“I say, it’s rough on her, isn’t it?”
Then he was confused, hurriedly offered Gaston a cigarette, a hasty good-bye was said, and they parted. Gaston went first to Lord Faramond. He encountered inquisition, cynical humour, flashes of sympathy, with a general flavour of reproach. The tradition of the Commons! Ah, one way only: he must come back alone—alone—and live it down. Fortunately, it wasn’t an intrigue—no matter of divorce—a dompteuse, he believed. It must end, of course, and he would see what could be done. Such a chance—such a chance as he had had! Make it up with his grandfather, and reverse the record—reverse the record: that was the only way. This meeting must, of course, be strictly between themselves. But he was really interested for him, for his people, and for the tradition of the Commons.
“I am Master of the Hounds too,” said Gaston dryly. Lord Faramond caught the meaning, and smiled grimly.
Then came Gaston’s decision—he would come back—not to live the thing down, but to hold his place as long as he could: to fight.
Lord Faramond shrugged a shoulder. “Without her?”
“I cannot say that.”
“With her, I can promise nothing—nothing. You cannot fight it so. No one man is stronger than massed opinion. It is merely a matter of pressure. No, no; I can promise nothing in that case.”
The Premier’s face had gone cold and disdainful. Why should a clever man like Belward be so infatuated? He rose, Gaston thanked him for the meeting, and was about to go, when the Prime Minister, tapping his shoulder kindly, said:
“Mr. Belward, you are not playing to the rules of the game.” He waved his hand towards the Chamber of the House. “It is the greatest game in the world. She must go! Do not reply. You will come back without her—good-bye!”
Then came Ridley Court. He entered on Sir William and Lady Belward without announcement. Sir William came to his feet, austere and pale. Lady Belward’s fingers trembled on the lace she held. They looked many years older. Neither spoke his name, nor did they offer their hands. Gaston did not wince, he had expected it. He owed these old people something. They lived according to their lights, they had acted righteously as by their code, they had used him well—well always.