had given place to shrewdness of practical
judgment based on very definite experience. Owing to lack of advertising
power, natural to one so conscious of his dignity as to have lost all
care for it, and to his devotion to a certain lady, only closed by
death, his life had been lived, as it were, in shadow. Still, he
possessed a peculiar influence in Society, because it was known to be
impossible to get him to look at things in a complicated way. He was
regarded rather as a last resort, however. "Bad as that? Well, there's
old Fitz-Harold! Try him! He won't advise you, but he'll say something."

And in the heart of that irreverent young man, Harbinger, there stirred
a sort of misgiving. Had he expressed himself too freely? Had he said
anything too thick? He had forgotten the old boy! Stirring Bertie up
with his foot, he murmured "Forgot you didn't know, sir. Bertie will
explain."

Thus called on, Bertie, opening his lips a very little way, and fixing
his half-closed eyes on his great-uncle, explained. There was a lady at
the cottage--a nice woman--Mr. Courtier knew her--old Miltoun went there
sometimes--rather late the other evening--these devils were making the
most of it--suggesting--lose him the election, if they didn't look out.
Perfect rot, of course!

In his opinion, old Miltoun, though as steady as Time, had been a flat
to let the woman come out with him on to the Green, showing clearly
where he had been, when he ran to Courtier's rescue. You couldn't play
about with women who had no form that anyone knew anything of, however
promising they might look.

Then, out of a silence Winlow asked: What was to be done? Should Miltoun
be wired for? A thing like this spread like wildfire! Sir William--a man
not accustomed to underrate difficulties--was afraid it was going to be
troublesome. Harbinger expressed the opinion that the editor ought to
be kicked. Did anybody know what Courtier had done when he heard of it.
Where was he--dining in his room? Bertie suggested that if Miltoun was
at Valleys House, it mightn't be too late to wire to him. The thing
ought to be stemmed at once! And in all this concern about the situation
there kept cropping out quaint little outbursts of desire to disregard
the whole thing as infernal insolence, and metaphorically to punch the
beggars' heads, natural to young men of breeding.

Then, out of another silence came the voice of Lord Dennis:

"I am thinking of this poor lady."

Turning