"You are, as it happens, entirely wrong, Arthur. It's not I who have done it--but Miss Glenwilliam's own good sense--or her father's. Of course I confess frankly that I should have done my best--that I did, if you like, do my best, to prevent your marriage with Miss Glenwilliam. And as for right, who else had a right, if not I? Was it not most unkind, most undutiful on your part!"--her tone was a tone of battle--"was it not an outrage on your father's memory--that you should even entertain the notion of such a connection? To bring the daughter of that man into this family!--after all we have done--and suffered--for our principles--it's you, who ought to ask _my_ pardon, Arthur, and not I yours! Times without number, you have agreed with me in despising people who have behaved as if politics were a mere game--a trifle that didn't matter. You have told me often, that things were getting too hot; you couldn't be friends in private, with people you hated in public; people you looked upon as robbers and cheats. And then--_then_--you go and let this infatuation run away with you--you forget all your principles--you forget your mother, and all you owe her--and you go and ask this girl to marry you--whose father is our personal and political enemy--a political adventurer who is trying to pull down and destroy everything that you and I hold sacred--or ought to hold sacred!" "For goodness' sake, mother, don't make a political speech!" He turned upon her with angry contempt. "That kind of thing does all very well to spout at an election--but it won't do between you and me. I _don't_ hate Glenwilliam--_there_! The estates--and the property--and all we hold sacred, as you call it--will last my time--and his. And I jolly well don't care what happens afterward. _He's_ not going to do us much harm. England's a deal tougher proposition than he thinks. It's you women who get up such a hullabaloo--I declare you make politics a perfect devilry! But then"--he shrugged his shoulders fiercely--"I'm not going to waste time in arguing. I just came to tell you _what I intend to do_; and then I'm going up to town. I've ordered the motor for seven o'clock." Lady Coryston had risen, and stood, with one hand on the mantelpiece, looking down upon her son. "I shall be glad indeed to hear what you intend to do, Arthur. I see you have missed two or three important divisions lately." He burst out: "And they won't be the last either, by a good way. I'm going to chuck it, mother! And if you don't like it--you can blame yourself!" "What do you mean?" He hesitated a moment--then spoke deliberately. "I intend to leave Parliament after this session. I do! I'm sick of it. A friend of mine has got a ranch forty miles from Buenos Ayres. He wants me to go in with him--and I think I'll try it. I want something to distract my mind from these troubles." Lady Coryston's eyes blazed in her gray-white face, which not even her strong will could keep from trembling.