Whether anything much, except distrust and disgust, resulted from bringing Roger Brentham within the same four walls, into the same shooting parties, bridge contests and bicycling excursions as these distinguished Imperialists, it is hardly worth inquiring. Imperialism is dead, and I, as an old Imperialist, am moribund, and most of the people mentioned are no longer of this world. Probably Roger thought Darcy Freebooter what all collateral younger sons of his stock had been for three centuries: it was described by his surname. Percy Bracket, he defined mentally as quite ignorant of the Empire he unceasingly boomed (not without a practical purpose, for he expected most company promoters to give him a block of paid-up shares or "let him in on the ground floor "). The Rt. Honble. Applebody Bland reminded Roger of Mr. Quale in _Bleak House_, whose mission it was to be enthusiastic about everybody else’s mission ... and recalled to Lucy, by the jets of saliva which accompanied his easily provoked eloquence, her special African horror, the Spitting Cobra. And Albert Greystock was too good for this world. He believed any one who advocated enlarging the British Empire was a pure-souled missionary of civilization, incapable of a base greed for gain or other interested motive. He also believed that once a backward or savage country had been painted red on the map there was nothing more to be done or said. There it was: saved, happy, and gratefully contented. These people all said in turn "it was _monstrous_"—a man who could in six years accomplish such encouraging results in a part of Africa unfortunately for the time being under Germany _must_ be brought back to British Administration. _Choselwhit_ must be seen, _Wiltshire_ button-holed, the _Rothschilds_ nudged, and _Rhodes_ got round.... Roger, however, was not going to risk the substance for the shadow or be disloyal in the slightest degree to the generous Schräders. He would buckle-to, make his pile, bank it; and _then_, perhaps, weigh in, scatter the chaff and garner the grains of Imperialism. And of one thing he was jolly well sure—thinking back on his faithful Somalis, his cheery Wanyamwezi, on the well-mannered, manly Masai, the graceful Iraku, and the obedient Wambugwe: he would see that the Black men and Brown men reaped full advantage for the White man’s intrusion into their domain. They should receive compensation for disturbance and be brought into partnership, not only of labour and effort, but of profit. *CHAPTER XX* *THE BOER WAR* _From Lady Silchester to her cousin, Captain Roger Brentham._ Stellenbosch, Cape Colony, _March_ 25, 1900. DEAR ROGER—