to every antidote in life; but it's no use--I'm stricken. _C'est Venus toute entiere a sa proie attachee_--putting Venus for 'art.' It tears me to pieces as I may say." "I see, I follow you," said Nash, who had listened to this recital with radiant interest and curiosity. "And that's why you are going to stand." "Precisely--it's an antidote. And at present you're another." "Another?" "That's why I jumped at you. A bigger dose of you may disagree with me to that extent that I shall either die or get better." "I shall control the dilution," said Nash. "Poor fellow--if you're elected!" he added. "Poor fellow either way. You don't know the atmosphere in which I live, the horror, the scandal my apostasy would provoke, the injury and suffering it would inflict. I believe it would really kill my mother. She thinks my father's watching me from the skies." "Jolly to make him jump!" Nash suggested. "He'd jump indeed--come straight down on top of me. And then the grotesqueness of it--to _begin_ all of a sudden at my age." "It's perfect indeed, it's too lovely a case," Nash raved. "Think how it sounds--a paragraph in the London papers: 'Mr. Nicholas Dormer, M. P. for Harsh and son of the late Right Honourable and so forth and so forth, is about to give up his seat and withdraw from public life in order to devote himself to the practice of portrait-painting--and with the more commendable perseverance by reason of all the dreadful time he has lost. Orders, in view of this, respectfully solicited.'" "The nineteenth century's a sweeter time than I thought," said Nash. "It's the portrait then that haunts your dreams?" "I wish you could see. You must of course come immediately to my place in London." "Perfidious wretch, you're capable of having talent--which of course will spoil everything!" Gabriel wailed. "No, I'm too old and was too early perverted. It's too late to go through the mill." "You make _me_ young! Don't miss your election at your peril. Think of the edification." "The edification--?" "Of your throwing it all up the next moment." "That would be pleasant for Mr. Carteret," Nick brooded. "Mr. Carteret--?" "A dear old family friend who'll wish to pay my agent's bill." "Serve him right for such depraved tastes." "You do me good," said Nick as he rose and turned away. "Don't call me useless then." "Ah but not in the way you mean. It's only if I don't get in that I shall perhaps console myself with the brush," Nick returned with humorous, edifying elegance while they retraced their steps. "For the sake of all the muses then don't stand. For you _will_ get in." "Very likely. At any rate I've promised." "You've promised Mrs. Dallow?" "It's her place--she'll _put_ me in," Nick said. "Baleful woman! But I'll pull you out!" cried Gabriel Nash. X