“What is it, Dick? What have you done?”
Hennion glanced at Aidee and thought of their late stormy tilting.
“Oh, I was away to-day, and Kennedy saw the chance to make a blunder with his sand layer. He thinks it won't make much difference, if we forget about it. He's an ingenious arguer. But I hate sloppy work.”
Aidee said nothing. The two men stopped at the Champney gate. Camilla went up the path with her swift, springy step. They turned back to the gangs of workmen.
“You were right about that, the other night,” said Aidee abruptly. “I'm not quite clear how you were right, but you were.”
“Right about the whole business?”
“No, only about my method. I'm still urging you to go in, but I'm adopting your scruples.”
Hennion shook his head thoughtfully. Aidee went on.
“Political power is safest in the hands of those who have to make a sacrifice in order to accept it.” Then he stopped with a short laugh. “I'm a coiner of phrases. It's inveterate. Maxims don't interest you. Would it be any argument for your going in if I engaged to stay out?”
“Why, hardly. I don't know. I don't make you out.”