And yet he could not forget that Sir Robert was his kinsman, was the head of his family, the donor of his vote. And in the night watches he had decided that, his mind delivered, his independence declared, he would not vote. Neither for Sir Robert—for conscience’s sake; nor against Sir Robert, for his name’s sake! Then how could he not only take an active part against him, but raise his fortunes on his fall? He drew a deep breath. And he put the temptation from him. “I am much obliged to his lordship,” he said quietly. “But I cannot accept his offer.” “Not accept it?” Mr. Pybus cried. “Mr. Vaughan! You don’t mean it, sir! You don’t mean it! It’s a safe seat! It’s in your own hands, I tell you! And after last night! Besides, it is not as if you had not declared yourself.” “I cannot accept it,” Vaughan repeated coldly. “I am obliged to Lord Lansdowne for his kind thought of me. I beg you to convey my thanks to him. But I cannot—in the position I occupy—accept the offer.” Mr. Pybus stared. Was it possible that the scene at the Vermuyden dinner had been a ruse? A piece of play-acting to gain his secrets? If so—he was undone! “But,” he quavered with an unhappy eye, “you are in favour of the Bill, Mr. Vaughan?” “I am. “And—and of Reform generally, I understand?” “Certainly.” “Then—I don’t understand? Why do you refuse?” Vaughan raised his head and looked at him with a movement which would have reminded Isaac White of Sir Robert. “That is my business,” he said. “But you see,” Mr. Pybus remonstrated timidly—he was rather a crestfallen bird by this time—“I confess I was never more surprised in my life! Never! You see I’ve told you all our secrets.” “I shall keep them.” “Yes, but—oh dear! oh dear!” Pybus was thinking of what he had said about Mrs. Pillinger of the Blue Duck. “I—I don’t know what to say,” he added. “I am afraid I have been too hasty, very hasty! Very precipitate! Of course, Mr. Vaughan,” he continued, “the offer would not have been made if we had not thought you certain to accept it!” “Then,” Vaughan replied with dignity, “you can consider that it has not been made. I shall not name it for certain.” “Well! Well!” “I can say no more,” Vaughan continued coldly. “Indeed, there is nothing more to be said, Mr. Pybus?” “No,” piteously, “I suppose not. If you really won’t change your mind, sir?” “I shall not do that,” the young man answered. And a minute later with Mr. Pybus’s faint appeals still sounding in his ears he was on the other side of the garden door, and striding down the alley, towards the King’s Wall, whence making a detour he returned to the High Street. XVI LESS THAN A HERO