“Oh no,” she said with the terrified look coming back again upon her face.
“It’s not like business,” said Withers. “There’d be excitement, you know. Good-night.” And he went out.
Those of Charles Repton’s guests who were Members of the House of Commons had returned to it. One or two of them had hinted that things were a little queer with Repton, but Withers when he got back just in time for the divisions, found no rumours as yet, and was profoundly grateful. One man only who had been present at the dinner, took him aside in the Lobby and asked him whether Charles Repton had had any trouble.
Withers laughed the question away, and explained that he had known Repton for many years and that now and then he did give way to these silly fits of temper. It was digestion, he said; perhaps the guest had noticed there were no onions.
The House had something better to gossip about, for after the divisions Demaine was seen going arm in arm with the Prime Minister into his room for a moment. There had been plenty of talk of Demaine lately: that visit increased it.
Certain members more curious or fussy than the rest scoured the journalists in the lobbies: they had news.
It was all settled. The paragraphs had been sent round to the papers. The Lobby correspondents had each of them quite special and peculiar means of knowing that Certain Changes were expected in the Cabinet in the near future; that the House of Lords was to be strengthened by the addition of talents which were universally respected; several names had been mentioned for the vacancy; perhaps Mr. Demaine, with his special training and the experience drawn from his travels would, on the whole, form the most popular appointment.
Thus had the announcement been given in its vaguest form by the Prime Minister’s secretary; two or three favoured journals had been permitted to say without doubt that Charles Repton had resigned; the exact title under which he would accept a peerage was suggested, and Demaine was put down in black and white as being certainly his successor.