“the world will not believe a man repents.

and this wise world of ours is mainly right.”

“then you are of opinion, my dear white, that one cannot well refuse to meet these—er—persons?”

“not,” replied major white to lord ferriby, whose hand rested on his stout arm as they walked with dignity in the shade of the trees that border the vyver—that quaint old fish-pond of the hague—“not without running the risk of being called a d——d swindler.”

for the major was a lamentably plain-spoken man, who said but little, and said that little strong. lord ferriby's affectionate grasp of the soldier's arm relaxed imperceptibly. one must, he reflected, be prepared to meet unpleasantness in the good cause of charity—but there are words hardly applicable to the peerage, and major white had made use of one of these.

“public opinion,” observed the major, after some minutes of deep thought, “is a difficult thing to deal with—'cos you cannot thump the public.”

“it is notably hard,” said his lordship, firing off one of his pet platform platitudes, “to induce the public to form a correct estimate, or what one takes to be a correct estimate.”

“especially of one's self,” added the major, looking across the water towards the binnenhof in his vacant way.

then they turned and walked back again beneath the heavy shade of the trees. the conversation, and indeed this dignified promenade on the vyverberg, had been brought about by a letter which his lordship had received that same morning inviting him to attend a meeting of paper-makers and others interested in the malgamite trade to consider the position of the malgamite charity, and the advisability of taking legal proceedings to close the works on the dunes at scheveningen. the meeting was to be held at the h?tel des indes, at three in the afternoon, and the conveners hinted pretty plainly that the proceedings would be of a decisive nature. the letter left lord ferriby with a vague feeling of discomfort. his position was somewhat isolated. a coldness had for some time been in existence between himself and his nephew, tony cornish. of mr. wade, lord ferriby was slightly distrustful.

“these commercial men,” he often said, “are apt to hold such narrow views.”

and, indeed, to steer a straight course through life, one must not look to one side or the other.

there remained major white, of whom lord ferriby had thought more highly since fortune had called this plain soldier to take a seat among the gods of the british public. for no man is proof against the satisfaction of being able to call a celebrated person by his christian name. the major had long admired joan, in his stupid way from, as one might say, the other side of the room. but neither lord nor lady ferriby had encouraged this silent suit. joan was theoretically one of those of whom it is said that “she might marry anybody,” and who, as the keen observer may see for himself, often finishes by failing to marry at all. she was pretty and popular, and had, moreover, the entrée to the best houses. white had been useful to lord ferriby ever since the inauguration of the malgamite scheme. he was not uncomfortably clever, like tony cornish. he was an excellent buffer at jarring periods. since the arrival of joan and her father at the hague, the major had been almost a necessity in their daily life, and now, quite suddenly, lord ferriby found that this was the only person to whom he could turn for advice or support.

“one cannot suppose,” he said, in the full conviction that words will meet any emergency—“one cannot suppose that von holzen will act in direct opposition to the voice of the majority.”

“von holzen,” replied the major, “plays a doocid good game.”

after luncheon they walked across the toornoifeld to the h?tel des indes, and there, in a small salon, found a number of gentlemen seated round a table. mr. wade was conspicuous by his absence. they had, indeed, left him in the hotel garden, sitting at the consumption of an excellent cigar.

“join the jocund dance?” the major had inquired, with a jerk of the head towards the h?tel des indes. but mr. wade was going for a drive with marguerite.

tony cornish was, however, seated at the table, and the major recognized two paper-makers whom he had seen before. one was an aggressive, red-headed man, of square shoulders and a dogged appearance, who had “radical” written all over him. the other was a mild-mannered person, with a thin, ash-colored moustache. the major nodded affably. he distinctly remembered offering to fight these two gentlemen either together or one after the other on the landing of the little malgamite office in westminster. and there was a faint twinkle behind the major's eyeglass as he saluted them.

“good morning, thompson,” he said. “how do, machewlett?” for he never forgot a face or a name.

