'You mean——?'
'Yes, your niece—the spoilt child of fortune.' Farnborough stopped suddenly and smacked his forehead. 'Of course!'—he wheeled round upon Lady John with accusing face—'I understand it now. She kept him from the meeting last night! Well!'—he collapsed in the nearest chair—'if that's the effect she's going to have, it's pretty serious!'
'You are,' said his hostess.
'I can assure you the election agent's more so. He's simply tearing his hair.'
She had risen. 'How do you know?' she asked more gravely.
'He told me so himself, yesterday. I scraped acquaintance with the agent, just to see if—if——'
'I see,' she smiled. 'It's not only here that you manœuvre for that secretaryship!'
As Lady John moved towards the staircase she looked at the clock. Farnborough jumped up and followed her, saying confidentially—
'You see, you can never tell when your chance might come. The election chap's promised to keep me posted. Why, I've even taken the trouble to arrange with the people at the station to receive any message that might come over from Dutfield.'
'For you?' She smiled at his self-importance.