"I don't know why he should look so d--d excited over it," said Lord Cathedine to Naseby in a contemptuous aside, with a motion of the head towards Tressady, showing pale and tall above the crowd. "He seems to have voted straight this time, but he's as shaky as he can be. You never know what that kind of fellow will be up to. Ah, my lady! and how are you?" He made a low bow, and Naseby, turning, saw young Lady Tressady advancing. "Are you, too, talking politics?" said Letty, with affected disgust, giving her hand to Cathedine and a smile to Naseby. "We will now talk of nothing but your scarlet gown," said Cathedine in her ear. "Amazing!" "You like it?" she said, with nonchalant self-possession. "It makes me look dreadfully wicked, I know." And she threw a complacent glance at a mirror near, which showed her a gleam of white shoulders in a setting of flame-coloured tulle. "Well, you wouldn't wish to look good," said Cathedine, pulling his black moustache. "Any fool can do that!" "You cynic!" she said, laughing. "Come and talk to me over there. Have you got me my invitations?" Cathedine followed, a disagreeable smile on his full lips, and they settled themselves in a corner out of the press. Nor were they disturbed by the sudden hush and parting of the crowd when, five minutes later, amid a general joyous excitement, Fontenoy walked in. Mrs. Allison forgot her usual dignity, and hurried to meet the leader as he came up to her, with his usual flushed and haggard air. "Magnificent!" she said tremulously. "Now you are going to win!" He shook his head, and would hardly let himself be congratulated by any of the admirers, men or women, who pressed to shake hands with him. To most of them he said, impatiently, that it was no good hallooing till one was out of the wood, that for his own part he had expected more, and that the Government might very well rally on the next clause. Then, when he had effectively chilled the enthusiasm of the room, he drew his hostess aside. "Well, and are you happier?" he said to her in a low voice, his whole expression changing. "Oh, dear friend! don't think of me," she said, putting out a thin hand to him with a grateful gesture. "Yes, the boy has been very good--he gives me a great deal of his time. But how can one _know_--how can one possibly know?" Her pale, small face contracted with a look of pain. Fontenoy, too, frowned as he looked across at Ancoats, who was leaning against the wall in an affected pose, and quoting bits from a new play to George Tressady. After a pause, he said: "I think if I were you I should cultivate Tressady. Ancoats likes him. It might be possible some time for you to work through him." The mother assented eagerly, then said, with a smile: "But I gather you don't find him much to be depended on in the House?" Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders. "Lady Maxwell has bedevilled him somehow. You're responsible!"