She was right; the two best gifts of life are love and an approving conscience. These twain, William and Griselda, loved each other sincerely—if not with the tempestuous passion of a Romeo and a Juliet, with an honest and healthy affection; they had for each other an attraction which could set their pulses beating and start them dreaming dreams. That evening, on the bench in Battersea Park, they had dreamed their dreams—while their consciences looked on and smiled. They foreshadowed their home not only as a nest where they two and their children should dwell, but as a centre of light and duty—as they understood duty and light; a meeting-place for the like-minded, where fresh courage could be gathered for the strife with prejudice and evil. They pictured themselves (this was in June 1914) as what they would have called Powers—as a man and a woman working for progress and destined to leave their mark. The sense of their destiny awed and elated them—and they walked away from Battersea Park with their hearts too full for speech. On the way home a flaring headline distracted Griselda temporarily from her dreams. "Who’s this Archduke that’s been assassinated?" she asked. (Her morning’s reading had been confined to _The Suffragette_.) "Austrian," William informed her. (He had read the _Daily Herald_.) "Franz Joseph—no, Franz Ferdinand—the heir to the Austrian throne." "Who assassinated him?" his betrothed inquired, not very much interested. "I can’t remember their names," William admitted, "but there seem to have been several in it. Anyhow, he’s been assassinated. Somewhere in the Balkans. With bombs." "Oh!" said Griselda, ceasing to be interested at all. Her mind had turned from traffic in strange archdukes and was running on a high resolve; the solemn vow of service was translating itself into action. "I shall go to the meeting to-morrow," she announced, "and make my protest." William knew what was passing in her mind and made no effort to dissuade her. No more than she dared he let their mutual happiness enervate them—it must urge them to high endeavour, to struggle and sacrifice for the Cause. "I’ll go too," he said simply, "if I can manage to get a ticket." "Oh, I’ll get you a ticket," Griselda told him; "they’re sure to have some at the office"—and thanked him with a squeeze of the fingers that set his pulses beating.