"Why should it? It was he who had the shrewdness to recognize the opportunity which this question affords, and to select this particular line of attack. He engineered the whole movement. That's known. And if he carries his own people into the division lobby with him, and the opposition into the bargain, he will have established a fine reputation for Parliamentary capacity. That counts, Mrs. Rames, take the word-of an old hand. That counts here more than speech-making." "Does it?" cried Cynthia, smiles breaking through the tragic gloom of her countenance. But the smiles vanished. She shook her head wistfully. "You are merely saying this because you see that I am troubled." "But it's none the less true. This House has a corporate life which is rather difficult for those who are not members of it to understand." Robert Brook certainly seemed very well contented. Cynthia, however, was not satisfied. "But will he carry his people with him into the division lobby--now?" she asked. "Won't they a little have lost faith?" "Not a bit. You see Howard Fall has quite saved the situation," Brook replied cheerily, and Cynthia suddenly stepped on ahead. The name of Howard Fall was beginning to exasperate her. She stopped, however, as they came into the round hall of the lobby. "On the whole," she said, with the loftiest impartiality, "I liked my husband's speech a good deal better than I did Mr. Howard Fall's. Perhaps on a second thought you will too, Mr. Brook." She surveyed him steadily with a pair of cold blue eyes, and then her face suddenly dimpled to a smile of appeal. "You really mean that I can't see him?" "The man who starts a discussion must hear it out. That's a sound old rule, and if it's not so religiously kept as it used to be, the House of Commons is the worse." "I can send him a little note at all events." "Certainly. Write it and I'll give it to a messenger." "A messenger!" said Cynthia doubtfully. "Will it be sure to reach him? It's rather important." Brook smiled. "Very well. I'll take it in myself, Mrs. Rames." Cynthia took a little diary from the bag she carried, tore out a leaf, scribbled hastily: "You did splendidly. Everybody thinks so. Cynthia;" and having calmly perpetrated that obvious untruth, she twisted up her message and handed it to Brook. The sandy-haired man from the Shires was drifting about the lobby. Brook called to him. "Look after Mrs. Rames for a moment, will you?" he said, and hurried off through the swing-doors. It seemed a very short time to Cynthia before he came back, though in that short time she had not so much as addressed a word to her companion. She looked at Robert Brook's hands. They were empty and a shadow passed over her face. "Did you give it him?" she asked. "I passed it along the bench and saw that it reached him. I didn't wait for him to open it."