“I suppose,” she went on, a little drearily, “that even if I told you upon my honour, of my certain knowledge, that the due delivery of that packet might save the lives of thousands of your countrymen, might save hearts from breaking, homes from becoming destitute—even if I told you all this, would it help me in my prayer?”
“Nothing could help you,” he assured her, “but your whole confidence, and even then I fear that the result would be the same.”
“Oh, but you are very hard!” she murmured. “My confidence belongs to others. It is not mine alone to give you.”
“You see,” he explained, “I know beforehand that you are speaking the truth as you see it. I know beforehand that any scheme in which you are engaged is for the benefit of our fellow creatures and not for their harm. But alas! you make yourself the judge of these things, and there are times when individual effort is the most dangerous thing in life.”
“If you were any one else!” she sighed.
“Why be prejudiced about me?” he protested. “Believe me, I am not a frivolous person. I, too, think of life and its problems. You yourself are an aristocrat. Why should not I as well as you have sympathy and feeling for those who suffer?”
“I am a Russian,” she reminded him, “and in Russia it is different. Besides, I am no longer an aristocrat. I am a citizeness of the world. I have eschewed everything in life except one thing, and for that I have worked with all my heart and strength. As for you, what have you done? What is your record?”
“Insignificant, I fear,” he admitted. “You see, a very promising start at the Bar was somewhat interfered with by my brief period of soldiering.”
“At the present moment you have no definite career,” she declared. “You have even been wasting your time censoring.”
“I am returning now to my profession.”