“Dimmy,” she said more quietly but with great firmness, “look at me.” He looked at her. It was a muscular strain upon his eyes to keep them fixed under her superior will. “That’s right.... Now listen carefully. The salary of the Wardenship of the Court of Dowry is five thousand a year--and ex’s.” “Yes,” said Demaine. “When the Wardenship of the Court of Dowry is vacant--if you play up worth tuppence, it’s yours for the asking. Do ... you ... understand?” “I don’t know,” repeated George Demaine. It was as though he had been told that he had been asleep all these years, that his real name was Jones and that he lived in Australia, or as though he had discovered himself to be covered with feathers. He was utterly at sea. Then he said slowly: “Repton’s Warden of the Court of Dowry.” He was proud of knowing this, for he often blundered about the Cabinet. “Will you or will you not fix your mind upon what I have said?” said Mary Smith. The full absurdity of it grew increasingly upon Demaine’s imagination. “The House would think Dolly was mad,” he remarked with really beautiful humility. “Nonsense!” said Mary Smith in disgust, “the House will know nothing about it one way or the other. The House doesn’t meddle with government--thank God! You’re popular enough I suppose?” “Oh yes,” said Demaine. “And you never speak, do you?” “No,” said Demaine, “only once three years ago, the time I fell down, you know; an’ that was quite short.” “How many people do you know in the House?” she asked. “I don’t know,” said Demaine. “Oh NONSENSE!... I mean how many people would write to you for instance, and congratulate you?” Demaine gave it up. But one could see from his demeanour what she had guessed from her own study of the debates and from her great knowledge of London: a month ago people just knew that Demaine was in the House and that was about all. They knew him now as a man whose name they had seen fifty times and who asked questions. A better candidature could not be conceived, and his close family connection with so many men on both front benches would render the appointment reasonable in all eyes. All sorts of things were lumbering against each other in George Mulross’ brain. He wondered whether one had to know anything, or what one had to do, and how the money was paid; and whether income tax was deducted at source; and how long the Government would stay in. Then the absurdity of it recurred to him. “Of course there was Pitson,” he murmured, “and everybody laughed and said he was a half-wit,--but he was in with everybody, although he was a half-wit.” “So are you,” said Mary. “Yes, but I don’t laugh and go about as he did.” “It’s against a man to laugh much,” said Mary, “and really, if it comes to going about, even a dog can do that. You’ve only got to go and sniff round people.” The conversation could not profitably be continued. Demaine had been introduced to the idea, and that was all Mary desired to do.