"It is hard lines, dear," she admitted. "You are tired, too. You
look as though you had been up all night."

"Yes, I am tired," he answered, sinking into a chair. "I am worse
than tired. This has been the grossest failure of my career, and I
am afraid that it is the end of everything. I have lost twenty
thousand pounds of Secret Service money; I have lost the one chance
which might have saved England. They will never trust me again."

"You did your best," she said, coming over and sitting on the arm
of his chair. "You did your best, David."

She laid her hands upon his forehead, her cheek against his - smooth
and cold - exquisitely refreshing it seemed to his jaded nerves.

"Ah, Louise!" he murmured, "life is getting a little too strenuous.
Perhaps we have given too much of it up to others. What do you
think?"

She shook her head.

"Dear, I have felt like that sometimes, yet what can we do? Could
we be happy, you and I, in exile, if the things which we dread were
coming to pass? Could I go away and hide while my countrymen were
being butchered out of existence? - And you - you are not the sort
of man to be content with an ignoble peace. No, it isn't possible.
Our work may not be over yet - "

There was a knock at the door, and Annette entered with many
apologies.