her in front of the others with

"You won't be a guest," he said, answering the first part of her tirade. "You'll be my hostess, which is quite different. Will you do it?" She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and said gruffly, "Yes." It turned out to be more enjoyable than she had dared hope, for Rain's house was truly beautiful and he himself in such a good mood Justine couldn't help but become infected by it. She arrived properly though a little too flamboyantly gowned for his taste, but after an involuntary grimace at first sight of her shocking pink slipper satin, he tucked her arm through his and conducted her around the premises before the guests arrived. Then during the evening he behaved perfectly, treating her in front of the others with an offhand intimacy which made her feel both useful and wanted. His guests were so politically important her brain didn't want to think about the sort of decisions they must have to make. Such ordinary people, too. That made it worse. "I wouldn't have minded so much if even one of them had displayed symptoms of the Chosen Few," she said to him after they had gone, glad of the chance to be alone with him and wondering how quickly he was going to send her home. "You know, like Napoleon or Churchill. There's a lot to be said for being convinced one is a man of destiny, if one is a statesman. Do you regard yourself as a man of destiny?" He winced. "You might choose your questions better when you're quizzing a German, Justine. No, I don't, and it isn't good for politicians to deem themselves men of destiny. It might work for a very few, though I doubt it, but the vast bulk of such men cause themselves and their countries endless trouble." She had no desire to argue the point. It had served its purpose in getting a certain line of conversation started; she could change the subject without looking too obvious. "The wives were a pretty mixed bunch, weren't they?" she asked artlessly. "Most of them were far less presentable than I was, even if you don't approve of hot pink. Mrs. Whatsit wasn't too bad, and Mrs. Hoojar simply disappeared into the matching wallpaper, but Mrs. Gumfoozler was abominable. How does her husband manage to put up with her? Oh, men are such fools about choosing their wives!" "Justine! When will you learn to remember names? It's as well you turned me down, a fine politician's wife you would have made. I heard you humming when you couldn't remember who they were. Many men with abominable wives have succeeded very well, and just as many with quite perfect wives haven't succeeded at all. In the long run it doesn't matter, because it's the caliber of the man which is put to the test. There are few men who marry for reasons purely politic."