all eagerly talking a kind of talk which was almost unintelligible to
the Dictator. In that bright Babel of voices, in that conversation which
was full of allusions to things of which he knew nothing, and for which,
if he had known, he would have cared less, the Dictator felt his sense
of exile suddenly come strongly upon him like a great chill wave. It was
not that he could feel neglected. A great statesman was talking to him,
talking at much length confidentially, paying him the compliment of
repeatedly inviting his opinion, and of deferring to his judgment. There
was not a man or woman in the room who was not anxious to be introduced
to Ericson, who was not delighted when the introduction was accorded,
and when he or she had taken his hand and exchanged a few words with
him. But somehow it was Helena's voice that seemed to thrill in the
Dictator's ears; it was Helena's face that his eyes wandered to through
all that brilliant crowd, and it was with something like a sense of
serious regret that he found himself at last taking her hand and wishing
her good-night. Her bright eyes grew brighter as she expressed the hope
that they should meet soon again. The Dictator bowed and withdrew. He
felt in his heart that he shared the hope very strongly.

The hope was certainly realised. So notable a lion as the Dictator was
asked everywhere, and everywhere that he went he met the Langleys. In
the high political and social life in which the Dictator, to his
entertainment, found himself, the hostilities of warring parties had
little or no effect. In that rarefied air it was hard to draw the breath
of party passion, and the Dictator came across the Langleys as often in
the houses of the Opposition as in Ministerial mansions. So it came to
pass that something almost approaching to an intimacy sprang up between
John Ericson on the one part and Sir Rupert and Helena Langley on the
other. Sir Rupert felt a real interest in the adventurous man with the
eccentric ideas; perhaps his presence recalled something of Sir Rupert's
own hot youth when he had had eccentric ideas and was looked upon with
alarm by the steady-going. Helena made no concealment of her interest in
the exile. She was always so frank in her friendships, so off-hand and
boyish in her air of comradeship with many people, that her attitude
towards the Dictator did not strike any one, except Soame Rivers, as
being in the least marked--for her. Indeed, most of her admirers woul