“a'hm thinking——” mr. machewlett was observing, but his thoughts died a natural death at the sight of a real lord, and he rose and bowed. mr. thompson remained seated and made that posture as aggressive and obvious as possible. the remainder of the company were of varied nationality and appearance, while one, a frenchman of keen dark eyes and a trim beard—seemed by tacit understanding to be the acknowledged leader. even the pushing mr. thompson silently deferred to him by a gesture that served at once to introduce lord ferriby and invite the frenchman to up and smite him.

lord ferriby took the seat that had been left vacant for him at the

head of the table. he looked around upon faces not too friendly.

“we were saying, my lord,” said the frenchman, in perfect english and

with that graceful tact which belongs to france alone, “that we have

all been the victims of an unfortunate chain of misunderstandings.

had the organizers of this great charity consulted a few paper-makers

before inaugurating the works at scheveningen, much unpleasantness

might have been averted, many lives might, alas, have been spared.

but—well—such mundane persons as ourselves were probably unknown to

you and unthought-of; the milk is spilt, is it not so? let us rather

think of the future.”

lord ferriby bowed graciously, and mr. thompson moved impatiently on his chair. the suave method had no attractions for him.

“a'hm thinking,” began mr. machewlett, in his most plaintive voice, and commanded so sudden and universal an attention as to be obviously disconcerted, “his lordship'll need plainer speech than that,” he muttered hastily, and subsided, with an uneasy glance in the direction of that man of action, major white.

“one misunderstanding has, however, been happily dispelled,” said the frenchman, “by our friend—if monsieur will permit the word—our friend, mr. cornish. from this gentleman we have learned that the executive of the malgamite charity are not by any means in harmony with the executive of the malgamite works at scheveningen; that, indeed, the charity repudiates the action of its servants in manufacturing malgamite by a dangerous process tacitly and humanely set aside by makers up to this time; that the administrators of the fund are no party to the 'corner' which has been established in the product; do not desire to secure a monopoly, and disapprove of the sale of malgamite at a price which has already closed one or two of the smaller mills, and is paralyzing the paper trade of the world.”

the speaker finished with a bow towards cornish, and resumed his seat. all were watching lord ferriby's face, except major white, who examined a quill pen with short-sighted absorption. lord ferriby looked across the table at cornish.

“lord ferriby,” said cornish, without rising from his seat, and meeting his uncle's glance steadily, “will now no doubt confirm all that monsieur creil has said.”

lord ferriby had, in truth, come to the meeting with no such intention. he had, with all his vast experience, no knowledge of a purely commercial assembly such as this. his public had hitherto been a drawing-room public. he was accustomed to a flower-decked platform, from which to deliver his flowing periods to the emotional of both sexes. there were no flowers in this room at the h?tel des indes, and the men before him were not of the emotional school. they were, on the contrary, plain, hard-headed men of business, who had come from different parts of the world at cornish's bidding to meet a crisis in a plain, hard-headed way. they had only thoughts of their balance-sheets, and not of the fact that they held in the hollow of their hands the lives of hundreds, nay, of thousands, of men, women, and children. monsieur creil alone, the keen-eyed frenchman, had absolute control of over three thousand employees—married men with children—but he did not think of mentioning the fact. and it is a weight to carry about with one—to go to sleep with and to awake with in the morning—the charge of, say, nine thousand human lives.

for a few moments lord ferriby was silent. cornish watched him across the table. he knew that his uncle was no fool, although his wisdom amounted to little more than the wisdom of the worldly. would lord ferriby recognize the situation in time? there was a wavering look in the great man's eye that made his nephew suddenly anxious. then lord ferriby rose slowly, to make the shortest speech that he had ever made in his life.

“gentlemen,” he said, “i beg to confirm what has just been said.”

as he sat down again, cornish gave a sharp sigh of relief. in a moment mr. thompson was on his feet, his red face alight with democratic anger.

“this won't do,” he cried. “let's have done with palavering and talk. let's get to plain speaking.”

and it was not lord ferriby, but tony cornish, who rose to meet the attack.

“if you will sit down,” he said, “and keep your temper, you shall have plain speaking, and we can get to business. but if you do neither, i shall turn you out of the room.”

“you?”

