He shook his head, and would hardly let himself be congratulated by any of the admirers, men or women, who pressed to shake hands with him. To most of them he said, impatiently, that it was no good hallooing till one was out of the wood, that for his own part he had expected more, and that the Government might very well rally on the next clause. Then, when he had effectively chilled the enthusiasm of the room, he drew his hostess aside.
"Well, and are you happier?" he said to her in a low voice, his whole expression changing.
"Oh, dear friend! don't think of me," she said, putting out a thin hand to him with a grateful gesture. "Yes, the boy has been very good—he gives me a great deal of his time. But how can one know—how can one possibly know?"
Her pale, small face contracted with a look of pain. Fontenoy, too, frowned as he looked across at Ancoats, who was leaning against the wall in an affected pose, and quoting bits from a new play to George Tressady.
After a pause, he said:
"I think if I were you I should cultivate Tressady. Ancoats likes him. It might be possible some time for you to work through him."
The mother assented eagerly, then said, with a smile:
"But I gather you don't find him much to be depended on in the House?"
Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders.
"Lady Maxwell has bedevilled him somehow. You're responsible!"