"Then I'll go, too," said Harding, who had been hesitating. "No doubt Tressady'll stay for his thanks! But I daresay we sha'n't find Letty at home yet. I know she was to go to the Lucys' to-night." "Poor lamb!" said Mrs. Watton, throwing up her hands. Harding laughed. "Oh! Letty won't take it like a lamb--you'll see!" "What can a woman do?" said his mother, scornfully. "A decent woman, I mean, whom one can still have in one's house. All she can do is to cry, and take a district." When they reached Upper Brook Street, the butler reported that his mistress had just come in. He made, of course, no difficulty about admitting Lady Tressady's aunt, and Mrs. Watton sailed up to the drawing-room, followed by Harding, who carried his head poked forward, as was usual to him, an opera-hat under his arm, and an eyeglass swinging from a limp wrist. As they entered the drawing-room door, Letty, in full evening-dress, was standing with her back to them. She had the last edition of an evening paper open before her, so that her small head and shoulders seemed buried in the sheet. And so eager was her attention to what she was reading that she had not heard their approach. "Letty!" said Mrs. Watton. Her niece turned with a violent start. "My dear Letty!" The aunt approached, quivering with majestic sympathy, both hands outstretched. Letty looked at her a moment, frowning; then recoiled impatiently, without taking any notice of the hands. "So I see George has spoken against his party. There has been a scene. What has happened? What's the end?" "Only that the Government has won its clause," said Harding, interposing his smooth falsetto--"won by a substantial majority, too. No chance of the Lords playing the fool!" "The Government has won?--the Maxwells have won, that is,--she has won!" said Letty, still frowning, her voice sharp and tingling. "If you like to put it so," said Harding, raising his shoulders. "Yes, I should think that set's pretty jubilant to-night." "And you mean to say that George did and said nothing to prepare you, my poor child?" cried Mrs. Watton, in her heaviest manner. She had picked up the newspaper, and was looking with disgust at the large head-lines with which the hastily printed sheet strove to eke out the brevity of the few words in which it announced the speech of the evening: "_Scene in the House of Commons--Break-down of the Resistance to the Bill--Sir George Tressady's Speech--Unexampled Excitement_." Letty breathed fast. "He said something a day or two ago about a change, but of course I never believed--He has disgraced himself!" She began to pace stormily up and down the room, her white skirts floating behind her, her small hands pulling at her gloves. Harding Watton stood looking on in an attitude of concern, one pensive finger laid upon his lip.