“Honored to see you again,” said Donal, inclining his head.

“The honor is mine.” Her voice, like the rest of her, had matured. Donal looked past her to William. “Prince!” he said.

William stood up and shook hands, both with Donal and with Galt.

“Honored to have you with us, Protector,” he said cheerfully to Donal. “I understand the marshal’s proposing you for delegate. You can count on me.”

“That’s good of you,” answered Donal.

“It’s good for me,” said William. “I like open minds around the Conference table and young minds — no offense, Hendrik — are generally open minds.”

“I don’t pretend to be anything but a soldier,” growled Galt.

“And it’s precisely that that makes you dangerous in negotiations,” replied William. “Politicians and businessmen always feel more at home with someone who they know doesn’t mean what he says. Honest men always have been a curse laid upon the sharpshooter.”

“A pity,” put in Anea, “that there aren’t enough honest men, then, to curse them all.” She was looking at Donal. William laughed.

“The Select of Kultis could hardly be anything else but savage upon us underhanded characters, could you, Anea?” he said.

“You can ship me back to the Exotics, any time I wear too heavily on you,” she retorted.

“No, no.” William wagged his head, humorously. “Being the sort of man I am, I survive only by surrounding myself with good people like yourself. I’m enmeshed in the world of hard reality — it’s my life and I wouldn’t have it any other way — but for vacation, for a spiritual rest, I like to glance occasionally over the wall of a cloister to where the greatest tragedy is a blighted rose.”

“One should not underestimate roses,” said Donal. “Men have died over a difference in their color.”

“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?”

“Something more than personal aggrandizement. You, who are so close to him, miss what the general mass of people who see him from a distance recognize quite clearly. He lives like a monk — he gets no personal profit out of what he does and his long hours of work. And he does not care what’s thought of him.”

“Any more than you do.”

“Me?” Caught by an unexpected amount of truth in this charge, Donal could still protest. “I care for the opinion of the people whose opinion I care for.”

“Such as?” she said.

“Well, you,” he answered, “for one. Though I don’t know why.”

About to say something, and hardly waiting for him to finish so she could say it, she checked suddenly; and stared at him, her eyes widening.

“Oh,” she gasped, “don’t try to tell me that!”

“I hardly know why I try to tell you anything,” he said, suddenly very bitter; and went off, leaving her where she stood.

He went directly out from the cocktail gathering and back to his own suite, where he immersed himself in work that kept him at his desk until the small hours of the morning. Even then, when he at last got to bed, he did not sleep well — a condition he laid to a walking hangover from the drinks at the cocktail gathering.

His mind would have examined this excuse further — but he would not let it.

“…A typical impasse,” said William, Prince of Ceta. “Have some more of this Moselle.”

“Thank you, no,” answered Donal. The Conference was in its second week and he had accepted William’s invitation to lunch with him in William’s suite, following a morning session. The fish was excellent, the wine was imported — and Donal was curious, although so far they had spoken of nothing of real importance.

“You disappoint me,” William said, replacing the decanter on the small table between them. “I’m not very strong in the food and drink department myself — but I do enjoy watching others enjoy them.” He raised his eyebrows at Donal. “But your early training on the Dorsai is rather Spartan?”

“In some respects, yes,” answered Donal. “Spartan and possibly a little provincial. I’m finding myself sliding into Hendrik Galt’s impatience with the lack of progress in our talks.”

“Well, mere you have it,” said William. “The soldier loves action, the politician the sound of his own voice. But there’s a better explanation than that, of course. You’ve realized by now, no doubt, that the things that concern a Conference aren’t settled at the Conference table” — he gestured with his hand at the food before him — “but at small tete-a-tetes like these.”

“I’d guess then that the tete-a-tetes haven’t been too productive of agreements so far.” Donal sipped at the wine left in his glass.

“Quite right,” said William cheerfully. “Nobody really wants to interfere in local affairs on a world; and nobody really wants to impose an institution on it from the outside, such as the open market, against the will of some of its people.” He shook his head at Donal’s smile. “No, no — I’m being quite truthful. Most of the delegates here would just as soon the problem of an open market had never come up at all on New Earth, so that they could tend to their own styles of knitting without being bothered.”