"But surely you don't object to his reforming?"
"No, of course I should be only too glad if he did, only in that case all the point of our discussion would be gone."
They were, during this conversation, sitting in the club where we first met them, and just as Purvis was about to reply to the other Leicester entered the room. He looked even paler than usual, and the dark rings around his eyes suggested pain either physical or mental. No sooner did he see them than he walked towards them, as if glad of an opportunity of companionship.
"How are you, Leicester?"
"I have a beastly headache," he replied.
Sprague and Purvis looked at each other significantly, a look which Leicester noticed.
"No," he said, "don't draw your conclusions. I have not been drinking. It's that confounded constituency."
"Why, anything happened there?"
"No—nothing of importance. It's only the old game. This man has to be written to, and the other man has to have a certain statement explained. I'd give up the whole thing for twopence."
"Where would your career be then, Leicester?"