of
experts, Mr. Crewe addressed himself forcibly to an individual in the
audience, usually a sensitive and responsive person like the Honourable
Jacob Botcher, who on such occasions assumed a look of infinite wisdom
and nodded his head slowly. There was no doubt about it that the
compelling personality of Mr. Humphrey Crewe was creating a sensation.
Genius is sure of itself, and statesmen are born, not made.

Able and powerful as was Mr. Crewe's discourse, the man and not the
words had fastened the wandering attention of Austen Vane. He did not
perceive his friend of the evening before, Mr. Widgeon, coming towards
him up the side aisle, until he felt a touch on the arm.

"Take my seat. It ain't exactly a front one," whispered the member from
Hull, "my wife's cousin's comin' on the noon train. Not a bad speech, is
it?" he added. "Acts like a veteran. I didn't callate he had it in him."

Thus aroused, Austen made his way towards the vacant chair, and when
he was seated raised his eyes to the gallery rail, and Mr. Crewe, the
legislative chamber, and its audience ceased to exist. It is quite
impossible--unless one is a poetical genius--to reproduce on paper that
gone and sickly sensation which is, paradoxically, so exquisite. The
psychological cause of it in this instance was, primarily, the sight,
by Austen Vane, of his own violets on a black, tailor-made gown trimmed
with wide braid, and secondarily of an oval face framed in a black hat,
the subtle curves of which no living man could describe. The face
was turned in his direction, and he felt an additional thrill when he
realized that she must have been watching him as he came in, for she was
leaning forward with a gloved hand on the railing.

He performed that act of conventionality known as a bow, and she nodded
her head--black hat and all. The real salutation was a divine ray which
passed between their eyes--hers and his--over the commonplace mortals
between. And after that, although the patient legislative clock in the
corner which had marked the space of other great events (such as the
Woodchuck Session) continued to tick, undisturbed in this instance
by the pole of the sergeant-at-arms, time became a lost dimension for
Austen Vane. He made a few unimportant discoveries such as the fact that
Mrs. Pomfret and her daughter were seated beside Victoria, listening
with a rapt attention; and that Mr. Crewe had begun to read statistics;
and that some people were gaping