comfortably off. I wonder why
on earth she does it.'

He looked at Hyacinth as if he expected some sort of explanation to be
forthcoming.

'Does what?' asked Hyacinth at length.

'Oh, all this revolutionary business: the _Croppy_, seditious speeches,
and now this rot about helping the Boers. What does she stand to gain by
it? I don't suppose there's any money in the business, and a woman
like that might get all the notoriety she wants in her own proper set,
without stumping the country and talking rot.'

This way of looking at Augusta Goold's patriotism was new to Hyacinth,
and he resented it.

'I suppose she believes in the principles she professes,' he said.

The Captain looked at him curiously, and then took a drink of his
whisky-and-soda.

'Well,' he said, 'let's suppose she does. After all, her motives are
nothing to us, and she's a damned fine woman, whatever she does it for.'

He drank again.

'It would have been very pleasant, now, if she would have spent the next
few weeks with me in Paris. You won't mind my saying that I'd rather
have had her than you, Conneally, as a companion in a little burst.
However, I saw at once that it wouldn't do. Anyone with an eye in his
head could tell at a glance that she wasn't that sort.'

He sighed. Hyacinth was not quite sure that he understood. The
suggestion was so calmly made and reasoned on that it seemed impossible
that it could be as iniquitous as it appeared.

'There's no one such an utter fool about women,' went on the Captain,
'as your respectable married man, who never does anything wrong himself.
I'd heard of Miss Goold, as everybody has, and listened to discussions
about her character. You know just as well as I do the sort of things
they say about her.'

Hyacinth did know very well, and flared up in defence of his patroness.

'They are vile lies.'

'That's just what I'm saying. Those respectable people who tell the lies
are such fools. They think that every woman who doesn't mew about
at afternoon parties must be a bad one. Now, anyone with a little
experience would know at once that Miss Goold--what's this the other
one called her? Oh yes, Finola--that Finola may be a fool, but she's not
_that_.'

He pulled himself together as he spoke. Evidently he plumed himself, on
his experience and the faculty for judging it had brought him.

'Now, I'd just as soon have asked my sister-in-law to come to Paris with
me for a fortnight as Finola. You don't