FARRANT. [_In great distress._] You're wrong, Horsham. [_Then in greater._] That is ... I think you're wrong. HORSHAM. I'd sooner not let him know to-night. BLACKBOROUGH. But he asked you to. HORSHAM. [_All show of resistance gone._] Did he? Then I suppose I must. [_He sighs deeply._] BLACKBOROUGH. Then I'll get back to Aylesbury. _He picks up his motor-cap from the table and settles it on his head with immense aplomb._ HORSHAM. So late? BLACKBOROUGH. Really one can get along quicker at night if one knows the road. You're in town, aren't you, Farrant? Shall I drop you at Grosvenor Square? FARRANT. [_Ungraciously._] Thank you. BLACKBOROUGH. [_With a conqueror's geniality._] I don't mind telling you now, Horsham, that ever since we met at Shapters I've been wondering how you'd escape from this association with Trebell. Thought he was being very clever when he crossed the House to us! It's needed a special providence. You'd never have got a cabinet together to include him. HORSHAM. [_With much intention._] No. FARRANT. [_Miserably.]_ Yes, I suppose that intrigue was a mistake from the beginning. BLACKBOROUGH. Well, good-night. [_As he turns to go he finds_ CANTELUPE _upright, staring very sternly at him._] Good-night, Cantelupe. CANTELUPE. From what motives have we thrown Trebell over? BLACKBOROUGH. Never mind the motives if the move is the right one. [_Then he nods at_ HORSHAM.] I shall be up again next week if you want me. _And he flourishes out of the room; a man who has done a good hour's work_, FARRANT, _who has been mooning depressedly around, now backs towards the door._ FARRANT. In one way, of course, Trebell won't care a damn. I mean, he knows as well as we do that office isn't worth having ... he has never been a place-hunter. On the other hand ... what with one thing and the other ... Blackborough is a sensible fellow. I suppose it can't be helped. HORSHAM. Blackborough will tell you so. Good-night. _So_ FARRANT _departs, leaving the two cousins together._ CANTELUPE _has not moved and now faces_ HORSHAM _just as accusingly._ CANTELUPE. Cyril, this is tragic. HORSHAM. [_More to himself than in answer._] Yes ... most annoying. CANTELUPE. Lucifer, son of the morning! Why is it always the highest who fall? HORSHAM _shies fastidiously at this touch of poetry._ HORSHAM. No, my dear Charles, let us above all things keep our mental balance. Trebell is a most capable fellow. I'd set my heart on having him with me ... he'll be most awkward to deal with in opposition. But we shall survive his loss and so would the country. CANTELUPE. [_Desperately._] Cyril, promise me there shall be no compromise over this measure. HORSHAM. [_Charmingly candid._] No ... no unnecessary compromise, I promise you. CANTELUPE. [_With a sigh._] If we had done what we have done to-night in the right spirit! Blackborough was almost vindictive.