"Yes—he's done it!" said Fontenoy, with grim composure, though the hand that held his hat shook. "The curtain may now fall."
"Where is he?" shouted the hot bloods around him, hooting and groaning, as their eyes searched the House for the man who had thus, in an afternoon, pulled down and defeated all their hopes.
But Tressady was nowhere to be seen. He had left the House just as the great news, surging like a wave through Lobby and corridor, reached a group of people waiting in a Minister's private room—and Marcella Maxwell knew that all was won.
CHAPTER XVIII
"I Shall go straight to Brook Street, and see if I can be a comfort to Letty," said Mrs. Watton, with a tone and air, however, that seemed to class her rather with the Sons of Thunder than the Sons of Consolation.
She was standing on the steps of the Ladies' Gallery entrance to the House of Commons, and Harding, who had just called a cab for her, was beside her.
"Could you see from the Gallery whether George had left?"
"He was still there when I came down," said Mrs. Watton, ungraciously, as though she grudged to talk of such a monster. "I saw him near the door while they hooted him. But, anyway, I should go to Letty—I don't forget that I am her only relative in town."
As a matter of fact, her eyes had played her false. But the wrath with which her large face and bonnet were shaking was cause enough for hallucinations.
"Then I'll go, too," said Harding, who had been hesitating. "No doubt Tressady'll stay for his thanks! But I daresay we sha'n't find Letty at home yet. I know she was to go to the Lucys' to-night."