"Believe me, it is the weak, effeminate creature who wishes to control women. Men of character respect women of character. These fellows who declare that they will be masters in their own house are masters nowhere else. I delight in your spirit. Orange and I have often agreed," he added, with a searching look, "that you are the most brilliant girl in England." "Why do you quote Robert?" she said carelessly; "isn't your opinion enough for me?" "Can you pretend that his opinion has no weight with you?" She laughed, and stroked his arm. "My dear, why should I pretend anything? To tell the truth, I am surprised that Orange has noticed me. I saw Mrs. Parflete to-day. I understand his infatuation." "I have always told you that she was a very pretty woman. But why is it that, no matter where we start, we always come back to Orange? I am getting sick of him. I dislike being _affiché_, as it were, to some one else. This marriage of his pursues me. If I go into a club, if I dine, if I ride, if I walk--ten to one if I am not pelted with questions about Mrs. Parflete, or Robert's history, or his genius, or his future plans. I must drop him." "Drop him?" she exclaimed. "Yes. It doesn't help me to appear so friendly with a Roman. I know he is very fine, but I have to consider my own position. They all say that it would be madness to take the chair now at his meeting." "But it was _your_ meeting, Beauclerk." "In the first place, perhaps. I thought, too, it might be a good, independent move. Disraeli's invitation to Hanborough puts another complexion on affairs. It is the first formal recognition that he, as Leader, has ever given me. It is a reminder of my responsibilities. He is fond of Orange, I know, and he wouldn't hurt his feelings, or seem to put a spoke in his wheel, for all the world. But Dizzy is subtle. He likes to test one's _savoir vivre_." "Shall you tell Orange that you intend to throw him over?" "Not yet." "Oh, you ought!" "Why? I want the meeting to take place. It will be useful in its way--it may show us how public opinion is going." Sara hid her contempt by rising from her chair and removing her hat. Reckage watched the play of her arms as she stood before the mirror, and he did not see, as she could, the reflection of his face--sensual, calculating, and, stormed as it was for the moment by the meanest feelings of self-interest, repellent. "How I hate him!" she thought; "how I despise him!" Then she turned round, smiling-- "Hats make my head ache! So you think the meeting will be useful?" "Emphatically. It did occur to me that I might drop a line to Robert--in fact, I was writing to him when you came in. Here's the letter, as you see, signed and sealed." "Do send it." "No," he answered, putting it back into his pocket; "one could only get him on the platform just now by making him believe that such an action would, in some way, help me. You don't know Robert." "I daresay not, but I know that much."