rumour is untrue."

CHAPTER XI

Nicholas Fenn, although civilisation had laid a heavy hand upon him
during the last few years, was certainly not a man whose outward
appearance denoted any advance in either culture or taste. His morning
clothes, although he had recently abandoned the habit of dealing at a
ready-made emporium, were neither well chosen nor well worn. His evening
attire was, if possible, worse. He met Catherine that evening in
the lobby of what he believed to be a fashionable grillroom, in a
swallow-tailed coat, a badly fitting shirt with a single stud-hole, a
black tie, a collar which encircled his neck like a clerical band, and
ordinary walking boots. She repressed a little shiver as she shook
hands and tried to remember that this was not only the man whom several
millions of toilers had chosen to be their representative, but also
the duly appointed secretary of the most momentous assemblage of human
beings in the world's history.

"I hope I am not late," she said. "I really do not care much about
dining out, these days, but your message was so insistent."

"One must have relaxation," he declared. "The weight of affairs all day
long is a terrible strain. Shall we go in?"

They entered the room and stood looking aimlessly about them, Fenn
having, naturally enough, failed to realise the necessity of securing a
table. A maitre d'hotel, however, recognised Catherine and hastened to
their rescue. She conversed with the man for a few minutes in
French, while her companion listened admiringly, and finally, at his
solicitation, herself ordered the dinner.

"The news, please, Mr. Fenn?" she asked, as soon as the man had
withdrawn.

"News?" he repeated. "Oh, let's leave it alone for a time! One gets sick
of shop."

She raised her eyebrows a little discouragingly. She was dressed with
extraordinary simplicity, but the difference in caste between the two
supplied a problem for many curious observers.

"Why should we talk of trifles," she demanded, "when we both have such a
great interest in the most wonderful subject in the world?"

"What is the most wonderful subject in the world?" he asked
impressively.

"Our cause, of course," she answered firmly, "the cause of all the
peoples--Peace."

"One labours the whole day long for that," he grumbled. "When the hour
for rest comes, surely one may drop it for a time?"

"Do you feel like that?" she remarked indifferently. "For myself, during
these da