Just now even the dying early autumn sun seemed graciously disposed towards it. It was peeping in through the old Georgian windows and searching out the mellow beauties of the study. Its softened tone seemed to somehow belong to the picture it discovered within. The delicate tracery of the deep, ruddy mahogany furnishings, the design of which must have given hours of delight to the artist soul of Chippendale; the softened tints of the ancient Persian rugs upon the crazily uneven flooring; the exquisite carving of the oaken panels and the delicate pictures of the hanging tapestries above them,--all these beauties seemed to belong to a time of softened light which comes with the ageing of the year. The calm delight of it all resisted even the touch of a modern figure suddenly appearing in its midst. Ruxton's modern blue serge suit and soft felt hat might have been an anachronism, but it gave no serious offence. He entered the room and glanced swiftly and appreciatively upon his treasured friends. Then he laid his hat aside, took his seat at his desk and prepared to attend to some work he had on hand. But, for once, inclination proved stronger than purpose. He sat back in the ample chair, such as an elderly ancestor might have revelled in, lit a cigar, and, for some idle minutes, all effort was abandoned in favor of the relaxed dreaming of a brain accustomed to high pressure. It was the late afternoon of a long day spent in endless interviews in the world of the officialdom to which he belonged here in London. But his interviews had had little enough to do with the more commonplace affairs of State. His portfolio in the Cabinet, which left him responsible for the affairs of the Duchy of Lancaster, also left him with ample time to carry out those other plans which he believed were to have so great a significance in his country's future. His day had been spent in completing the negotiations whereby, for a considerable period, certain portions of the great ship-building yards at Dorby were to be adopted and controlled by the Admiralty. It had not been easy to stir the machinery of departments, and only had it been made possible by invoking the efforts of the Prime Minister, Sir Meeston Harborough, and the Foreign Secretary, the Marquis of Lordburgh, with both of whom he had already established a confidential understanding. Admiral Sir Joseph Caistor was purely a naval man, a brilliant officer, but as yet intolerant of desecrating the traditions of his department by confusing it with civilian controlled establishments.