No reply, except a furious glance. Coryston began to look perturbed. He descended from his perch, and approaching the still pacing Arthur, he took his arm--an attention to which the younger brother barely submitted. "Look here, old boy? Am I becoming a beast? Are you sure of her? Is it serious?" "Sure of her? Good God--if I were!" He walked to a window near, and stood looking out, so that his face could not be seen by his companions, his hands in his pockets. Coryston's eyebrows went up; the eyes beneath them showed a genuine concern. Refusing a further pull at Lester's cigarettes, he took a pipe out of his pocket, lit it, and puffed away in a brown study. The figure at the window remained motionless. Lester felt the situation too delicate for an outsider's interference, and made a feint of returning to his work. Presently it seemed that Coryston made up his mind. "Well," he said, slowly, "all right. I'll cut my meeting. I can get Atherstone to take the chair, and make some excuse. But I really don't know that it'll help you much. There's already an announcement of your meeting in the Martover paper yesterday--" "_No_!" Arthur faced round upon his brother, his cheeks blazing. "Perfectly true. Mother's taken time by the forelock. I have no doubt she has already written your speech." "What on earth can I do?" He stood in helpless despair. "Have a row!" said Coryston, laughing. "A good row and stick to it! Tell mother you won't be treated so--that you're a man, not a school-boy--that you prefer, with many thanks, to write your own speeches--_et cetera_. Play the independence card for all you're worth. It _may_ get you out of the mess." Arthur's countenance began to clear. "I'm to make it appear a bargain--between you and me? I asked you to give up your show, and you--" "Oh, any lies you like," said Coryston, placidly. "But as I've already warned you, it won't help you long." "One gains a bit of time," said the young lover, in a tone of depression. "What's the good of it? In a year's time Glenwilliam will still be Glenwilliam--and mother mother. Of course you know you'll break her heart--and that kind of thing. Marcia made me promise to put that before you. So I do. It's perfectly true; though I don't know that I am the person to press it! But then mother and I have always disagreed--whereas _you_ have been the model son." Angry melancholy swooped once more upon Arthur. "What the deuce have women to do with politics! Why can't they leave the rotten things to us? Life won't be worth living if they go on like this!" "'_Life_,'" echoed Coryston, with amused contempt. "Your life? Just try offering your billet--with all its little worries thrown in--to the next fellow you meet in the street--and see what happens!" But the man in Arthur rebelled. He faced his brother.