Sybil Caroom, in a short skirt and a jaunty hat, came towards Brooks with outstretched hand.
"Delightful!" she exclaimed. "I only wish that it had been nine thousand instead of nine hundred. You deserved it."
Brooks laughed heartily.
"Well, we were satisfied to win the seat," he declared.
Molyneux leaned forward tea-cup in hand.
"Well, you deserved it," he remarked. "Our old man opened his mouth a bit, but yours knocked him silly. Upon my word, I didn't think that any one man had cheek stupendous enough to humbug a constituency like Henslow did. It took my breath away to read his speeches."
"Do you really mean that?" asked Brooks.
"Mean it? Of course I do. What I can't understand is how people can swallow such stuff, election after election. Doesn't every Radical candidate get up and talk in the same maudlin way—hasn't he done so for the last fifty years? And when he gets into Parliament is there a more Conservative person on the face of the earth than the Radical member pledged to social reform? It's the same with your man Henslow. He'll do nothing! He'll attempt nothing! Silly farce, politics, I think."
Lady Caroom laughed softly.
"I have never heard you so eloquent in my life, Sydney," she exclaimed. "Do go on. It is most entertaining. When you have quite finished I can see that Mr. Brooks is getting ready to pulverize you."