“yes,” answered tony. and something which mr. thompson did not understand made him resume his seat in silence. the frenchman smiled, and took up his speech where he had left it.

“mr. cornish,” he said, “speaks with authority. we are, gentlemen, in the hands of mr. cornish, and in good hands. he has this matter at the tips of his fingers. he has devoted himself to it for many months past, at considerable risk, as i suspect, to his own safety. we and the thousands of employees whom we represent cannot do better than entrust the situation to him, and give him a free hand. for once, capital and labour have a common interest——”

he was again interrupted by mr. thompson, who spoke more quietly now.

“it seems to me,” he said, “that we may well consider the past for a few minutes before passing on to the future. there's more than a million pounds profit, at the lowest reckoning, on the last few months' manufacture. question is, where is that profit? is this a charity, or is it not? mr. cornish is all very well in his way. but we're not fools. we're men of business, and as such can only presume that mr. cornish, like the rest of 'em, has had his share. question is, where are the profits?”

major white rose slowly. he was seated beside mr. thompson, and, standing up, towered above him. he looked down at the irate red face with a calm and wondering eye.

“question is,” he said gravely, “where the deuce you will be in a few minutes if you don't shut up.”

whereupon mr. thompson once more resumed his seat. he had the satisfaction, however, of perceiving that his shaft had reached its mark; for lord ferriby looked disconcerted and angry. the chairman of many charities looked, moreover, a little puzzled, as if the situation was beyond his comprehension. the frenchman's pleasant voice again broke in, soothingly and yet authoritatively.

“mr. cornish and a certain number of us have, for some time, been in correspondence,” he said. “it is unnecessary for me to suggest to my present hearers that in dealing with a large industry—in handling, as it were, the lives of a number of persons—it is impossible to proceed too cautiously. one must look as far ahead as human foresight may perceive—one must give grave and serious thought to every possible outcome of action or inaction. gentlemen, we have done our best. we are now in a position to say to the administrators of the malgamite fund, close your works and we will do the rest. and this means that we shall provide for the survivors of this great commercial catastrophe, that we shall care for the widows and children of the victims, that we shall supply ourselves with malgamite of our own manufacture, produced only by a process which is known to be harmless, that we shall make it impossible that such a monopoly may again be declared. we have, so far as lies in our power, provided for every emergency. we have approached the two men who, from their retreat on the dunes of scheveningen, have swayed one of the large industries of the world. we have offered them a fortune. we have tried threats and money, but we have failed to close them but one alternative, and that is—war. we are prepared in every way. we can to-morrow take over the manufacture of malgamite for the whole world—but we must have the works on the dunes at scheveningen. we must have the absolute control of the malgamite fund and of the works. we propose, gentlemen, to seize this control, and invest the supreme command in the one man who is capable of exercising it—mr. anthony cornish.”

the frenchman sat down, looked across the table, and shrugged his shoulders impatiently; for the irrepressible thompson was already on his feet. it must be remembered that mr. thompson worked on commission, and had been hard hit.

“then,” he cried, pointing a shaking forefinger into lord ferriby's face, “that man has no business to be sitting there. we're honest here—if we're nothing else. we all know your history, my fine gentleman; we know that you cannot wipe out the past, so you're trying to whitewash it over with good works. that's an old trick, and it won't go down here. do you think we don't see through you and your palavering speeches? why have you refused to take action against roden and von holzen? because they've paid you. look at him, gentlemen! he has taken money from those men at scheveningen—blood money. he has had his share. i propose that lord ferriby explains his position.”

mr. thompson banged his fist on the table, and at the same moment sat down with extreme precipitation, urged thereto by major white's hand on his collar.

“this is not a vestry meeting,” said the major, sternly.

lord ferriby had risen to his feet. “my position, gentlemen,” he began, and then faltered, with his hand at his watch-chain. “my position——” he stopped with a gulp. his face was the colour of ashes. he turned in a dazed way towards his nephew; for at the beginning and the end of life blood is thicker than water. “anthony,” said his lordship, and sat down heavily.

all rose to their feet in confusion. major white seemed somehow to be quicker than the rest, and caught lord ferriby in his arms—but lord ferriby was dead.