d never even a dinner hour! Poor high
gods! Let us pity them."

I looked at him and smiled, perhaps a little wearily. One can always
command one's eyes, but one's lips sometimes get out of control. He
could not have noticed my lips, however, for he cried:

"By George, you're splendid! I wish I could take a knock-out blow like
that!"

"You'll have to one of these days. It's the only way of taking it. And
now," said I, in a businesslike tone, "I've told you all this with a
purpose. At Wymington it will be a case of 'Le Roi est mort. Vive le
Roi!' The vacancy will have to be filled up at once. We'll have to find
a suitable candidate. Have you one in your mind?"

"Not a soul."

"I have."

"Who?"

"You."

"Me?" He nearly sprang into the air with astonishment.

"Why not?"

"They'd never adopt me."

"I think they would," I said. "There are men in the House as young as
you. You're well known at Wymington and at headquarters as my right-hand
man. You've done some speaking--you do it rather well; it's only
your private conversational style that's atrocious. You've got a name
familiar in public life up and down the country, thanks to your father
and mother. It's a fairly safe seat. I see no reason why they shouldn't
adopt you. Would you like it?"

"Like it?" he cried. "Why I'd give my ears for it."

"Then," said I, playing my winning card, "let us hear no more about Lola
Brandt."

He gave me a swift glance, and walked up and down the room for a while
in silence. Presently he halted in front of me.

"Look here, Simon, you're a beast, but"--he smiled frankly at the
quotation--"you're a just beast. You oughtn't to rub it in like that
about Lola until you have seen her yourself. It isn't fair."

"You speak now in language distinctly approaching that of reason," I
remarked. "What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me this afternoon and see her."

My young friend had me nicely in the trap. I could not refuse.

"Very well," said I. "But on the distinct understanding--"

"Oh, on any old understanding you like!" he cried, and darted to the
door.

"Where are you going?"

"To ring her up on the telephone and tell her you're coming."

That's the worst of the young. They have such a disconcerting manner of
clinching one's undertakings.

CHAPTER IV

My first impression of Lola Brandt in the dimness of the room was that
of a lithe panther in petticoats rising lazily from the depths of an
easy chair. A sinu