“I don’t know much about music,” he admitted. “My sister, who used to live with me, plays the piano.”
“We’ll drop music, then,” she said hastily. “Books? But I remember you once told me that you had never read anything except detective novels, and that you didn’t care for poetry. Sports? I adore tennis and I am rather good at golf.”
“I have never wasted a single moment of my life in games,” he declared proudly.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, you see, that leaves us rather a long way apart, outside our work, doesn’t it?”
“Even if I were prepared to admit that, which I am not,” he replied, “our work itself is surely enough to make up for all other things.”
“You are quite right,” she confessed. “There is nothing else worth thinking about, worth talking about. Tell me—you had an inner Council this afternoon—is anything decided yet about the leadership?”
He sighed a little.
“If ever there was a great cause in the world,” he said, “which stands some chance of missing complete success through senseless and low-minded jealousy, it is ours.”
“Mr. Fenn!” she exclaimed.