Ey Austin Philips 
Illustrated by Gilbert Holiday 
IS is your train, ma’am. 
}oes straight down again 
—doesn’t run into Charing 
hoss. But just one 
ninute, ma’am. There’s 
i big crowd to come out 1 ” 
The inspector made a 
gesture ; the woman he addressed moved 
back. The train from the outer suburbs 
swung into dingy Cannon Street, and slowed 
up. The station was a hive of humanity ; a 
hive that swarmed and fled. Few had eyes 
for her who waited upon the emptying of the 
train. But one young stockbroker turned to 
an underwriter at Lloyd’s. 
“ Gad I that’s a smart woman — really 
smart ! Look, Jimmy ! I say 1 ” 
But the friend had looked in vain. He was 
swept on with the speaker ; the barrier was 
blocked and cleared again ; the inspector was 
at a carriage door. 
“ Now, madam — your ladyship — if you 
please ! ” 
“ Thank you ! ” 
The woman sat at the window, looking out 
upon the platform. 
She was a fair woman — fair of complexion 
as well as fair to see. She wore a coat of 
Shantung over a blue taffeta dress, with short 
sleeves ; and long gloves covered her arms. 
She had the long nose and short upper lip of the 
English aristocrat ; her mouth, though firm, 
had humanity, her eyes, though cold, were 
kind. She was a woman who could love, and 
love deeply ; but she was a woman very 
proud, very sensitive. 
She was the daughter of a marquess ; she 
had been the wife of a drunken baronet ; she 
was a widow, and she was very rich. Her age 
was thirty ; she was the friend and confidante 
of Royal ladies ; and she was sought in 
marriage by many men. 
Then she had met a man whom she could 
love ; a man who called to her, commanded 
her, compelled ; a man born to be a master 
among men. They had talked ; they had 
understood each other ; she had found him 
strong and simple and sincere. And, being 
tempted, she had moved heaven and earth 
to set herself out of temptation, to exile him 
from England, to get for him that Colonial 
governorship which she knew to be his 
dream. For, though she could love him — 
and though men called him the Kitchener of 
to-morrow — he was a Board-school boy who 
had won a scholarship at Bedford, a man of 
the people ; the son of a charwoman in a 
certain garrison town. 
Pride of race conquered ; and she had held 
herself unflinchingly in hand. She had striven 
for him secretly ; she had got for him the 
governorship of Omofaga ; an illustrious 
person had sent her news that morning ; his 
note — a blazing indiscretion and a peerless 
compliment — lay, now, in the hand-bag on 
her arm. Yet she played with fire and toyed 
with weakness ; she was going down to 
Woolwich to see the last of her brigadier 
to-day ! “ Who would know John Dixon truly 
must see John Dixon among his men.” 
So ran the saying and the gossip. A 
Royal Duke had told her that he inspected 
