at his presence, concealed out of deference to her host, reduced her to
stolid and unbending silence. Elisabeth, quickly aware of the fact,
made swift atonement. While the others talked all around them of
general subjects, she conversed with Maraton almost in whispers, lightly
enough at first, but with an undernote of seriousness always there.
Maraton would have been less than human if he had not been susceptible
to the charm of her conversation.

"I cannot tell you," she declared, towards the end of the meal, "how
much I am hoping from this brief visit of yours. I know you feel that
our class has little feeling for the people whom you represent. If only
I could convince you how wrong that idea is! Nothing has interested me
so much as the different measures which have been brought in for the
sake of the people. And my uncle, too--he is the kindest of men and
very broad. He would go even further than he does, but for his
colleagues."

"He goes a long way," Maraton reminded her, "when he asks me to his
home; invites me--well, why should I not say it?--invites me to join his
party."

"He is doing what he believes is sensible," she went on eagerly. "He is
doing what I know is right. It is the best, the most splendid idea he
has ever had. I think that if nothing comes of it," she added, leaning
forward so that her eyes met his, "I think that if nothing comes of it,
it will break my heart."

Maraton was a little more serious for a few minutes. She waited in some
anxiety for him to speak. When he did so, she realised that there was a
new gravity in his face and in his tone.