“Come now,” said William turning on him. “The Wars of the Roses—ancient England? I can’t believe such a statement from you, Donal. That conflict, like everything else, was over practical and property disputes. Wars never get fought for abstract reasons.”

“On the contrary,” Donal said. “Wars invariably get fought for abstract reasons. Wars may be instigated by the middle-aged and the elderly; but they’re fought by youth. And youth needs more than a practical motive for tempting the tragedy of all tragedies—the end of the universe —which is dying, when you’re young.”

“What a refreshing attitude from a professional soldier!” laughed William. “Which reminds me;—I may have some business to discuss with you. I understand you emphasize the importance of field troops over everything else in a world’s armed forces—and I hear you’ve been achieving some remarkable things in the training of them. That’s information right down my alley, of course, since Ceta’s gone in for this leasing of troops. What’s your secret, Protector? Do you permit observers?”

“No secret,” said Donal. “And you’re welcome to send observers to our training program any time, Prince. The reason behind our successful training methods is the man in charge—my uncle, Field Commander Ian Graeme.”

“Ah—your uncle,” said William. “I hardly imagine I could buy him away from you if he’s a relative.”

“I’m afraid not,” answered Donal.

“Well, well—we’ll have to talk, anyway. By heaven—my glass seems to have got itself empty. Anyone else care for another?”

“No thank you,” said Anea.

“Nor I,” said Donal.

“Well, I will,” Galt said.

“Well, in that case, come along marshal,” William turned to Galt. “You and I’ll make our own way to the bar.” They went off together across the lounge. Donal and Anea were left facing each other.

“So,” said Donal, “you haven’t changed your mind about me.”

“No.”

“So much for the fair-mindedness of a Select of Kultis,” he said ironically.

“I’m not superhuman, you know!” she flashed, with a touch of her younger spirit. “No,” she said, more calmly, “there’s probably millions as bad as you—or worse—but you’ve got ability. And you’re a self-seeker. It’s that I can’t forgive you.”

“William’s corrupted your point of view,” he said.

“At least he makes no bones about being the kind of man he is!”

“Why should there be some sort of virtue always attributed to a frank admission of vice?” wondered Donal. “Besides, you’re mistaken. William”—he lowered his voice—“sets himself up as a common sort of devil to blind you to the fact that he is what he actually is. Those who have anything to do with him recognize the fact that he’s evil; and think that in recognizing this, they’ve plumbed the depths of the man.”

“Oh?” Her voice was scornful. “What are his depths, then?”