"He tells me that they are thinking of making an appeal to this man Paul Fiske to declare himself.

They want a leader--they want one very badly--and thank heavens they don't know where to look for him!" "But surely," Julian protested, "they don't expect necessarily to find a leader of men in an anonymous contributor to the Reviews?
Fiske, when they have found him, may be a septuagenarian, or a man of academic turn of mind, who never leaves his study.

'Paul Fiske' may even be the pseudonym of a woman." The Earl rose from his place.
"This afternoon," he announced, "I read the latest article of this Paul Fiske.

In my opinion he is an exceedingly mischievous person, without the slightest comprehension of the forces which really count in government." The Bishop's eyes twinkled as he left the room with his hand on his godson's arm.
"It would be interesting," he whispered, "to hear this man Fiske's opinion of your father's last speech in the House of Lords upon land interests!" It was not until the close of a particularly unsatisfactory evening of uninspiring bridge that Julian saw anything more of Catherine.

She came in from the picture gallery, breathless, followed by four or five of the young soldiers, to whom she had been showing the steps of a new dance, and, turning to Julian with an impulsiveness which surprised him, laid her fingers imperatively upon his arm.
"Take me somewhere, please, where we can sit down and talk," she begged, "and give me something to drink." He led the way into the billiard room and rang the bell.
"You have been overtiring yourself," he said, looking down at her curiously.
"Have I ?" she answered.