"My dear fellow," the Prime Minister expostulated, "you have no right to talk like that. I offered you a post of great responsibility and a seat which we believed to be perfectly safe. You lost the election, bringing a considerable amount of discredit, if you will forgive my saying so, upon the Government. What more can I do?"
Tallente was watching the speaker curiously. He had thought over this interview all the way up on the train, thought it out on very different lines.
"Nothing, I suppose," he admitted, "yet there's a certain risk about dropping me, isn't there? You might drive me into the arms of the enemy."
"What, the old Whig lot? Not a chance! I know you too well for that."
"No, the Democrats."
Horlock moved restlessly in his chair. He was eyeing his visitor steadfastly.
"What, the people who have just voted solidly against you?"
"Hasn't it occurred to you that that might have been political strategy?" Tallente suggested. "They might have maneuvered for the very situation which has arisen—that is, if I am really worth anything to anybody."
Horlock shook his head.
"Oil and water won't mix, Tallente, and you don't belong to that crowd. All the same," he confessed, "I shouldn't like you with them. I cannot believe that such a thing would ever come to pass, but the thought isn't a pleasant one."