ii

"All you say confirms my own view," Gaythorpe was commenting thoughtfully. "It confirms the reports we've been getting. It's no good being bold, you think?"

Edgar smiled, shaking his head.

"I wonder what you mean by 'bold,'" he said. Gaythorpe, watching him, caught the lightness behind his friend's gravity, but he did not smile. He waited. He was not the only one of those older men who had this strange warming of the heart towards Edgar. Although trustworthiness may generally command respect, it is only truly valued in terms of affection by those to whom it is not a reproach.

"Exactly 'bold,'" he remarked at last. "Just 'bold.'"

"It's always worth while to be generous," answered Edgar.

"Personally, perhaps." Gaythorpe hesitated. "But in business—my dear boy!"

"Well, you've had conferences and committees sitting for years, and discussing things all over the world. They cut a figure in the press. Does any one believe in them as productive of solutions? They're like letters, or any other form of imitation dignity. It's quite easy to hit on a formula; but the formula isn't a reality. Once get a group of men together with conflicting interests——"

"A common interest," supplemented Gaythorpe. "It's come to that when the world's in danger of bankruptcy."

"Conflicting self-interest. Any number of people can agree on a principle; but bring them into relation with others dominated by a rival self-interest, and you're helpless."

"Pool your self-interest. Face it," Gaythorpe suggested. "Use it as the basis of agreement."

Edgar smiled slightly, his hands clasped upon the table.

"You'll never do that in international finance," he said. "At any rate, as long as nationalism's a gospel."

"Oh, I agree. But that's precisely what we've got to kill." Gaythorpe was so eager that he raised a finger. Edgar leaned forward, his face no longer at all grave. He looked at the old man with compassion.

"Travel, my friend. You'll become a defeatist," he said. "Nationalism's such an easy thing to teach. Besides, selfishness is the gospel of the day. You really must take human beings into account. How are you going to move them? Not by altruism. There are good men, who think in good-will; but they can't imagine other men in bulk. They talk about Germans, or wages, or exports; but they don't feel reality when they do that. I mean, not the reality of wine upset or a train to catch or a toothache. It's all like casting a column of figures. They don't feel themselves personally affected. Any more than they do when they talk of stabilising the world. No. The only thing is to work for some defined clash, to formulate an altruistic policy and give it a selfish aim. Then embark on a campaign of propaganda, showing that it pays to be good and do right—that it's going to reduce income tax or the cost of petrol. Enlarge your group. Make it first English—Anglo-Saxon—European—then World-wide. But you've got to make it a party policy, an issue. Have a scrap—a scrap of ideas and convictions. Divide England into two fierce political camps, and restore political life in England. Then carry your policy into action. You could sweep the world in a generation."

Gaythorpe good-humouredly shook his head.

"It's an altruistic resolution in itself," he objected. "You'd be bankrupt long before you succeeded. You'd have burnt your house to roast your pig. But I'm glad to find you such an idealist. If you carry such principles into your private life it must be exciting. All the same, rather Quixotic."

Edgar laughed slightly.

"Oh," he said. "As to private life, I'm a sentimentalist like yourself."

"I wonder." Gaythorpe pondered.

"On the surface. It's self interest at bottom, I expect. If I try to do good it's to gratify myself. I want other people to do what I think is good for them."

Gaythorpe was pleased at the turn which Edgar's remarks had taken, because Edgar too seldom spoke about himself, and this was a subject which interested Gaythorpe, who was really human, more than most others. Further, this was a side of Edgar which he did not know, and it had its attractiveness upon that score also.

"If you try to help them," Gaythorpe suggested, "it must be from disinterested good-will."

"Not always," replied Edgar, very promptly. "It's a complex question. But why do I—why does anybody else do the same?—help willingly those I like—those who are young and attractive, or those who move my affection? Why don't I help those I dislike? Why do I feel, at any rate, extremely unwilling to help those I dislike?"

"Because it would be morbid self-mortification to help anybody you dislike."

"No, no. I'm thinking of a state of mind. If I can help somebody I like, it's a perfectly instinctive thing. But just remember how many objections and difficulties rush to your mind when you're asked to help somebody who is disagreeable to you."

Gaythorpe answered shrewdly enough:

"You're thinking of somebody in particular?"

Edgar started.

"In both instances," he agreed. "No, in one only."

Gaythorpe gave a snort of pretended annoyance. His keen old face was benevolent.

"That's the worst of these damned generalisations," he cried. "One sees them exploded each instant. You see fifty people abroad, and you put their views into a general statement of the actual position of millions. You come back. You find, perhaps, a letter—two letters——"

"One letter," corrected Edgar.

"Exactly. And they say women have the monopoly of that form of inflation!"

"I'm not going into details," calmly warned Edgar. "My generalisations were quite—quite general. The fact that I had a letter is an accident. It doesn't affect the generalisation."

Gaythorpe was a cunning man. He was sixty, and he knew something of the world. He said, in a tone which was altogether respectful:

"As you know, I'm not ... not exactly given to sentimental questioning; but was your letter from a woman?"

"From a man," explained Edgar, with a touch of malice. "About his own financial affairs. It had no relation whatever to a woman."

"Hm," grunted Gaythorpe. "I think you said he was the unattractive person?"

"The attractive person was hypothetical," said Edgar.

"Oh, yes," agreed Gaythorpe. "Quite so. Quite so. Well, after all, you've been away over a month; and much may happen in that time. I didn't, of course, suppose that you had any specially young and attractive beneficiary in mind. It would not have occurred to me." He was silent for an instant after this somewhat dry protest. "Nevertheless, I ... I must own to considerable interest in your correspondent, since he ... ah ... affects you——"

"No." Edgar smilingly shook his head. "You're a very inquisitive old man; and you have a great gift for wheedling information. But you won't get any more. Come and smoke now."

He rose from the table.

"I was so interested," grumbled Gaythorpe; and stood up to his lean height of six feet. He followed Edgar across the room, and there waited. His thin face was unreadable; but he was consumed with curiosity.