"They are raising Lamson to the peerage," he said to Cynthia. "That means the Under Secretaryship of the Local Government Board will be vacant. It was offered to me." Cynthia was radiant. "That's splendid," she cried. "I refused it," said Harry Rames. Cynthia stared at him. Here was a definite step onward, a step refused. "Why?" she asked in her perplexity. "It would have meant the end of me, had I accepted it. It was offered to me to make an end of me, to break up the opposition to Devenish's bill, to show me a traitor to my friends, and an enemy who could be silenced by a bribe. If I had taken it, not merely the government, but the House, the whole House, would have despised me. I should have been done for. I should be an Under Secretary for a year, two years, three years--after that nothing and never anything so long as I lived. I refused it, Cynthia;" and he bent over the table toward her. "You mustn't blame me. I am not failing you. I was thinking of you, my dear, when I refused office. An Under Secretaryship? You remember Challoner's question to Bradley? I should have failed you had I taken it." Cynthia was almost conscious of disappointment. She liked definite things and here was a tangible sign of Harry Rames's advancement. But she received confirmation very soon that he had been right in refusing it. It was at the reception at the Foreign Office in January which marked the beginning of the session. Mr. Devenish himself came up to her with a smile. For a moment Cynthia felt an awkwardness at meeting him, but he was quick to put her at her ease. "Captain Rames did well to refuse office," he said. "I congratulate you, for I suppose that you had some share in the decision." "No," she replied honestly. "To tell you the truth I was a trifle disappointed." Mr. Devenish shook his head. "His whole reputation was at stake. It's character which counts in the House of Commons. If he had taken that Under Secretaryship, he would have been pigeon-holed. We should have had the measure of him. We should not have troubled our heads about him again. For once, Mrs. Rames, you were wrong; he was right." Cynthia looked at him, her great eyes full of a gentle reproach. "Wasn't it a little unkind of you to offer it then. You are a friend of mine, aren't you, Mr. Devenish?" There was no anger in her voice, only a wondering melancholy, a kind of piteous despair that she was living in so graceless a world. Mr. Devenish stared, then he smiled, and he looked at Cynthia with enjoyment. "It wants a woman to use that argument, Mrs. Rames. No man alive would have the nerve. You are out for a fight with me. Yes, but I am a friend of yours, so I mustn't defend myself." He shook his head. "The House of Commons isn't a nursery, Mrs. Rames. You have got to stand by yourself if you're going to stand, neither being kind nor expecting kindness. Captain Rames stands--and he stands to fight me. Very well--but you can't expect me to prop him up."