She took his hands in hers to keep them warm. The nursing habit seemed to have taken root in her. After a while, her eyes opened. Joan drew her chair nearer and slipped her arm in under her, and their eyes met.!

“In what way?” questioned Joan. Joan seated herself on one of the chairs ranged round the walls, and drew the girl down beside her. Through the closed door, the mingled voices of the Foreign Secretary’s guests sounded curiously like the buzzing of flies.

“It doesn’t matter, dearie,” she explained. “They know, if they find it open, that I’m in.” The nurse shot her a swift glance. “I’m glad of that,” she said dryly. She let Joan go upstairs. “They would never overtake the farmer,” he answered, with a laugh. “And the last word would always be with him. I am out to get rid of the landlords,” he continued, “not to establish them as the permanent rulers of the country, as they are in Germany. The people are more powerful—just a little, because they are no longer dependent on the land. They can say to the farmer, ‘All right, my son, if that’s your figure, I’m going to the shop next door—to South America, to Canada, to Russia.’ It isn’t a satisfactory solution. I want to see England happy and healthy before I bother about the Argentine. It drives our men into the slums when they might be living fine lives in God’s fresh air. In the case of war it might be disastrous. There, I agree with him. We must be able to shut our door without fear of having to open it ourselves to ask for bread. How would Protection accomplish that? Did he tell you?”