At the present moment you have no definite career,” she declared. “You have even been wasting your time censoring.” “I am returning now to my profession.” “Your profession!” she scoffed. “That means you will spend your time wrangling with a number of other bewigged and narrow-minded people about uninteresting legal technicalities which lead nowhere and which no one cares about.” “There is my journalism.” “You have damned it with your own phrase ‘hack journalism’!” “I may enter Parliament.” “Yes, to preserve your rights,” she retorted. “I am afraid,” he sighed, “that you haven’t a very high opinion of me.” “It is within your power to make me look upon you as the bravest, the kindest, the most farseeing of men,” she declared. He shook his head. “I decline to think that you would think any the better of me for committing a dishonourable action for your sake.” “Try me,” she begged, her hand resting once more upon his. “If you want my kind feelings, my everlasting gratitude, they are yours. Give me that packet.” “That is impossible,” he declared uncompromisingly. “If you wish to alter my attitude with regard to it, you must tell me exactly from whom it comes, what it contains, and to whom it goes.” “You ask more than is possible.. You make me almost sorry--” “Sorry for what?”