"Then you've forgiven the Khedive?" he inquired with apparent innocence.
"I've no wish to prevent him showing practical repentance," she answered, keenly alive to his suggestion, and a little nettled. "It means no more slavery. Gordon will prevent that."
"Will he?" asked Kingsley, again with muffled mockery.
"He is the foe of slavery. How many, many letters I have had from him!
He will save the Soudan—and Egypt too."
"He will be badly paid—the Government will stint him. And he will give away his pay—if he gets any."
She did not see his aim, and her face fell. "He will succeed for all that."
"He can levy taxes, of course."
"But he will not-for himself."
"I will give him twenty thousand pounds, if he will take it."
"You—you!—will give him—" Her eyes swam with pleasure. "Ah, that is noble! That makes wealth a glory, to give it to those who need it. To save those who are down-trodden, to help those who labour for the good of the world, to—" she stopped short, for all at once she remembered- remembered whence his money came. Her face suffused. She turned to the door. Confusion overmastered her for the moment. Then, anger at herself possessed her. On what enterprise was she now embarked? Where was her conscience? For what was she doing all this? What was the true meaning of her actions? Had it been to circumvent the Khedive? To prevent him from doing an unjust, a despicable, and a dreadful thing? Was it only to help the Soudan? Was it but to serve a high ideal, through an ideal life—through Gordon?