SILK hatted men were hurrying to and fro in the lobby, each with an air of bearing the responsibilities of the Empire on his shoulders; cards were being sent in by the attendants: a few country visitors stood about near to the statue of Mr. Gladstone waiting awkwardly for the arrival of their member. Swing-doors moved unceasingly: now and again two members would encounter each other and consult furtively with wrinkled foreheads, and visitors stood back from the round space at the centre with awe and respect, giving them room. Erb, in a morning coat and a necktie of such gaiety, that alone it betrayed the fact of his wedding-day, was an event not yet forgotten, strolled about, less appalled by the surroundings than most, so that provincials came to him now and again and made inquiries. Whenever he had been to the House before he had always felt wistful, and had looked through corridor to the inner lobby with anticipation; this evening the feeling was absent. “Haven’t kept you waiting I hope, Barnes?” The white-haired Labour member bustling out was conspicuous by reason of his bowler hat. “Rather a lot of things to do one way and another. When you get here you’ll find—I can’t see him now,” answering a messenger. “Tell him I’m going down to Bermondsey to put something straight that has got crooked, and I shall not be back till ten. Tell him that!” “Cab or ’bus?” inquired Erb, as they went down the broad steps. “’Bus,” said the Labour member, promptly. “Somebody might see us if we took a hansom. You’ll find that you can’t be too careful. And there’s another thing, too. Flower in your coat, you know—” With axiom and words of counsel, the white-haired member shortened the journey from Westminster to the rooms in Grange Road; Erb listening with a proper deference, and refraining from all but appropriate and well-chosen interruptions. The member appeared stimulated by the task before him, and Erb felt quite mature in remembering the time when he, too, would have found his blood run quicker at the prospect of argument. His companion hurried up the corkscrew staircase of the coffee-house, Erb following slowly, nodding to a few of the men who, with anxious expression of countenance stood about on the landing. He went into a room at the side, where he hoped to be alone. Spanswick, however, had seen him, and Spanswick, following in, took a wooden chair on the opposite side of the table. But Erb’s old van boy interposed, big with a message. The chief had sent him (said William Henry) to mention in confidence that, if Erb cared to come back to his former position—“Extraordinary thing,” said Erb, “how much the world wants you when you show that you don’t want the world. No answer, William Henry, only thanks.” “I’ve been telling a lot of ’em,” said Spanswick, jerking his hand in the direction of the other room as the young diplomatist went, “that if they take my advice, Erb, they’ll ask you to come back.” “I see!”