To Robert Grimshaw the bright spot in this tenebrous affair was the inflexible tranquillity of Pauline Leicester. Looking back upon it afterwards he seemed to see her upon the background of his own terrible pain--to see her as a golden and vibrating spot of light. She spoke about the weather, about some improvements that were being made in the village of Icking, about the forthcoming General Election, about her clothes. She went everywhere that she could go without her husband. She went to “at homes,” to private views, she was “at home.” She had Dudley himself in her drawing-room where in the farther comers young Mr. Held and Ellida Langham held animated conversations so close to his passive form that it might appear that, monosyllabic as he always was, he was at least attentive to the conversation. She drove regularly in the Park with Dudley beside her, and most often with Robert Grimshaw sitting opposite them; but she never mentioned her husband’s condition to Grimshaw, and her face wore always its little, tender smile. He was aware that in her there was a certain determination, almost a fierceness. It wasn’t that in her deep black her face was more pallid, or that her features hardened. It wasn’t that she chattered less. Her little tongue was going perpetually, with its infantile gaiety, if her eyes were for ever on the watch. There was, moreover, a feeling of a General Election in the air--of that General Election in which Dudley, as a foregone conclusion, was to replace the member sitting for his division of the county; and one afternoon Robert Grimshaw came in to one of Pauline’s “at homes.” The little encampment round Dudley Leicester had its place usually in the small, back drawing-room which Dudley’s great chair and Ellida’s enormous hat and Mr. Held’s slim figure almost contrived to fill. Dudley sprawled back, his complexion perfectly clear, his eyes gazing abstractedly before him, perfectly normal, perfectly healthy, on show for anyone who chose to look at him; and Ellida and Mr. Held joined in an unceasing and animated discussion on Christian Science. Robert Grimshaw, having addressed a word or two to Madame de Bogota, and having nodded to Mr. Balestier, who sat for a Midland county, and having shaken hands with Mrs. Jimtort, the wife of a Recorder of a south-western city, was moving slowly up to close in the little group in the background. And suddenly, with an extraordinary running step, Dudley Leicester shot past him straight at the member for the Midland county. He had brought out the words: “Are you the man ...” when already shooting, as it were sideways, between the people, Mr. Held had very lightly touched his wrist. “You know,” he said, “that you’re _not_ to talk politics this afternoon. We’re all tired out.” Leicester passed his hand lightly down his face, and, turning slowly, went back to his arm-chair.