Maraton's eyes lit up with mirth.

"Excellent!" he observed. "I have had one framed."

"He is standing," Lord Armley continued, turning to Mr. Foley, "on the
topmost of three tubs, his hair flying in the wind, his mouth open to
about twice its normal size, with fire and smoke coming out of it. And
below, a multitude! It is a splendid caricature. They tell me, Mr.
Maraton, that it is your intention to kindle the fires in England, too."

Maraton was suddenly grave.

"Lord Armley," he said, "all the world speaks of me as an apostle of
destruction and death. It is because they see a very little distance.
In my own thoughts, if ever I do think of myself, it is as a builder,
not as a destroyer, that I picture myself. Only in this world, as in
any other, one must destroy first to build upon a sound foundation."

"Good reasoning, sir," Lord Armley replied, "only one should be very
sure, before one destroys, that the new order of things will be worthy
of the sacrifice."

"After dinner," Mr. Foley remarked, as he lit a cigarette, "we are
going to talk. At present, Maraton is under a solemn promise to play
tennis."

Maraton looked towards the house.

"If I might be allowed," he said, "I will go and put on my flannels.