He went into the lobby with the Opposition.
It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!”
The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a “scene” in the House.
Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst of an African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons express themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had been present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of Commons. He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers’ Gallery, have learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring—and more.
It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club.
“Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m.,” were the words that the hall-porter had written on the back of the form.
The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon had returned.
She was in the drawing-room, the butler said.
With triumph—a sort of triumph—in his heart, and on his face, he ascended the staircase.
He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she had on a travelling dress.