The girl blushed, a faint yet vivid colour came on her cheeks. She drew back a little. Andy's words were, in their simplicity, bolder far than his thoughts. Yet in drawing back she smiled. But Andy had seen the blush. Successful man as he had now become--big with promise as he was, at all events--in this field he was a novice. His blush answered hers--and was of a deeper tint. "I'm afraid that's awfully presumptuous?" he stammered. "Why, we've all been waiting to hear the news! Father had the offer--you know that? But he couldn't stand London. Then they asked Mr. Foot's advice. He said it ought to be you. You do your best to prevent people thinking of you, but as soon as you're suggested--why, it's obvious." "You really think I shan't make a fool of myself?" asked Andy. The delicate flush was still on her cheeks. "You'll make me very much ashamed of myself if you do," she answered. "Is my opinion to be as wrong as all that? Haven't I always trusted you?" His surroundings suddenly laid hold on him. It was the very room--she stood on the very spot--where he had witnessed Harry's first defection, her earliest betrayal. "It seems--it seems"--he stammered--"it seems treason." She was silent for a minute. The colour glowed brighter on her cheeks. "I don't care to hear you say that," she told him, daintily haughty. "I was waiting here to congratulate you--yes, I hoped you'd come. I've nothing to do with anybody except the best candidate! They say you're that. I had my good wishes ready for you. Will you take them--without reserve?" "I--I say things wrong," pleaded poor Andy. "I'll take anything you'll give." Her face flashed into a smile. "Your wrong things are--well, one can forgive them. It's all settled then--and you're to be the M.P.?" Andy was still apologetic. "They know what to do, I suppose. It seems curious. Wigram says it's a certainty too. They've all joined in to help--Lord Meriton, Mr. Belfield, and old Jack. I'm much too poor by myself, you know." "The man who makes friends makes riches." She gave a light laugh. "May I be a little bit of your riches?" Andy's answer was his own. "Well, I always remember that morning--the hunt and Curly." "I'm still that to you?" she asked quickly, her colour rising yet. He looked at her. "No, of course not, but I had a sort of idea that then you liked me a bit." She looked across the room at him--Andy was a man who kept his distance. "You've been a refuge in time of trouble," she said. Her voice was soft, her eyes bright. "We won't talk of the old things any more, will we?" Wellgood stood in the window. "Well, is it all right?" he asked. "He's said yes, father!" she cried with a glad merriment. "I thought he would. It's a change for the better!" His blunt words--in truth they were brutal according to his brutality--brought silence. Andy flushed into a painful red--not for his own sake only. "I've got to try to be as good a stop-gap as I can," he said.