"I think not," he said presently, looking up. "I shouldn't do it well.
Perhaps I have become too conscious of the exceptions—the worst cases.
Frankly, the whole thing has become more of a problem to me than it was."
Fontenoy moved, and grunted uneasily.
"Does that mean," he said at last, in his harshest manner, "that you will feel any difficulty in—?"
"In voting? No. I shall vote right enough. I am all for delay. This particular Bill doesn't convince me any more than it did. But I don't want to take a strong public part just at present."
The two men eyed each other in silence.
"I thought there was something brewing," said Fontenoy at last.
"Well, I'm not sorry to have had these few words," was George's reply, after a pause. "I wanted to tell you that, though I shall vote, I don't think I shall speak much more. I don't believe I'm the stuff people in Parliament ought to be made of. I shall be remorseful presently for having led you into a mistake!" He forced a smile.
"I made no mistake," said Fontenoy, grimly, and departed. Then, as he walked down the corridor, he completed his sentence—"except in not seeing that you were the kind of man to be made a fool of by women!"
First of all, a hasty marriage with a silly girl who could be no help to him or to the cause; now, according to Watton—who had called upon Fontenoy that morning, at his private house, to discuss various matters of business—the Lady-Maxwell fever in a pronounced form. Most likely. It was the best explanation.
The leader's own sense of annoyance and disappointment was considerable.
There was no man for whom he had felt so much personal liking as for
Tressady since the fight began.