"If the world were properly stage-managed, that's what you ought to be," he said, "the wife of a Prime Minister. I can see you giving such an excellent performance.""I must talk to Mary," he added, "see if we can't get you off on some promising young Under Secretary.""Don't give me ideas above my station," laughed Joan. "I'm a journalist.""That's the pity of it," he said. "You're wasting the most important thing about you, your personality. You would do more good in a drawing-room, influencing the rulers, than you will ever do hiding behind a pen. It was the drawing-room that made the French Revolution."The firelight played about her hair. "I suppose every woman dreams of reviving the old French Salon," she answered. "They must have been gloriously interesting." He was leaning forward with clasped hands. "Why shouldn't she?" he said. "The reason that our drawing-rooms have ceased to lead is that our beautiful women are generally frivolous and our clever women unfeminine. What we are waiting for is an English Madame Roland."Joan laughed. "Perhaps I shall some day," she answered.
He insisted on seeing her as far as the bus. It was a soft, mild night; and they walked round the Circle to Gloucester Gate. He thought there would be more room in the buses at that point.
"I wish you would come oftener," he said. "Mary has taken such a liking to you. If you care to meet people, we can always whip up somebody of interest."She promised that she would. She always felt curiously at home with the Greysons.
They were passing the long sweep of Chester Terrace. "I like this neighbourhood with its early Victorian atmosphere," she said. "It always makes me feel quiet and good. I don't know why.""I like the houses, too," he said. "There's a character about them. You don't often find such fine drawing-rooms in London.""Don't forget your promise," he reminded her, when they parted. "Ishall tell Mary she may write to you."
She met Carleton by chance a day or two later, as she was entering the office. "I want to see you," he said; and took her up with him into his room.
"We must stir the people up about this food business," he said, plunging at once into his subject. "Phillips is quite right. It overshadows everything. We must make the country self-supporting.
It can be done and must. If a war were to be sprung upon us we could be starved out in a month. Our navy, in face of these new submarines, is no longer able to secure us. France is working day and night upon them. It may be a bogey, or it may not. If it isn't, she would have us at her mercy; and it's too big a risk to run. You live in the same house with him, don't you? Do you often see him?""Not often," she answered.
He was reading a letter. "You were dining there on Friday night, weren't you?" he asked her, without looking up.
Joan flushed. What did he mean by cross-examining her in this way?
She was not at all used to impertinence from the opposite sex.
"Your information is quite correct," she answered.
Her anger betrayed itself in her tone; and he shot a swift glance at her.
"I didn't mean to offend you," he said. "A mutual friend, a Mr.
Airlie, happened to be of the party, and he mentioned you."He threw aside the letter. "I'll tell you what I want you to do,"he said. "It's nothing to object to. Tell him that you've seen me and had a talk. I understand his scheme to be that the country should grow more and more food until it eventually becomes self-supporting; and that the Government should control the distribution. Tell him that with that I'm heart and soul in sympathy; and would like to help him." He pushed aside a pile of papers and, leaning across the desk, spoke with studied deliberation. "If he can see his way to making his policy dependent upon Protection, we can work together.""And if he can't?" suggested Joan.
He fixed his large, colourless eyes upon her. "That's where you can help him," he answered. "If he and I combine forces, we can pull this through in spite of the furious opposition that it is going to arouse. Without a good Press he is helpless; and where is he going to get his Press backing if he turns me down? From half a dozen Socialist papers whose support will do him more harm than good. If he will bring the working class over to Protection I will undertake that the Tariff Reformers and the Agricultural Interest shall accept his Socialism. It will be a victory for both of us.
"If he gain his end, what do the means matter?" he continued, as Joan did not answer. "Food may be dearer; the Unions can square that by putting up wages; while the poor devil of a farm labourer will at last get fair treatment. We can easily insist upon that.
What do you think, yourself?"
"About Protection," she answered. "It's one of the few subjects Ihaven't made up my mind about."
He laughed. "You will find all your pet reforms depend upon it, when you come to work them out," he said. "You can't have a minimum wage without a minimum price."They had risen.
"I'll give him your message," said Joan. "But I don't see him exchanging his principles even for your support. I admit it's important.""Talk it over with him," he said. "And bear this in mind for your own guidance." He took a step forward, which brought his face quite close to hers: "If he fails, and all his life's work goes for nothing, I shall be sorry; but I shan't break my heart. He will."Joan dropped a note into Phillips's letter-box on her return home, saying briefly that she wished to see him; and he sent up answer asking her if she would come to the gallery that evening, and meet him after his speech, which would be immediately following the dinner hour.
