was present at the making of
history, but it was useless. Again and again, as, with an effort,
he forced the principles before his mind, his attention whirled
off to a detail--to a contemplation of his chief taking his seat
in the House of Lords, and to the fabric of the carpet on which
he walked; to the silent whisper of one of the two conversational
secretaries; to a wonder as to the form of prayer with which the
first professedly Catholic Parliament in England for more than
four hundred years would open.

Then he checked himself, reminded himself of certain old
proverbs about cups and hares, reflected that Socialism was not
beaten yet (in Father Jervis's phrase), as recent events in
Germany had shown. . . .

Once as he turned at the end of the corridor farthest from the
secretaries, an interesting little incident happened. A door
opened abruptly, and a man coming out quickly almost ran against
him. Then the man took off his hat and smiled.

"I beg your pardon, Monsignor . . . I . . . I can guess your
business here."

Monsignor smiled too, a little guiltily. He recognized the
Socialist leader who had called on him a few months before.

"Yes: and I'm afraid you don't approve," he said.

Mr. Hardy made a little deprecatory gesture, still holding his
hat in his hand.

"Oh! I'm a believer in majorities," he said. "And there's no
doubt you have the majority. But----"

"Yes?"

"I hope you will be merciful. That is your Gospel, you know."

"You think we have the majority?"

"Oh, certainly. The enfranchisement of women settled all that.
They are always clerical, you know."

Monsignor felt the point prick him. He riposted gently.

"Well, you will have to take refuge in Germany," he said.

The face of the other changed a little; his eyelids came down
just a fraction.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, Monsignor--I--but I think
there's somebody wanting you."

Monsignor turned. There was a hand beckoning him from behind a
face, as if in agitation, from the entrance to door No. XI.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, and hurried off.

"I thought you'd like to be present at the end, Monsignor,"
whispered the member who had beckoned him. "The Cardinal is
just speaking."

Committee room number XI seemed strangely quiet, as the prelate
slipped in behind his friend and stood motionless. One voice was
speaking; and, as he tried to catch the sense, he looked round
the faces, that were all turned in his direct