nal programme."

"You are a wonderful person," he said with conviction, "but like all
people who are clear-sighted and who have imagination, you are also a
theorist. I believe your idea is the true one, but to stand for
Parliament as a Labour member you have to belong to one of the
acknowledged factions to be sure of any support at all. An independent
member can count his votes by the capful."

"That is the old system," she pointed out firmly. "It is for you to
introduce a new one. If necessary, you must stoop to political cunning.
You should make use of those very factions until you are strong enough
to stand by yourself. Through their enmity amongst themselves, one of
them would come to your side, anyway. But I should like to see you
discard all old parliamentary methods. I should like to see you speak
to the heart of the man who is going to record his vote."

"It is a slow matter to win votes in units," he reminded her.

"But it is the real way," she insisted. "Voting by party and government
by party will soon come to an end. It must. All that it needs is a
strong man with a definite programme of his own, to attack the whole
principle."

He looked away from the sea towards the woman by his side. The wind was
blowing in her face, blowing back little strands of her tightly coiled
hair, blowing back her coat and skirt, outlining her figure with soft
and graceful distinction. She was young, healthy and splendid, full of
all the enthusiasm of her age. He sighed a little bitterly.

"All that you say," he reminded her, "should have been said to me by the
little brown girl in Paris, years ago. I am too old now for great
tasks."

She turned towards him with the pitying yet pleasant air of one who
would correct a child.

"You are forty-nine years old and three months," she said.

"How on earth did you know that?" he demanded.

She smiled.

"A valuable little red book called 'Who's Who.' You see, it is no use
your trying to pose as a Methuselah. For a politician you are a young
man. You have time and strength for the greatest of all tasks. Find
some other excuse, sir, if you talk of laying down the sword and picking
up the shuttle."

He looked back seawards. His eyes were following the flight of a
seagull, wheeling in the sunlight.

"I suppose you are right," he acknowledged. "No man is too old for
work."

"I beg your pardon, sir."

They turned abruptly around. They had been so engrossed that they had
not n