“Well, considering that you’re the man who’s responsible for the revolution, I suppose you’re more famous at the present moment than any man in Great Britain,” she said. “Though you’re not exactly popular with either side, to-night, I should think,” she added thoughtfully.
Henry Wolverton made a little noise in his throat that sounded like an asthmatic cough. With him that noise did duty for a laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” he said.
“Do you mean that you don’t admit your own responsibility for the revolution?” she asked.
“I cannot see that I am even remotely connected with it,” he replied.
The young woman pursed her lovely mouth, and clasped her hands round her knee. After a reflective pause she remarked with apparent inconsequence, “My name is Susan Jeffery; but I don’t suppose that conveys anything to you.”
“I believe I saw the name on a committee list of the ‘League of Youth,’” Wolverton said.
“Lord, what a memory he has,” commented Susan Jeffery in a soft voice.
“But I must plead ignorance of the general scope of your activities,” he continued.
“But you know something about our league?” she put in.
“Something,” he admitted.