"What a picture for the photographic Press of America!" he exclaimed.
"The anarchist of Chicago and the Prime Minister's niece!"

"What is an anarchist?" she asked him abruptly. He opened the little
iron gate which led out of the garden.

"A sower of fire and destruction," he answered, "a highly unpleasant
person to meet when he's in earnest."

She looked into his face for a moment with a wistfulness which was
almost passionate.

"Please tell me at once, that you aren't--"

He pointed back to the garden.

"We have come out of the land of confessions. On this side of the gate
I am your uncle's guest, and I mustn't be teased with questions."

"Before you go," she threatened, "I shall take you back into the
rose-garden."

From their wicker chairs drawn under a great cedar tree, Mr. Foley and
Lord Armley, perhaps the most distinguished of his colleagues, watched
the slow approach of the two from the flower gardens. Lord Armley, who
had only arrived during the last half hour, was recovering from a fit of
astonishment. He had just been told of his fellow guest.

"Granted, even, that the man is as dangerous as you say," he remarked,
"it is certainly creating a new precedent for you to bring him into the