“I shall say no more about the matter, but if my refusal to aid your attempt upon the Treasury of this overburdened country costs me the loss of your support—if it should cost me the loss of my entire constituency—I shall accept the situation in the knowledge that, at least, I have done my duty. It is only upon such a footing that I can remain in public life . . .”
He raised his eyes, hard and cold with anger, and asked,
“Do you think he’ll believe I’m sincere?”
Azalea shook her head. “He’ll complain, as so many of them do.”
“How’s that?”
“He will say when in power the Liberals forget their principles and the Conservatives, their friends.”
They both sighed.
The banging of doors and quivering of beaver-board partitions that had converted the spaciousness of the Victoria Memorial Museum into cubicles wherein Canada’s Parliamentarians might be temporarily housed, the scurrying along corridors and clang of the elevator gate, told Azalea that noon had come. When immersed in work, Dilling was utterly oblivious to the flight of time.
“What about lunch?” she asked, as soon as he paused. “The gun sounded some time ago.”
How often had she said exactly the same thing!