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is eyes were no longer devouring her。
〃You're not offended？〃 he asked。 〃At my thinking you beautiful？〃 he added； in case she hadn't understood。
She laughed。 Her confidence had returned to her。 〃It doesn't generally offend a woman；〃 she answered。
He seemed relieved。 〃That's what's so wonderful about you；〃 he said。 〃I've met plenty of clever； brilliant women； but one could forget that they were women。 You're everything。〃
He pleaded； standing below her on the steps of the hotel； that she would dine with him。 But she shook her head。 She had her packing to do。 She could have managed it； but something prudent and absurd had suddenly got hold of her； and he went away with much the same look in his eyes that comes to a dog when he finds that his master cannot be persuaded into an excursion。
She went up to her room。 There really was not much to do。 She could quite well finish her packing in the morning。 She sat down at the desk and set to work to arrange her papers。 It was a warm spring evening； and the window was open。 A crowd of noisy sparrows seemed to be delighted about something。 From somewhere； unseen； a blackbird was singing。 She read over her report for Mrs。 Denton。 The blackbird seemed never to have heard of war。 He sang as if the whole world were a garden of languor and love。 Joan looked at her watch。 The first gong would sound in a few minutes。 She pictured the dreary； silent dining…room with its few scattered occupants； and her heart sank at the prospect。 To her relief came remembrance of a cheerful but entirely respectable restaurant near to the Louvre to which she had been taken a few nights before。 She had noticed quite a number of women dining there alone。 She closed her dispatch case with a snap and gave a glance at herself in the great mirror。 The blackbird was still singing。
She walked up the Rue des Sts。 Peres； enjoying the delicious air。 Half way across the bridge she overtook a man； strolling listlessly in front of her。 There was something familiar about him。 He was wearing a grey suit and had his hands in his pockets。 Suddenly the truth flashed upon her。 She stopped。 If he strolled on； she would be able to slip back。 Instead of which he abruptly turned to look down at a passing steamer； and they were face to face。
It made her mad； the look of delight that came into his eyes。 She could have boxed his ears。 Hadn't he anything else to do but hang about the streets。
He explained that he had been listening to the band in the gardens； returning by the Quai d'Orsay。
〃Do let me come with you；〃 he said。 〃I kept myself free this evening； hoping。 And I'm feeling so lonesome。〃
Poor fellow！ She had come to understand that feeling。 After all； it wasn't altogether his fault that they had met。 And she had been so cross to him！
He was reading every expression on her face。
〃It's such a lovely evening；〃 he said。 〃Couldn't we go somewhere and dine under a tree？〃
It would be rather pleasant。 There was a little place at Meudon； she remembered。 The plane trees would just be in full leaf。
A passing cab had drawn up close to them。 The chauffeur was lighting his pipe。
Even Mrs。 Grundy herself couldn't object to a journalist dining with a politician！
The stars came out before they had ended dinner。 She had made him talk about himself。 It was marvellous what he had accomplished with his opportunities。 Ten hours a day in the mines had earned for him his living； and the night had given him his leisure。 An attic； lighted by a tallow candle； with a shelf of books that left him hardly enough for bread； had been his Alma Mater。 History was his chief study。 There was hardly an authority Joan could think of with which he was not familiar。 Julius Caesar was his favourite play。 He seemed to know it by heart。 At twenty…three he had been elected a delegate； and had entered Parliament at twenty…eight。 It had been a life of hardship； of privation； of constant strain； but she found herself unable to pity him。 It was a tale of strength； of struggle； of victory； that he told her。
Strength！ The shaded lamplight fell upon his fearless kindly face with its flashing eyes and its humorous mouth。 He ought to have been drinking out of a horn； not a wine glass that his well…shaped hand could have crushed by a careless pressure。 In a winged helmet and a coat of mail he would have looked so much more fitly dressed than in that soft felt hat and ridiculous blue tie。
She led him to talk on about the future。 She loved to hear his clear； confident voice with its touch of boyish boastfulness。 What was there to stop him？ Why should he not climb from power to power till he had reached the end！
