"What is it?"
"Brenda thinks you might have got into trouble, and is anxious to hear that you are safe. Please send her word."
"Thank you," said Mr. Scarse, loftily, "there is no cause for alarm. I will attend to the matter. Were you at the meeting to-day?"
"I was," retorted Wilfred, shortly, "and I was glad to see it was a failure. Drive on, cabby," and before the older man had recovered from his anger, the hansom was swinging round the corner.
"Rude young man," muttered Mr. Scarse, wearily mounting the steps to his chambers. "Never shall I consent to Brenda marrying his brother!"
In his study he poured himself out a glass of brandy. The events of the afternoon had tried him severely, and he looked older and more frail than ever. He was deeply mortified by the discovery that the popular feeling was all against the Boers, and he recognized that war was certain. Still he hoped that if England were the one to proclaim it Europe might intervene, and for his own part resolved to throw all possible obstacles in the way. Scarse was a true patriot. He could not have loved England more had he been born a German or a Frenchman!
He lay down for an hour. The sleep refreshed him, and he awoke with a clearer brain. On returning to his study he set about writing a letter to the Press, alleging that the failure of the meeting was due to a Jingoistic conspiracy. While engaged on this precious epistle, Van Zwieten was announced, and Mr. Scarse came forward with outstretched hands.
"Ah, my dear fellow! I am so glad to see you. What a terrible afternoon it has been! A conspiracy, Van Zwieten--a conspiracy! The voice of the people has been stifled, my dear friend."
"It didn't sound like it this afternoon," said the Dutchman, drily. "They all called for war. Well, if they want it, they shall have it. And won't they be sorry when they get it."
"No war--no war. I shall protest----"