“She discovered, and the Duchess of Snowdon applied the science. Ah, Betty, don’t think I don’t agree. She has the gift. She has temperament. No woman should have temperament. She hasn’t scope enough to wear it out in some passion for a cause. Men are saved in spite of themselves by the law of work. Forty comes to a man of temperament, and then a passion for a cause seizes him, and he is safe. A woman of temperament at forty is apt to cut across the bows of iron-clad convention and go down. She has temperament, has my lady yonder, and I don’t like the look of her eyes sometimes. There’s dark fire smouldering in them. She should have a cause; but a cause to a woman now-a-days means ‘too little of pleasure, too much of pain,’ for others.” “What was your real cause, Windlehurst? You had one, I suppose, for you’ve never had a fall.” “My cause? You ask that? Behold the barren figtree! A lifetime in my country’s service, and you who have driven me home from the House in your own brougham, and told me that you understood--oh, Betty!” She laughed. “You’ll say something funny as you’re dying, Windlehurst.” “Perhaps. But it will be funny to know that presently I’ll have a secret that none of you know, who watch me ‘launch my pinnace into the dark.’ But causes? There are hundreds, and all worth while. I’ve come here to-night for a cause--no, don’t start, it’s not you, Betty, though you are worth any sacrifice. I’ve come here to-night to see a modern Paladin, a real crusader: “‘Then felt I like some watcher of the skies, When a new planet swims into his ken.’” “Yes, that’s poetry, Windlehurst, and you know I love it-I’ve always kept yours. But who’s the man--the planet?” “Egyptian Claridge.” “Ah, he is in England?” “He will be here to-night; you shall see him.” “Really! What is his origin?” He told her briefly, adding: “I’ve watched the rise of Claridge Pasha. I’ve watched his cause grow, and now I shall see the man--ah, but here comes our lass o’ London!” The eyes of both brightened, and a whimsical pleasure came to the mask-like face of Lord Windlehurst. There was an eager and delighted look in Hylda’s face also as she quickly came to them, her cavaliers following. The five years that had passed since that tragic night in Cairo had been more than kind to her. She was lissome, radiant, and dignified, her face was alive with expression, and a delicate grace was in every movement. The dark lashes seemed to have grown longer, the brown hair fuller, the smile softer and more alluring. “She is an invaluable asset to the Government,” Lord Windlehurst murmured as she came. “No wonder the party helped the marriage on. London conspired for it, her feet got tangled in the web--and he gave her no time to think. Thinking had saved her till he came.”