“If I were in the habit of vowing to perform impossible extravagances, that would be the sign of a vain man. But—apart from the Acts of God—and I suppose technically we must classify the wiping out of my life’s work under that heading—I have carried out every wild-cat scheme I’ve deliberately set my mind to. So when I say I’m coming into John Baltazar’s own, I know what I’m talking about, and that’s the sign of a proud man. And, my dear,” said he after a pause, occupied in filling and lighting his pipe, “I think this jolly old sin of mine keeps me from making an ass of myself in all sorts of other ways.” Swiftly she applied these last words to the relations between them and confessed their truth. A vain man would have pestered the life out of her, confident in attaining his ends—ends as beautiful and spiritual as you please—until through sheer weariness she yielded. Such a one would enunciate and firmly believe in the proposition—she had not spent twenty years among men in angelic ignorance of their idiosyncrasies—that just hammer, hammer hard enough, and a woman will be bound to love you in the end. But there were others, with a deadly, sinful pride like Baltazar, who, scorning the vain, maintained the dignified attitude of the late lamented King Canute. He would not claim the impossible. But this was a far cry from the Imperial Government Mission to the Far East. She asked, by way of escape from personal argument: “After all, this Chinese proposition is a first-rate thing. Is it so very repugnant to you to go back?” He stood over her with his clenched fists in the air. “My dear,” said he, “you talked last year some silly rot about a locust. I know the beast better than you do. It ate all those precious years I spent in that infernal country. The best years of my life. I’m starting now at fifty-one where I ought to have started at thirty. That damned Chinese locust has robbed me of everything. You, Godfrey, the vital life of England, and a brilliant career with Heaven knows what kind of power for good. I hold the country in the most deadly detestation. Nothing in this wide world would induce me to go back—not even if they wanted to make me an Emperor. I’ve finished with it for ever and ever. I swear it.” “You needn’t look as if I were urging you to it,” she laughed. “I’m sure I don’t want to lose you.” “All right then,” said Baltazar. “Let us talk of something else.” * * * * *