“The land and this unemployment is what I really care about. I’m a Foggartist.”

“What?”

“Old Sir James Foggart’s book, that he published after all. You read it.”

“No.”

“Well, you said so.”

“So did others.”

“Never mind—his eyes are fixed on 1944, and his policy’s according. Safety in the Air, the Land, and Child Emigration; adjustment of Supply and Demand within the Empire; cut our losses in Europe; and endure a worse Present for the sake of a better Future. Everything, in fact, that’s unpopular, and said to be impossible.”

“Well, you could keep all that to yourself till you get in. You’ll have to stand as a Tory.”

“How lovely you look!”

“If you get in, you can disagree with everybody. That’ll give you a position from the start.”

“Some scheme!” murmured Michael.

“You can initiate this—this Foggartism. He isn’t mad, is he?”

“No, only too sane, which is much the same thing, of course. You see we’ve got a higher wage-scale than any other country except America and the Dominions; and it isn’t coming down again; we really group in with the new countries. He’s for growing as much of our food as we can, and pumping British town children, before they’re spoiled, into the Colonies, till Colonial demand for goods equals our supply. It’s no earthly, of course, without whole-hearted co-operation between the Governments within the Empire.”

“It sounds very sensible.”

“We published him, you know, but at his own expense. It’s a ‘faith and the mountain’ stunt. He’s got the faith all right, but the mountain shows no signs of moving up to now.”

Fleur stood up. “Well,” she said, “that’s settled. Your father says he can get you a nomination as a Tory, and you can keep your own views to yourself. You’ll get in on the human touch, Michael.”

“Thank you, ducky. Can I help dry you?”

Before redecorating her Chinese room, however, Fleur had waited till after Michael was comfortably seated for a division which professed to be interested in agriculture. She chose a blend between Adam and Louis Quinze. Michael called it the ‘bimetallic parlour’; and carried off “The White Monkey” to his study. The creature’s pessimism was not, he felt, suited to political life.