"Certainly; do sit down. Only--well, I'm afraid I'm pretty well done. If it's anything important, I can't promise to take it in." Lord Fontenoy for a moment made no reply. He stood by the fire, looking at the cigarette he still held, in silence. George watched him with repressed annoyance. "It's been a very hot fight, this," said Fontenoy at last, slowly, "and you've won it well. All our band have prospered in the matter of elections. But this contest of yours has been, I think, the most conspicuous that any of us have fought. Your speeches have made a mark--one can see that from the way in which the Press has begun to take them, political beginner though you are. In the House you will be, I think, our best speaker--of course with time and experience. As for me, if you give me a fortnight to prepare in, I can make out something. Otherwise I am no use. _You_ will take a good debating place from the beginning. Well, it is only what I expected." The speaker stopped. George, fidgeting in his chair, said nothing; and presently Fontenoy resumed: "I trust you will not think what I am going to say an intrusion, but--you remember my letters to you in India?" George nodded. "They put the case strongly, I think," Fontenoy went on, "but, in my opinion, not strongly enough. This wretched Government is in power by the help of a tyranny--a tyranny of Labour. They call themselves Conservatives--they are really State Socialists, and the mere catspaws of the revolutionary Socialists. You and I are in Parliament to break down that tyranny, if we can. This year and next will be all-important. If we can hold Maxwell and his friends in check for a time--if we can put some backbone into the party of freedom--if we can rally and call up the forces we have in the country, the thing will be done. We shall have established the counterpoise--we shall very likely turn the next election, and liberty--or what still remains of it!--will be saved for a generation. But to succeed, the effort, the sacrifice, from each one of us, will have to be _enormous_." Fontenoy paused, and looked at his companion. George was lying back in an armchair with his eyes shut. Why on earth--so he was thinking--should Fontenoy have chosen this particular hour and this particular night to _debiter_ these very stale things, that he had already served up in innumerable speeches and almost every letter that George had received from him? "I don't suppose it will be child's-play," he said, stifling a yawn--"hope I shall feel keener after a night's rest!" He looked up with a smile. Fontenoy dropped his cigarette into the fender and stood silent a moment, his hands clasped behind his back. "Look here, Tressady!" he said at last, turning to his companion; "you remember how affairs stood with me when you left England? I didn't know much of you, but I believe, like many of my juniors, you knew a great deal about me?" George made the sign of assent expected of him.