When he was gone, Leicester lay back in his chair and laughed bitterly.
"What's the odds?" he said. "Let him do what he likes. I don't care. The whole business is a piece of jobbery. Smith thinks he's clever, and is trying to outwit the agent on the other side, while he in his turn is trying to outwit Smith. Well, let them. I'll get into Parliament, and I'll play the game, and yes, I'll make Olive Castlemaine come to me on bended knees. I hurt her pride, did I, by making her the subject of a wager? Well, she would listen to no explanation afterwards, and now she shall take the consequences. I see the meaning of Osborne's action. John Castlemaine will have sent him some account of this business, and—and—well, it's no use worrying. I'll make them all squirm before I've finished; yes, and I'll win my wager too!"
His eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "High ideals! Moral purpose! Raise the standard of politics! Those were her watchwords!" And he laughed mockingly.
He was sitting in a private room in the Red Lion Hotel, and, as he had said, he was glad that he was to have the liberty of the hotel, rather than suffer the restrictions which a private house would place upon him. Moreover, Bridget Osborne, as the friend of Olive Castlemaine, would learn something of the truth, and it would be impossible for him to stay there.
"I will keep up the farce of respectability," he said; "reports have been spread that I've turned teetotaler. Well, I'll play the hypocrite."
He rang the bell and a waiter appeared.
"I'll have dinner alone here at seven o'clock," he said.
"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"
"Yes, a bottle of soda-water."
"Nothing with it, sir?"