Shelton, recalling Halidome's autocratic manner of settling other people's business, smiled.
“Do I look like it?” he asked.
The eyebrows quivered on the stained-glass man. It had never occurred to him, perhaps, that to stand for Parliament a man must look like it; he examined Shelton with some curiosity.
“Ah, well,” he said, “now you mention it, perhaps not.” His eyes, so carefully ironical, although they differed from the eyes of Mabbey, also seemed to ask of Shelton what sort of a dark horse he was.
“You 're still in the Domestic Office, then?” asked Shelton.
The stained-glass man stooped to sniff a rosebush. “Yes,” he said; “it suits me very well. I get lots of time for my art work.”
“That must be very interesting,” said Shelton, whose glance was roving for Antonia; “I never managed to begin a hobby.”
“Never had a hobby!” said the stained-glass man, brushing back his hair (he was walking with no hat); “why, what the deuce d' you do?”
Shelton could not answer; the idea had never troubled him.
“I really don't know,” he said, embarrassed; “there's always something going on, as far as I can see.”