tatues of departed
ecclesiastics or reclining pleasantly on the blue velvet divan which
occupied the centre of the floor.

Foremost in the little company on this occasion stood Sir Edward
Ullweather and Nigel Bradwyn, both private secretaries, and each
secretly convinced that his peculiar powers would have found brilliant,
volcanic opportunities of demonstration in the other's more promising
berth. Ullweather, whose life had been devoted to the study of
agricultural problems, was subordinate to the Secretary of State for
War. Bradwyn, on the other hand, who had planted his soul in the East,
was now learning what he could, at the nation's expense, of the nation's
domestic policy. Demoralised by disappointment, and made cynical by
toiling over interests for which they had, at best, but a forced regard,
little remained in their breasts but a sore determination to make the
best of an abiding discontent. In joining Lord Reckage's Committee, they
found themselves again, as they believed, in a false position. The
second-rate mind, whether represented in a person or by a council,
shrinks from the adoption of simple measures, and invariably seeks to
make itself conspicuous by so placing others as to make them appear
unnecessary. The special genius of Lord Reckage was shown, perhaps, in
his abilities in this direction, and, while he missed no opportunity of
engaging men of proved capabilities for his service, his jealousy drove
him so to employ them that they were never permitted to do their best
either for him or for themselves. This policy carried in itself the
sting for its own destruction.

Not far from Ullweather and Bradwyn, Randall Hatchett, the youngest
member of the Executive, lounged against a pillar. Proud of a
distinction which he dared not comprehend (for a commercial shrewdness
made him suspect that he owed his position less to merit than to the
subtle promises conveyed by a weak chin), this distinguished person
tried to look the secrets which his colleagues had never permitted him
to learn. In moody weariness he would sometimes condescend to the
company of his subordinates on the General Committee and, while
listening to their irresponsible prattle, he would seem to forget the
onerous public interests the absolute neglect of which was his chief
duty at the Council board.

Near this gentleman were two others, Hartley Penborough, the editor of
_The Sentinel_, and the Hon. Charles Aumerle, whose guest he was.

As