“Was it you whom I saw with my cousin?” he asked.
“Yes,” Strone answered. “I was just leaving. Good night.”
“Wait a moment,” Lord Sydenham exclaimed. “I wanted to see you particularly. Come upstairs again.”
“All right at the House?” Strone asked.
Lord Sydenham laughed curiously.
“That depends on how you look at it,” he answered. “The division came off, after all.”
“I was paired,” Strone said quickly.
“I know! But your men went solid with the opposition.”
Strone stood still in blank amazement. It had come, then—already. Lord Sydenham watched him and was satisfied. He led the way into the drawing-room. Strone followed like a man in a dream. He heard a greeting pass between the two. Their first few sentences were unintelligible to him.
It had come and sooner than Strone had expected. His men went with the opposition as a result of their bickerings and mistrust. Lord Sydenham contentedly lit a cigarette. Strone stood with clinched hands, his head thrown back, his eyes ablaze with anger. He had been deceived and tricked, and by the very men whose cause in his hands was becoming a religion. It was ignoble. The man and woman watched him curiously.