thing that fascinated Austen Vane and others who listened was the aplomb
with which the speech was delivered. The member from Leith showed no
trace of the nervousness naturally to be expected in a maiden effort, but
spoke with the deliberation of an old campaigner, of the man of weight
and influence that he was. He leaned, part of the time, with his elbow on
the clerk's desk, with his feet crossed; again, when he wished to
emphasize a point, he came forward and seized with both hands the back of
his chair. Sometimes he thrust his thumb in his waistcoat pocket, and
turned with an appeal to Mr. Speaker Doby, who was apparently too
thrilled and surprised to indulge in conversation with those on the bench
beside him, and who made no attempt to quell hand-clapping and even
occasional whistling; again, after the manner 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 watchi