“By Jove, you look like Mother Christmas,” laughed West. “All snug? Right! Forrard!” “It’s glorious!” she said, as they sped along a short piece of broad, level road. “I don’t wonder men go mad over it.” “Don’t you ever go mad over things?” “I? No, I don’t think so. I’ve never come across anything which tempted me quite enough to make me go mad over it. Perhaps I was born hopelessly sane. It must be rather nice to feel real mad sometimes.” “Yes, it’s intoxicating, just that. Don’t be scared, I’m not going to do it now anyway, but I sometimes feel horribly tempted to turn on full speed, let her rip, put my hands in my pockets and see——” “But then—you’d never be able to get intoxicated again. I prefer something less final than that. A big business—to be at the head of it—a sort of king—with every other king’s hand against me—that would intoxicate me. If I were a man, I should like to be a speaker and make thousands drunk with my words.” “An actress?” “Yes; that must be intoxicating too—just to play on an audience—but—I can’t do any of these things, so I must content myself with watching other people—getting intoxicated. You men have most of the good things in the way of power.” “Except power over ourselves. That belongs to you.” “Does it? Perhaps to some of us. I haven’t got it—at least—I want to persuade George to do something sensible and I can’t.” “Perhaps he’s intoxicated?” “He can’t afford to be every day. He’s not done a stroke of work since I’ve come down here—or rather for the last two days, not touched Mrs. West’s portrait, and won’t—I’m afraid—till I go away, and he won’t let me go. I came down on condition that I only stayed three days; I’ve been here five now. I daresay you think it queer my talking to you—but you see I haven’t got any friends, and you’re George’s friend too. Couldn’t you—couldn’t you—just give him a bit of advice?” “Oh, lots, heaps, tons!” West replied, laughing; “and couldn’t he and wouldn’t he refuse to take an ounce of it? Of course he would, even if he didn’t tell me to go to the—to go to, forsooth!” “Probably,” said Marian, smiling; “but you wouldn’t mind that, would you? You needn’t go. Don’t you see, it’s this way: he might pay a little more attention to _my_ advice if he found that you gave him just the same.” “Perhaps. But he’s got an obstinate little way of his own, has Master George. Besides, do you really think that if you can’t get a thing from him by yourself you’ll be able to do so with my help?” “You’re so strong,” Marian said, in such a matter-of-fact tone of voice that West laughed out loud, though this very tone flattered and pleased him. “I think I must stop the car, get out and bow to the ground in gratitude,” he said. “It isn’t often a pretty woman pays a pretty compliment in such a tone that there’s no doubting its genuineness.”