Robin leaned back in his chair.
"Told them what?" came from all parts of the room.
But Robin had become suddenly and maddeningly Caledonian again.
"I just told them about Philly," he said. "What else could I do? It wasn't like telling them during the election. That would have been an appeal to the gallery for votes. This was just common justice to you. Anyhow, they quite quietened down after that."
And that was all the report that its author ever gave us of a speech which, in the space of four minutes, turned a half-maddened election mob into a silent, a sympathetic, and (I heard afterwards) a deeply moved body of sober human beings.
"What happened next?" asked Kitty, who had rejoined us. (Phillis was still sleeping sweetly, she said.)
"After that I hauled old Stridge on to the balcony again and gave him a congratulatory hand-shake, coram populo, on your behalf. Then I retired and slipped out by a back way and came here. Stridge was in full eruption again when I left——"
Dolly held up her hand.
"What is that curious noise?" she said.
"It's outside," said Kitty.