There was another moment of strained silence and then the Consul-General said—
"I suppose they'll say the man Ishmael has beaten me."
He made a contemptuous but almost inaudible laugh, and then added, "Let them—they're welcome; time will tell. Anyhow I do not lament. When a man is old his useless life must burn itself out. That's only natural. And after all, I've seen too much of power to regret the loss of it."
Still Gordon could not speak. He was feeling how great his father was in his downfall, how brave, how proud, how splendid.
The old man walked to the window and looked out. with fixed eyes. After a moment he turned back and said—
"All the same, Gordon, I am glad of what has happened for your sake—sincerely glad. You've not always been with me, but you've won, and I do not grudge you your victory. Indeed," he added, and here his voice trembled perceptibly, "I am a little proud of it. Yes, proud! An old man cannot be indifferent to the fact that his son has won the hearts of twelve millions of people, even though—even though he himself may have lost them."
Gordon's throat was hurting him and Helena's eyes were full of tears. The old man, too, was struggling to control his voice.
"You thought Nunehamism wasn't synonymous with patriotism. Perhaps you were right. You believed yourself to be the better Englishman of the two. I don't say you were not. And it may be that in her present mind England will think that one secret withheld from me has been revealed to you—namely, that an alien race can only be ruled by ... by love. Yes, I'm glad for your sake, Gordon; and as for me—I leave myself to Time and Fate."
The old man's pride in his son's success was fighting hard with his own humiliation. After a while Gordon recovered strength enough to ask his father what he meant to do in England.
"Who can say?" answered the Consul-General, lifting one hand with a gesture of helplessness. "I have spent the best years of my life in Egypt. What is England to me now? Home? No, exile."