mewhat frigid reception. May noticed that old Miss Quisante was
dozing, and Lady Richard said that she wished she was at home in bed:
Quisante himself had assumed a smile of anticipation when the Statesman
rose and preserved it unimpaired through the long course of the speech.
The audience as a whole grew a little restless; while the next speaker
addressed them, one or two men rose and slipped away unobtrusively. A
quick frown and a sudden jerk of Quisante's head betrayed his fear that
more would go before he could lay his grip on them.

"Why doesn't this man stop?" whispered May.

"I suppose, my dear, he thinks he may as well put Mr. Quisante off as
long as possible," Lady Richard answered flippantly.

Amid yawns, the laying down of burnt-out cigars, and glances at watches,
Quisante rose to make his reply. Aunt Maria was wide-awake now, looking
down at her nephew with her sour smile; Lady Richard leant back
resignedly. Quisante pressed back his heavy smooth black hair, opened
his wide thin-lipped mouth, and began with a courteous commonplace
reference to those who shared with himself the honour of being guests
that night. Ordinary as the frame-work was, there was a touch of
originality in what he said; one or two men who had meant to go struck
matches and lit fresh cigars. Dick Benyon looked up at the gallery and
nodded to his wife. Then Quisante seemed suddenly to increase his
stature by an inch or two and to let loose his arms; his voice was still
not loud, but every syllable fell with incisive distinctness on his
listener's ears. An old Member of Parliament whispered to an elderly
barrister, "He can speak anyhow," and got an assenting nod for answer.
And he was looking as he had when he spoke of his Empress among women,
as he had when he declared that the Spirit of God could not live and
move in the grave-clothes of dead prophets. He was far away from the
guests now, and he was far away from himself; it was another moment; he
was possessed again. Dick looked up with a radiant triumphant smile, but
his wife was frowning, and May Gaston sat with a face like a mask.

"By Jove!" murmured the elderly barrister.

The whole speech was short; perhaps it had been meant to be longer, but
suddenly Quisante's pale face turned paler still, he caught his hand to
his side, he stopped for a moment, and stumbled over his words; than he
recovered and, with his hand still on his side, raised his voice again.
But the logical mind o