"So I see George has spoken against his party. There has been a scene.
What has happened? What's the end?"
"Only that the Government has won its clause," said Harding, interposing his smooth falsetto—"won by a substantial majority, too. No chance of the Lords playing the fool!"
"The Government has won?—the Maxwells have won, that is,—she has won!" said Letty, still frowning, her voice sharp and tingling.
"If you like to put it so," said Harding, raising his shoulders. "Yes, I should think that set's pretty jubilant to-night."
"And you mean to say that George did and said nothing to prepare you, my poor child?" cried Mrs. Watton, in her heaviest manner. She had picked up the newspaper, and was looking with disgust at the large head-lines with which the hastily printed sheet strove to eke out the brevity of the few words in which it announced the speech of the evening: "Scene in the House of Commons—Break-down of the Resistance to the Bill—Sir George Tressady's Speech—Unexampled Excitement."
Letty breathed fast.
"He said something a day or two ago about a change, but of course I never believed—He has disgraced himself!"
She began to pace stormily up and down the room, her white skirts floating behind her, her small hands pulling at her gloves. Harding Watton stood looking on in an attitude of concern, one pensive finger laid upon his lip.
"Well, my dear Letty," said Mrs. Watton, impressively, as she laid down the newspaper, "the only thing to be done is to take him away. Let people forget it—if they can. And let me tell you, for your comfort, that he is not the first man, by a long way, that woman has led astray—nor will he be the last."
Letty's pale cheeks flamed into red. She stopped. She turned upon her comforter with eyes of hot resentment and dislike.