“My opportunity is gone,” Strone said at last. “They have thrown me over.”
“It is a proof,” Lord Sydenham answered, “of their colossal folly. As for you, Strone, it will be the making of your political career. Come, we are perhaps keeping Lady Malingcourt up. I will walk a little way with you and explain what I mean.”
They passed out into the cool night. Lord Sydenham removed his hat and walked for some distance, carrying it in his hand. Suddenly he turned to his companion.
“Strone,” he said, “you must join us.”
Strone laughed—enigmatically.
“I am handicapped,” he remarked, “with principles. Besides, imagine the horror with which your old-fashioned Conservatives would regard my social schemes. It is impossible.”
“I hope to convince you,” Lord Sydenham said earnestly, “that it is nothing of the sort. In the first place, I want you to remember that during the last ten years a marvelous change has transformed the relative positions of the two great political parties. The advent of the Liberal Unionists into our ranks was the consummation of what was fast becoming inevitable. To-day it is the Conservative party who are the party of progress. It is the party to which you must naturally belong.”
“In the event of your refusal, let me ask you seriously whether you realize what you are doing. You have rare gifts—you have all the qualities of the successful politician. I offer you a firm footing upon the ladder—your ascent is a certainty. I will not appeal to your personal ambition. I appeal to your religion.”
Strone looked up with a queer smile.
“My religion?”