She looked into his eyes without a tremor, but with a pain at the back of hers that made him flinch.

"Yes, I care," she said very quietly.

"Ah!"

Suddenly he sat down, and buried his face in his arms on the table.

Every good, honest trait he possessed called to him to throw "Mammon"

to the winds, and make her happy. Let the party take care of itself.

It was not for his n.o.bility of character they had taken him into the Cabinet. Let his creditors do their worst - a strong man could win through anything. But the mood did not last. There was not enough room in that india-rubber heart for it to expand and grow. It died for want of breathing-s.p.a.ce.

"If you care, why can't you have the courage to come to me?" he asked a little fiercely.

"Because I have the courage to stay away."

And he knew - hardened sinner that he was - that she named the greater courage.

But his goaded feelings called to him, and drove him, making him mad with the knowledge he must lose her.

"Heroics!..." he said - "heroics!... Don't talk like a bread-and-b.u.t.ter miss, Hal. It is unthinkable of you."

He got up from his chair and took a step towards her, but stood irresolute - daunted by the calm strength in her face.

"The world is too old for heroics any more. Every one laughs at them.

Where is the politician to-day who cares tuppence for anything but the main chance? We blazon our way into office, and we blazon louder still to keep there. It is the spirit of the age. The strong man takes what he wants, and holds it by right of his strength. In primeval times we used fists and clubs. Now we hit with brains and words or hard cash.

That is all the difference. The strong man is still the one who takes what he wants, and keeps it. And I want you, Hal. It is mere feebleness - childishness - to be thwarted by convention and circ.u.mstance. Hoodwink convention, and stamp on circ.u.mstance. Go through stone walls with a battering-ram. As long as the world doesn't know - who cares? Those are my sentiments. They have been for years.

When I want a thing, I go for it bald-headed, and take it."

He drew nearer boldly, refusing to be daunted, putting all his strength and determination against hers.

"And I want you, Hal. Do you understand? Don't be a little fool.

Come."

She backed away from him towards the door.

"I understand well enough," she said quietly, "and I shall never see you again if I can help it. All that you say does not appeal to me in the least. I am not a politician - thank G.o.d - and I am still old-fashioned enough to possess an ideal. I am going now. Good-bye."

But when he saw she was already in the little hall, a wave of fierce desire seemed to catch him by the throat.

"Not yet," he exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely: "Not yet... I care and you care - you cannot go yet -"

But before he reached her, she had slipped through the front door, and shut it behind her, and run down the stairs out into the street.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

All through the next day, while motoring with her cousin d.i.c.k Bruce, Hal made a valiant effort to appear exactly as usual; but all the fresh spring countryside now seemed to mock her with its sudden emptiness, and the very engine of the motor throbbed out to her that something had gone from her life which would not come back any more.

She chatted away to d.i.c.k manfully, about all manner of things, but in the pauses of their chatter she was silent and still in a manner quite unlike her old self - reattending with a start, and sometimes so distraite she did not hear when he spoke to her.

After a time d.i.c.k began to notice, and then purposely to watch, and finally he perceived all her gaiety was forced, and sometimes was weighing heavily on her mind.

It was useless to say anything while they motored, so he gave all his attention to his driving, and purposely allowed the conversation to drop.

When they returned to Bloomsbury he went in to supper with her, as was his habit, and, as he hoped, Dudley was away up at Holloway. It was not until they had finished their meal, and the landlady had cleared away, that he attacked the subject; then, with characteristic directness, he said:

"Now, Hal, what's the matter?"

"The matter?..." in surprise. "What can you mean, d.i.c.k? Why should anything be the matter?"

She tried to meet his eyes frankly, but before the searching inquiry in them her gaze dropped to the fire.

"Something is the matter, Hal. Just as if I shouldn't know."

She was thoughtful a moment or two, thinking how best to put hi off the right scent; then with overpowering suddenness came the recollection of all the pleasure and interest and delight the lost friendship had stood for, and her eyes filled with tears. It was useless to attempt to hide them, so she contrived to say as steadily as possible:

"I am a bit down on my luck about something; but it's nothing to worry about. Don't take any notice; there's a dear boy. I shall soon forget."

"But why shouldn't I take any notice? Don't be a goose, Hal. Tell me what's the matter."

She was silent, and after a pause he added:

"I suppose it is Sir Edwin?"

Hal felt it useless to prevaricate, and so she said, with a.s.sumed lightness:

"Well, it has been a little sudden, and we had some jolly times together."

"Then he is engaged?"

"Yes."

She told him briefly why. d.i.c.k watched her with a question in his eyes.

"Did he deliberately get engaged to the other girl, knowing he cared for you?" he asked.

Hal tried to lie.

"Oh, there was nothing of that sort between him and me. We were just good pals. But of course it can't go on the same."

"You're not a clever liar, Hal," he said, with a little smile.

She coloured and bit her lip, with an uneasy laugh. Then the tears shone again.

"Better tell me about it. Perhaps I can lend a hand to get through with."