"The only safe thing perhaps would be to-marry Mr. Macgeorge," he suggested. "Possibly not even him." "You're a prime minister yourself," Nick made answer. "To hold fast to you as I hold, to be determined to be of your party--isn't that political enough, since you're the incarnation of politics?" "Ah how you hate them!" she wailed again. "I saw that when I saw you this morning. The whole place reeked of your aversion." "My dear child, the greatest statesmen have had their distractions. What do you make of my hereditary talent? That's a tremendous force." "It wouldn't carry you far." Then she terribly added, "You must be a great artist." He tossed his head at the involuntary contempt of this, but she went on: "It's beautiful of you to want to give up anything, and I like you for it. I shall always like you. We shall be friends, and I shall always take an interest--!" But he stopped her there, made a movement which interrupted her phrase, and she suffered him to hold her hand as if she were not afraid of him now. "It isn't only for you," he argued gently; "you're a great deal, but you're not everything. Innumerable vows and pledges repose upon my head. I'm inextricably committed and dedicated. I was brought up in the temple like an infant Samuel; my father was a high-priest and I'm a child of the Lord. And then the life itself--when _you_ speak of it I feel stirred to my depths; it's like a herald's trumpet. Fight _with_ me, Julia--not against me! Be on my side and we shall do everything. It is uplifting to be a great man before the people--to be loved by them, to be followed by them. An artist isn't--never, never. Why _should_ he be? Don't forget how clever I am." "Oh if it wasn't for that!" she panted, pale with the effort to resist his tone. Then she put it to him: "Do you pretend that if I were to die to-morrow you'd stay in the House?" "If you were to die? God knows! But you do singularly little justice to my incentives," he pursued. "My political career's everything to my mother." This but made her say after a moment: "Are you afraid of your mother?" "Yes, immensely; for she represents ever so many possibilities of disappointment and distress. She represents all my father's as well as all her own, and in them my father tragically lives again. On the other hand I see him in bliss, as I see my mother, over our marriage and our life of common aspirations--though of course that's not a consideration that I can expect to have power with you." She shook her head slowly, even smiling with her recovered calmness and lucidity. "You'll never hold high office." "But why not take me as I am?" "Because I'm abominably keen about that sort of thing--I must recognise my keenness. I must face the ugly truth. I've been through the worst; it's all settled." "The worst, I suppose, was when you found me this morning." "Oh that was all right--for you."