The feelings of the girl were very similar. But her strength of character and the independence of her position enabled her to take charge of a situation delicate and embarrassing. In a rather high-pitched voice, she began to talk generalities in order to bridge if possible the arid pauses which were always threatening to submerge the conversation. But at the back of her mind was a growing sense that secret forces are always at work in this strange world we inhabit—forces which have a peculiar malice of their own.
And yet, hopeless as the position had suddenly become for these five people, the fates had one more barb in their quiver. And it was of so odd a kind that it was as if the stars in their courses were bent upon seeing what mischief they could contrive in this particular matter. A sudden sharp rap from the knocker of the front door fell into the midst of the growing embarrassment. Joe, welcoming this diversion as relief to a tension that was almost intolerable, went at once to attend the cause of it.
“As I’m a living man,” came a lusty voice from the threshold, “if it isn’t old Joe Kelly.”
The People’s Candidate, rosetted, dauntless and triumphant, accompanied by the lady of his choice, stepped heroically into the small room. Twenty-three years had wrought a very remarkable change in a very remarkable man. In that time Dugald Maclean had bent all the powers of his genius to a task that Miss Harriet Sanderson had discreetly imposed upon the author of “Urban Love, a Trilogy.” And now he came in, every inch a victor, he had not looked to find his monitress. But there she was, pale, grim, yet somehow oddly distinguished in the background of a room curiously familiar. It was to her that his eyes leapt.
“Why, Miss Sanderson!” he said, with a conqueror’s laugh, in which there was no trace of the tongue-tied youth of three and twenty years ago. Offering a conqueror’s hand, he went forward to greet her.
Harriet yielded hers with a vivid blush. And as she did so, she was suddenly aware of two swordlike orbs piercing her right through.
“I didn’t know Mrs. Sanderson was a friend of yours,” said the honeyed voice of Lady Muriel.
“A very old friend,” said Sir Dugald gayly.
At that moment, however, it was necessary for Lady Muriel to curb her curiosity. Since her exit from that room half-an-hour ago other people had gathered in it. She had hardly spoken when her astonished eyes fell upon Cousin Jack. Their recognition of each other was mutually incredulous. Yet there was really no reason why it should have been. It was known to the young man that Muriel had been refused permission to marry a politician already on the high road to place and power, and it was known to her that Jack had been going about with an actress.
“A family party,” said Jack, as their eyes met. “Let me introduce Miss Lawrence—Lady Muriel Dinneford.”