-hunting philanthropists were the veriest duffers. They laid out
millions of pounds in the vain attempt to secure what might easily
be had for mere thousands, if they went sensibly to work. Their vast
benefactions yielded them at the most bare thanks, or more often no
thanks at all, because they lacked the wit to lay aside certain little
trivial but annoying pretensions, and waive a few empty prejudices.
They went on, year after year, tossing their fortunes into a sink of
contemptuous ingratitude, wondering feebly why they were not beloved in
return. It was because they were fools. They could not, or they would
not, understand the people they sought to manipulate.

What could not a man of real brain, of real breadth and energy and force
of character, do in London with two hundred thousand pounds? Why, he
could make himself master of the town! He could break into fragments the
political ascendency of the snob, "semi-detached" villa classes, in half
the Parliamentary divisions they now controlled. He could reverse
the partisan complexion of the Metropolitan delegation, and lead to
Westminster a party of his own, a solid phalanx of disciplined men,
standing for the implacable Democracy of reawakened London. With such a
backing, he could coerce ministries at will, and remake the politics of
England. The role of Great Oliver himself was not too hopelessly beyond
the scope of such a vision.

Thorpe threw his cigar-end aside, and then noted that it was almost
dark. He strode up to the terrace two steps at a time, and swung along
its length with a vigour and exhilaration of movement he had not known,
it seemed to him, for years. He felt the excitement of a new incentive
bubbling in his veins.

"Her Ladyship is in her sitting-room, sir," a domestic replied to his
enquiry in the hall. The title arrested his attention from some
fresh point of view, and he pondered it, as he made his way along the
corridor, and knocked at a door. At the sound of a voice he pushed open
the door, and went in.

Lady Cressage, looking up, noted, with aroused interest, a marked change
in his carriage. He stood aggressively erect, his big shoulders squared,
and his head held high. On his massive face there was the smile, at once
buoyant and contained, of a strong man satisfied with himself.

Something impelled her to rise, and to put a certain wistfulness of
enquiry into her answering smile.

"Your headache is better then?" she asked him.

He loo