And as he talked and dreamed there grew up in her heart a fierce anger。 What would her own future be？ She would marry probably some man of her own class； settle down to the average woman's 〃life〃； be allowed； like a spoilt child； to still 〃take an interest〃 in public affairs： hold 〃drawing…rooms〃 attended by cranks and political nonentities： be President； perhaps； of the local Woman's Liberal League。 The alternative： to spend her days glued to a desk； penning exhortations to the people that Carleton and his like might or might not allow them to read； while youth and beauty slipped away from her； leaving her one of the ten thousand other lonely； faded women； forcing themselves unwelcome into men's jobs。 There came to her a sense of having been robbed of what was hers by primitive eternal law。 Greyson had been right。 She did love powerpower to serve and shape the world。 She would have earned it and used it well。 She could have helped him； inspired him。 They would have worked together： he the force and she the guidance。 She would have supplied the things he lacked。 It was to her he came for counsel； as it was。 But for her he would never have taken the first step。 What right had this poor brainless lump of painted flesh to share his wounds； his triumphs？ What help could she give him when the time should come that he should need it？
Suddenly he broke off。 〃What a fool I'm making of myself；〃 he said。 〃I always was a dreamer。〃
She forced a laugh。 〃Why shouldn't it come true？〃 she asked。
They had the little garden to themselves。 The million lights of Paris shone below them。
〃Because you won't be there；〃 he answered； 〃and without you I can't do it。 You think I'm always like I am to…night； bragging； confident。 So I am when you are with me。 You give me back my strength。 The plans and hopes and dreams that were slipping from me come crowding round me； laughing and holding out their hands。 They are like the children。 They need two to care for them。 I want to talk about them to someone who understands them and loves them； as I do。 I want to feel they are dear to someone else； as well as to myself： that I must work for them for her sake； as well as for my own。 I want someone to help me to bring them up。〃
There were tears in his eyes。 He brushed them angrily away。 〃Oh； I know I ought to be ashamed of myself；〃 he said。 〃It wasn't her fault。 She wasn't to know that a hot…blooded young chap of twenty hasn't all his wits about him； any more than I was。 If I had never met you； it wouldn't have mattered。 I'd have done my bit of good； and have stopped there； content。 With you beside me〃he looked away from her to where the silent city peeped through its veil of night〃I might have left the world better than I found it。〃
The blood had mounted to her face。 She drew back into the shadow； beyond the tiny sphere of light made by the little lamp。
〃Men have accomplished great things without a woman's help；〃 she said。
〃Some men；〃 he answered。 〃Artists and poets。 They have the woman within them。 Men like myselfthe mere fighter： we are incomplete in ourselves。 Male and female created He them。 We are lost without our mate。〃
He was thinking only of himself。 Had he no pity for her。 So was she； also； useless without her mate。 Neither was she of those； here and there； who can stand alone。 Her task was that of the eternal woman： to make a home： to cleanse the world of sin and sorrow； make it a kinder dwelling…place for the children that should come。 This man was her true helpmeet。 He would have been her weapon； her dear servant； and she could have rewarded him as none other ever could。 The lamplight fell upon his ruddy face； his strong white hands resting on the flimsy table。 He belonged to an older order than her own。 That suggestion about him of something primitive； of something not yet altogether tamed。 She felt again that slight thrill of fear that so strangely excited her。 A mist seemed to be obscuring all things。 He seemed to be coming towards her。 Only by keeping her eyes fixed on his moveless hands； still resting on the table； could she convince herself that his arms were not closing about her； that she was not being drawn nearer and nearer to him； powerless to resist。
Suddenly； out of the mist； she heard voices。 The waiter was standing beside him with the bill。 She reached out her hand and took it。 The usual few mistakes had occurred。 She explained them； good temperedly； and the waiter； with profuse apologies； went back to