“I was almost asleep,” she said.
Taking up a bit of sewing she began to talk about the political prospects. “I hear that you are not altogether in sympathy with the Government,” she said.
“I’m not—not altogether.”
“I even hear that you may resign.”
“Perhaps I would,” said Geoffrey, leaning back and smoothing his hand over his hair, “if I could afford it. I serve my own purposes better by remaining in office.”
“Do you mean that you can’t afford—financially—to risk failure?” Felicia asked. “I never associated you with compromise.”
“It’s not my own failure, but the failure of the policy I believe in that I might risk by refusing to compromise. One fights for one’s cause in politics with all sorts of weapons. As for personal failure, I may not be put to too stringent a test; I may make enough money to float me to absolute independence. Did you know that I was a ferocious gambler—and not only on the Stock Exchange, but with cards?”
The placidity with which he showed her his faults always amused Felicia, even when she could not share it. He made no effort to win good opinion—not even hers.
“I have heard, and to tell you the truth I am sorry about the cards.”
“Why?”