im?" 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."

"This being the case, why upset him at the eleventh hour?"

She made no reply, and before Reckage could speak again, the servant
announced the arrival of his horse.

"I intend to ride like the devil, Sara," he said; "and I wish you could
come with me. What rides we used to have--long ago! You were a larky
little thing in those days, darling!"

He bent down and kissed her lips.

"You shall marry me--or no one," said he; "but you are cold: you are not
very nice to me. I suppose it's your way. You wouldn't be yourself if
you were like other women. You are not a woman, you're a witch. Must I
go now?"

Sara had opene