Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
their requirements he had, before he was forty, built up the trade of his firm to its present gigantic dimensions. Now he is senior partner and a millionaire many times over, with patronage beyond one’s wildest dreams. Curious! These “merchant princes” are all the same—never content to stick to their business, always looking for fresh worlds to conquer. I met Sir Appleton—he was plain Mr. Deepe then—in the early days of the war; and, though any intimacy was out of the question, I felt that he was a man to keep one’s eye on for the days when the war would be over and all our boys would be wondering what to do next. He had great ideas then of going into politics—something that Lady Maitland let fall had started the train, and he was convinced that the business man had the world at his feet. (I could not help wondering whether she hoped to exploit him on behalf of that worthless youngest boy of hers, the one who evaded military service by hiding in one of the government offices.)
“No, Mr. Deepe,” I said. “To use one of your own phrases, you have missed your market. The business men have got in before you.” And, goodness me, in those days, Whitehall was like a foreign capital! Even the ministers were unheard-of, and every one seemed to be a mining magnate or a shipping magnate
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