“I find it remarkably interesting,” he replied sententiously. “It is dull at times, of course, but no man can sit on those green benches and not feel he is helping to shape the destinies of a colossal Empire.” “Is that what you really feel--or is it what you say when you are responding for the House of Commons at a public dinner?” asked Norma. Morland hesitated for a moment between huffiness and indulgence. In spite of his former gibes at the stale unprofitableness of parliamentary life, he had always had the stolid Briton's reverence for our Institutions, and now that he was actually a legislator, his traditions led him to take himself seriously. “I have become a very keen politician, I assure you,” he answered. “If you saw the amount of work that falls on me, you would be astonished. If it were n't for Manisty--that's my secretary, you know--I don't see how I could get through it.” “I always wonder,” said Mrs. Hardacre, “how members manage to find time for anything. They work like galley-slaves for nothing at all. I regard them as simply sacrificing themselves for the public good.” “A member of Parliament is the noblest work of God. Don't, mother. Please leave us our illusions.” “What are they?” asked Morland. “One is that there are a few decently selfish people left in an age of altruists,” said Norma. She talked for the sake of talking, careless of the stupid poverty of her epigram. Morland, as the healthy country gentleman alternating with the commonplace man about town, was a passable type enough, though failing to excite exuberant admiration. But Morland, with his narrow range of sympathies and pathetic ignorance of the thought of the day, posing solemnly as a trustee of the British Empire, aroused a scorn which she dare not express in words. “I don't know that we are all altruists,” replied Morland, good-temperedly. “If we are good little members of Parliament, we may be rewarded with baronetcies and things. But one has to play the game thoroughly. It's worth it, is n't it, even from your point of view, Norma?” “You're just the class of man the government does best in rewarding,” remarked Mrs. Hardacre, with her wintry smile that was meant to be conciliatory. “A man of birth and position upholds the dignity of a title and is a credit to his party.” Morland laughingly observed that it was early in the day to be thinking of parliamentary honours. He had not even made his maiden speech. As Norma remained silent, the conversation languished. Presently Mrs. Hardacre rose. “I have no doubt you two want to have a talk together. Won't you stay and dine with us, Morland?” He glanced at Norma, but failing to read an endorsement of the invitation in her face, made an excuse for declining. “Then I will say good-bye and leave you. I would n't stand any nonsense if I were you,” she added in a whisper through the door which he held open for her.