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offered me any principles. Your party shibboleths are not principles. If you get into power again you will find yourself at the head of a rabble of Socialists and anti-Socialists, of Jingo Imperialists and Little Englanders, of cast-iron Materialists and ecstatic Quakers, of Christian Scientists and Compulsory Inoculationists, of Syndicalists and Bureaucrats: in short, of men differing fiercely and irreconcilably on every principle that goes to the root of human society and destiny; and the impossibility of keeping such a team together will force you to sell the pass again to the solid Conservative Opposition. Burge Rising in wrath. Sell the pass again! You accuse me of having sold the pass! Franklyn When the terrible impact of real warfare swept your parliamentary sham warfare into the dustbin, you had to go behind the backs of your followers and make a secret agreement with the leaders of the Opposition to keep you in power on condition that you dropped all legislation of which they did not approve. And you could not even hold them to their bargain; for they presently betrayed the secret and forced the coalition on you. Burge I solemnly declare that this is a false and monstrous accusation. Franklyn Do you deny that the thing occurred? Were the uncontradicted reports false? Were the published letters forgeries? Burge Certainly not. But I did not do it. I was not Prime Minister then. It was that old dotard, that played-out old humbug Lubin. He was Prime Minister then, not I. Franklyn Do you mean to say you did not know? Burge Sitting down again with a shrug. Oh, I had to be told. But what could I do? If we had refused we might have had to go out of office. Franklyn Precisely. Burge Well, could we desert the country at such a crisis? The Hun was at the gate. Everyone has to make sacrifices for the sake of the country at such moments. We had to rise above party; and I am proud to say we never gave party a second thought. We stuck to⁠— Conrad Office? Burge Turning on him. Yes, sir, to office: that is, to responsibility, to danger, to heart-sickening toil, to abuse and misunderstanding, to a martyrdom that made us envy the very soldiers in the trenches. If you had had to live for months on aspirin and bromide of potassium to get a wink of sleep, you wouldn’t talk about office as if it were a catch. Franklyn Still, you admit that under our parliamentary system Lubin could not have helped himself? Burge On that subject my lips are closed. Nothing will induce me to say one word against the old man. I never have; and I never will. Lubin is old: he has never been a real statesman: he is as lazy as a cat on a hearthrug: you can’t get him to attend to anything: he is good for nothing but getting up and making speeches with a peroration that goes down with the back benches. But I say nothing against him. I gather that you do not think much of me as a statesman; but at all events I can get things done. I can hustle: even you will admit that. But Lubin! Oh my stars, Lubin!! If you only knew⁠— The parlor maid opens the door and announces a visitor. The Parlor Maid Mr. Lubin. Burge Bounding from his chair. Lubin! Is this a conspiracy? They all rise in amazement, staring at the door. Lubin enters: a man at the end of his sixties, a Yorkshireman with the last traces of Scandinavian flax still in his white hair, undistinguished in stature, unassuming in his manner, and taking his simple dignity for granted, but wonderfully comfortable and quite self-assured in contrast to the intellectual restlessness of Franklyn and the mesmeric self-assertiveness of Burge. His presence suddenly brings out the fact that they are unhappy men, ill at ease, square pegs in round holes, whilst he flourishes like a primrose. The parlor maid withdraws. Lubin Coming to Franklyn. How do you do, Mr. Barnabas? He speaks very comfortably and kindly, much as if he were the host, and Franklyn an embarrassed but welcome guest. I had the pleasure of meeting you once at the Mansion House. I think it was to celebrate the conclusion of the hundred years peace with America. Franklyn Shaking hands. It was long before that: a meeting about Venezuela, when we were on the point of going to war with America. Lubin Not at all put out. Yes: you are quite right. I knew it was something about America. He pats Franklyn’s hand. And how have you been all this time? Well, eh? Franklyn Smiling to soften the sarcasm. A few vicissitudes of health naturally in so long a time. Lubin Just so. Just so. Looking round at Savvy. The young lady is⁠—? Franklyn My daughter, Savvy. Savvy comes from the window between her father and Lubin. Lubin Taking her hand affectionately in both his. And why has she never come to see us? Burge I don’t know whether you have noticed, Lubin, that I am present. Savvy takes advantage of this diversion to slip away to the settee, where she is stealthily joined by Haslam, who sits down on her left. Lubin Seating himself in Burge’s chair with ineffable comfortableness. My dear Burge: if you imagine that it is possible to be within ten miles of your energetic presence without being acutely aware of it, you do yourself the greatest injustice. How are you? And how are your good newspaper friends? Burge makes an explosive movement; but Lubin goes on calmly and sweetly. And what are you doing here with my old friend Barnabas, if I may ask? Burge Sitting down in Conrad’s chair, leaving him standing uneasily in the corner. Well, just what you are doing, if you want to know. I am trying to enlist Mr. Barnabas’s valuable