“Yeth, indeed yeth,” said the aged Duke, putting the paper forward as though over a counter; and Sir Charles Repton could not forbear to read it. It certainly _was_ worse; it simply said point blank that the Burmah Oil Concession was the price of Repton’s promotion to the Upper House. And the passage ended with these words: “We have no desire to add to a domestic affliction which no friend of the Government regrets more sincerely than we do ourselves, and we are willing to believe that the unfortunate gentleman, who we fear can never again take his old place in public life, was himself quite innocent of any such dealing; but ambitions other than his own may have been concerned in this matter, and the giving of permanent legislative power to a man who now notoriously can no longer take part in active public life, does but add to the scandal.” That decided him! He would nip off that headache legend at once, and sharply! “Yes,” he said, “I’ll move as soon as you like, and the sooner the better.” He did not say it as though he was granting a favour; and it was easy to see that the Duke was a little afraid of him:-- After a pause during which the two men rose to part, the old gentleman suggested that Methlinghamhurst should speak after him. “Messlingham _who_?” said Repton, puzzled. The name was unfamiliar to him. “No, not Methlinghamhurtht! _Meth_linghamhurtht,” said the Duke of Battersea, rather too loud. “_Meth_linghamhurtht!” Sir Charles shook his head, still puzzled. “I daresay he’s all right,” he said all starch. “_You_ know,” said the Duke of Battersea, craning forward in a confidential way, “Clutterbuck that wath.” “Oh! Clutterbuck! Yes, I remember. Well? Can he speak?” “Not very well,” hesitated the Duke of Battersea, “but you know he wanted....” “I really don’t care,” said Sir Charles moving away. “Anyhow I’ll do it.” The Duke was profuse in his thanks. * * * * * Charles Repton returned to the House of Commons. Another message! “The Prime Minister begged to see Sir Charles Repton:” really there was no end to the number of people wanting to see him that day! Charles Repton went towards Dolly’s room with such muscles showing upon his face as would have made any one afraid to say another word about the headache,--but it was not of the headache, at least not of that directly, that Dolly had to speak. “Repton,” he said apologetically and in some dread, “I’m afraid I made arrangements for a proxy next week--I mean for L’Acceptance you know.” “Oh you did!” said Sir Charles, really nettled. “You might have asked me first I think!” “Well, you see,” began his unfortunate chief,-- “As a fact I don’t see,” said Repton drily, “but I suppose you’ve put it right. I’ve written to say I should be there.” “Oh yes, certainly, certainly,” said Dolly hurriedly, “I’ve changed it.” As a fact he’d done nothing of the kind and was wondering what he should say to the proxy. “Certainly!”