This particular evening Jack had returned to London somewhat unexpectedly, having found himself able to catch a late train up, after the meeting he had been addressing in Southampton on behalf of a young Conservative, standing for the first time, who, because he had been nearly all the way to Pretoria, was therefore apparently qualified to say the last word on every measure, from seats for shop girls to seats for Bishops in the Upper House. Marie had just come home from a party when he arrived, and the two talked while Jack had supper.
"I don't suppose I shouted and screamed enough to please him," he said; "but the fact is, I do not think he is necessarily omniscient, nor that he will be Prime Minister at the age of twenty-four. However, I preached the gospel."
Marie threw back her cloak.
"Talk to me while you eat," she said. "I am getting swept into the vortex, too; this evening we talked about nothing but politics."
"Won't it bore you?"
"I shall enjoy it. I think people believe in you, Jack."
Jack shrugged his shoulders.
"The point is that they should believe what I say. It doesn't matter about me."
"Indeed it does. It is you who make them believe it. Besides—well, go on."