“Getting him in with Lady Edna. A young fellow wants a clever woman to shepherd him. Does him no end of good. Broadens his mind.” “Mayn’t it be a bit dangerous?” Marcelle hazarded. “Dangerous? Suppose he does think himself in love with her? All the better. Keeps him out of mischief.” “But she might possibly fall in love with him too.” Wise in the hermit’s theoretic wisdom, he dismissed such an absurdity with a scornful laugh. “That type of woman can’t fall in love. She’s of the earth earthly, of the world worldly. Otherwise she couldn’t have married that rat of a Donnithorpe.” “I suppose it’s all right,” said Marcelle. “You belovedest mid-Victorian survival!” he laughed. “I do believe the young woman’s proposal shocked you!” They both would have been, if not shocked, at least brought to a sense of actual things, had they seen the transports to which the lovers surrendered themselves as soon as the door of the den closed behind them. Many hundreds of millions of youthful pairs have done exactly the same after long separation. She threw herself into his arms, in which he enfolded her. They kissed and sighed. They had thought they would never be alone again. He had been thirsting for her lips all the tantalizing evening. That wonderful brain of hers—to suggest this visit to his room. Even if the idea had occurred to his dull masculine mind, he wouldn’t have had the daring to tender the invitation. Her ever new adorableness! And more kisses and raptures, until, side by side in the corner of the couch, they began to talk of rational matters. “There are great things brewing,” she said, after a while. “Just a whisper has reached me—enough to make it dangerous.” “What things do you refer to?” he asked, with a quick knitting of the brow. She told him of a wild distortion of the plans of the High Command current in political dining-rooms. “It’s damnable!” he cried angrily. “One tiny grain of fact to a mountain of imagination. For God’s sake, make it your business to go about crabbing the lie for all you’re worth!” “I will. When you really _know_, you can speak with such moral authority that you’re believed, although you don’t give away a bit of your knowledge. At least, anyone with a little experience can do it.” “And you’re an adept,” he said admiringly. She drew him nearer, for he had started away on his proclamation of the damnability of rumours. “What is the grain of fact?” “Why, the great scale offensive.” “And where’s the rest of the rumour incorrect?” “I don’t think I ought to tell you.” “But don’t you see how important it is that a woman in my position, and a woman of my character, should know exactly? Half the calamities of the war are due to women giving away half secrets of which they’re not allowed to realize the consequences. Give a woman full confidence, and she’ll be on the side of the angels.” He kissed her and laughed. Was she not one of the angelic band herself?