“Duson, a carriage!”
At Camperdown House he learned that Helene was out—shopping, the hall porter believed. Mr. Sabin drove slowly down Bond Street, and was rewarded by seeing her brougham outside a famous milliner’s. He waited for her upon the pavement. Presently she came out and smiled her greetings upon him.
“You were waiting for me?” she asked.
“I saw your carriage.”
“How delightful of you. Let me take you back to luncheon.”
He shook his head.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that I should be poor company. May I drive home with you, at any rate, when you have finished?”
“Of course you may, and for luncheon we shall be quite alone, unless somebody drops in.”
He took his seat beside her in the carriage. “Helene,” he said, “I am interested in Mr. Brott. No, don’t look at me like that. You need have no fear. My interest is in him as a man, and not as a politician. The other days are over and done with now. I am on the defensive and hard pressed.”
Her face was bright with sympathy. She forgot everything except her old admiration for him. In the clashing of their wills the victory had remained with her. And as for those things which he had done, the cause at least had been a great one. Her happiness had come to her through him. She bore him no grudge for that fierce opposition which, after all, had been fruitless.