Hennion resented the situation. His length and impassiveness helped him, so that he seemed to be holding it easily, but he felt like nothing of that kind. Talking for exhibition, or approval, was a thing his soul abhorred in himself, and observed but curiously in other men. He felt that Camilla expected him to talk with elevation, from the standpoint of a noble sinner now nobly repentant, some such florid circus performance. He felt drawn in obstinacy to mark out his position with matter-of-fact candour. Aidee's rhetoric only emphasised what seemed to Hennion a kind of unreal, gaudy emotionalism. “I am not in politics, Mr. Aidee. I meet with it as an incident to business. I sometimes do engineering for the city. I am supposed to have a certain amount in preference on contracts, and to give a certain amount of preference on jobs to workmen your city politicians send, provided they're good workmen. Maybe when they vote they understand themselves to be voting for their jobs. They're partly mistaken. I contract with them to suit my business interests, but I never canvass. Probably the ward leaders do. I suppose there's a point in all this affair. I'd rather come to it, if you don't mind. You want me to do personal wire-pulling, which I never do and don't like, in order to down certain men I am under obligations to, which doesn't seem honourable, and against my business interests, which doesn't seem reasonable.” “Wire-pulling? No.” “Why, yes. That's what you're doing now, isn't it? You think I'm a wire that pulls a lot of other wires. Of course it's all right, if you like it, or think you have to, but I don't like it, and don't see that I have to.” Aidee hesitated. “Miss Champney----” Hennion was sharp and angry in a moment. “Mr. Aidee, the standards of my class are not supposed to be up to yours----” “Why not? Class! I have no class!” “I don't know why not. I don't seem to care just now. But not everyone even of my class would have cared to ask Miss Champney to oblige them this way.” “Why not?” “Because we have more scruples than we advertise. I beg your pardon.” “The apology seems in place,” rumbled Mr. Champney, his voice vibrating thorough bass. “I offer it to you, too, sir. The situation is forced on me.” “The gentleman doesn't like the situation. I suggest”--Champney heaved his wide frame out of the chair--“that he be released from his situation.” “Do you like the situation, sir?” “I do not, sir,” with rising thunder. “I hope, if this discussion is continued here, or elsewhere,”--appearing to imply a preference for “elsewhere,”--“it will have no reference to my family.” Mr. Champney withdrew royally. Miss Eunice followed, a suspicion of meekness and fright in her manner, her glasses tilted sideways. Aidee stood still a moment. Then he said quietly: “I have made a mistake. Good-night,” and took his leave. He looked tired and weighed down. Hennion felt the air as full of echoes and vibrations subsiding.