"All that you say," he reminded her, "should have been said to me by the
little brown girl in Paris, years ago. I am too old now for great
tasks."

She turned towards him with the pitying yet pleasant air of one who
would correct a child.

"You are forty-nine years old and three months," she said.

"How on earth did you know that?" he demanded.

She smiled.

"A valuable little red book called 'Who's Who.' You see, it is no use
your trying to pose as a Methuselah. For a politician you are a young
man. You have time and strength for the greatest of all tasks. Find
some other excuse, sir, if you talk of laying down the sword and picking
up the shuttle."

He looked back seawards. His eyes were following the flight of a
seagull, wheeling in the sunlight.

"I suppose you are right," he acknowledged. "No man is too old for
work."

"I beg your pardon, sir."

They turned abruptly around. They had been so engrossed that they had
not noticed the sound of footsteps. Robert, a little out of breath, was