that it is not squandered.'

'The point concerns direction.'

'Have I made so bad a choice of my friends?'

'It is the common error of the sprightly to suppose that in parrying a
thrust they blind our eyes.'

'The world sees always what it desires to see, Mr. Whitmonby.'

'The world, my dear Mrs. Warwick, is a blundering machine upon its own
affairs, but a cruel sleuth-hound to rouse in pursuit.'

'So now you have me chased by sight and scent. And if I take wing?'

'Shots! volleys!--You are lawful game. The choice you have made of your
friends, should oblige you to think of them.'

'I imagine I do. Have I offended any, or one?'

'I will not say that. You know the commotion in a French kitchen when the
guests of the house declined a particular dish furnished them by command.
The cook and his crew were loyal to their master, but, for the love of
their Art, they sent him notice. It is ill serving a mad sovereign.'

Diana bowed to the compact little apologue.

'I will tell you another story, traditional in our family from my
great-grandmother, a Spanish woman,' she said. 'A cavalier serenaded his
mistress, and rascal mercenaries fell upon him before he could draw
sword. He battered his guitar on their pates till the lattice opened with
a cry, and startled them to flight. "Thrice blessed and beloved!" he
called to her above, in reference to the noise, "it was merely a
diversion of the accompaniment." Now there was loyal service to a
sovereign!'

'You are certainly an angel!' exclaimed Whitmonby. 'I swallow the story,
and leave it to digestion to discover the appositeness. Whatever tuneful
instrument one of your friends possesses shall solace your slumbers or
batter the pate of your enemy. But discourage the habitual serenader.'

'The musician you must mean is due here now, by appointment to meet you,'
said Diana, and set him momentarily agape with the name of Mr. Percy
Dacier.

That was the origin of the alliance between the young statesman and a
newspaper editor. Whitmonby, accepting proposals which suited him,
quitted the house, after an hour of political talk, no longer inclined to
hint at the 'habitual serenader,' but very ready to fall foul of those
who did, as he proved when the numbers buzzed openly. Times were
masculine; the excitement on the eve of so great a crisis, and Diana's
comprehension of it and fine heading cry, put that weak matter aside.
Moreover, he was taught to suppose himself as welcome