"Your first word to me was of the Chief Whip," she reminded him. Haversham was touched. He put his hand gently on his sister's arm. "We do not belong to ourselves," he pleaded. "This act of yours is a public thing." "I have a personal thing still left to do," she said. "Peter is coming to-night. You must leave him with me." "That will be easy," he assured her. "They're all political people this evening. We shall go on afterwards to the House." The talk at dinner was all of Wenderby's resignation. The division that night would show the strength of his following. Peter was exasperated by the persistence with which this event pursued him. "Is this resignation really important?" he asked in an early pause of the conversation. Lady Mary had left her seat at the foot of the table. "Important!" his neighbour exclaimed at him. "Why, it's the most important event in politics for fifty years. It changes everything." "This, Peter, is not one of those important things which happen every day," said Haversham quietly. "I would have given almost anything to bring this about." "At any rate, Haversham," said one of the politicians, "you have helped it a little." "I'm afraid not." "Just a little, I think," the politician insisted. "Your friendship with Wenderby must have counted. These personal things do weigh. Wenderby was not very comfortable with his late friends." "Lord Wenderby's change of party, I suppose, is final?" Peter politely suggested. "Quite," said Haversham curtly. "He'll certainly stay with us," chuckled Peter's neighbour. "We shall make it worth while." "There's less competition on our side," said another. "We haven't any brains under sixty-five." "Moreover," said Haversham incisively, "Wenderby is a man of honour." "Has that anything to do with it?" Peter must somehow persist in his hostility. He could only think of Wenderby as an adventurer. Haversham lifted a finger at him: "Peter," he said, "we shall quarrel if you cannot help being rude to one of my best friends. You must believe in Wenderby. You don't know how essential it is." They broke up, and prepared to leave for the House. Haversham told Peter he would find Lady Mary in her drawing-room. Peter went happily to discover her. He had seen her room only once before. He remembered with pleasure how exquisitely it framed her. XXXV The servants were removing the coffee as he came in, and Lady Mary was softly at the piano. She continued her music after they were alone, Peter watching her in a light soft as the blurred harmonies of her playing. She had never seemed so elusive. At last she abruptly turned. "What would you do, Peter, if this were our last evening together?" Peter was surprised at her sudden question. He took it seriously, and thought a little. "I should sit quietly here," he said at last, "and learn you by heart." "But you would want to talk," she protested. "There has been talking enough."