"The people are waiting," Maraton said. "We have given them serious pledges. Their day is to come."
"You believe that Foley will keep his word?" Selingman asked.
"I know that he will," Maraton replied. "As soon as the Bills are drafted, he will go to the country. It will be a new Party—the National Party. Stay and see it, Selingman—a new era in the politics of the world, a very wonderful era. The country is going to be governed for the people that are worth while."
"If one could but live long enough!" Selingman sighed. "All over the universe it comes. Where was it one read of footsteps that sounded amongst the hills like footsteps upon wool? In the night-watches you can hear those footsteps. The world trembles with them."
"And after all," Maraton continued, "the sun of the world's happiness is made up of the happiness of units. Presently we shall have time to think of those things."
"It is true," Selingman said disconsolately. "I find myself rejoicing in the good which is coming to humanity and forgetting personal sorrows. There is that wonderful, that adorable secretary of your—Julia. What should you say to me, my friend Maraton, if I were indeed to rob you of her? For once I am in earnest."
Maraton started for a moment. The idea at first was ludicrous.
"I suppose," he admitted, "I should reconcile myself to the inevitable. Times are going to be different. I dare say that Aaron will be the only secretary I shall need. But will she go? Remember, she is a woman of the people. I think that she will never settle down, even with your splendid work to control. She is less a poet than a humanitarian."
"What am I, man," Selingman retorted, striking himself on the chest, "but a humanitarian? Listen to the wonderful proof—it is not a secretary I require; it is a wife!"
Maraton was staggered.