uzzled propitiation.
A tall sandy-bearded bishop with the expression of a man in a trance
completed this central group.

The room was one of those long apartments once divided by folding doors,
and reaching from back to front, that are common upon the first floors
of London houses. Its walls were hung with two or three indifferent
water colours, there was scarcely any furniture but a sofa or so and a
chair, and the floor, severely carpeted with matting, was crowded with
a curious medley of people, men predominating. Several were in evening
dress, but most had the morning garb of the politician; the women were
either severely rational or radiantly magnificent. Willersley pointed
out to me the wife of the Secretary of State for War, and I recognised
the Duchess of Clynes, who at that time cultivated intellectuality. I
looked round, identifying a face here or there, and stepping back trod
on some one's toe, and turned to find it belonged to the Right Hon. G.
B. Mottisham, dear to the PUNCH caricaturists. He received my apology
with that intentional charm that is one of his most delightful traits,
and resumed his discussion. Beside him was Esmeer of Trinity, whom I had
not seen since my Cambridge days....

Willersley found an ex-member of the School Board for whom he had
affinities, and left me to exchange experiences and comments upon the
company with Esmeer. Esmeer was still a don; but he was nibbling, he
said, at certain negotiations with the TIMES that might bring him
down to London. He wanted to come to London. "We peep at things from
Cambridge," he said.

"This sort of thing," I said, "makes London necessary. It's the oddest
gathering."

"Every one comes here," said Esmeer. "Mostly we hate them like
poison--jealousy--and little irritations--Altiora can be a horror at
times--but we HAVE to come."

"Things are being done?"

"Oh!--no doubt of it. It's one of the parts of the British
machinery--that doesn't show.... But nobody else could do it.

"Two people," said Esmeer, "who've planned to be a power--in an original
way. And by Jove! they've done it!"

I did not for some time pick out Oscar Bailey, and then Esmeer
showed him to me in elaborately confidential talk in a corner with a
distinguished-looking stranger wearing a ribbon. Oscar had none of the
fine appearance of his wife; he was a short sturdy figure with a rounded
protruding abdomen and a curious broad, flattened, clean-shaven face
that seemed nearly