"Ask him to come up afterward and see me here."
As he awaited the new-comer, Marsham had time to ponder what this visit of a self-invited guest might mean. The support of the Herald and its brilliant editor had been so far one of Ferrier's chief assets. But there had been some signs of wavering in its columns lately, especially on two important questions likely to occupy the new Ministry in its first session--matters on which the opinion of the Darcy, or advanced section, was understood to be in violent conflict with that of Ferrier and the senior members of the late Front Opposition Bench in general.
Barrington, no doubt, wished to pump him--one of Ferrier's intimates--with regard to the latest phase of Ferrier's views on these two principal measures. The leader himself was rather stiff and old-fashioned with regard to journalists--gave too little information where other men gave too much.
Oliver glanced in some disquiet at the pile of Ferrier's letters lying beside him. It contained material for which any ambitious journalist, at the present juncture, would give the eyes out of his head. But could Barrington be trusted? Oliver vaguely remembered some stories to his disadvantage, told probably by Lankester, who in these respects was one of the most scrupulous of men. Yet the paper stood high, and was certainly written with conspicuous ability.
Why not give him information?--cautiously, of course, and with discretion. What harm could it do--to Ferrier or any one else? The party was torn by dissensions; and the first and most necessary step toward reunion was that Ferrier's aims and methods should be thoroughly understood. No doubt in these letters, as he had himself pointed out, he had expressed himself with complete, even dangerous freedom. But there was not going to be any question of putting them into Barrington's hands. Certainly not!--merely a quotation--a reference here and there.
As he began to sketch his own share in the expected conversation, a pleasant feeling of self-importance crept in, soothing to the wounds of the preceding week. Secretly Marsham knew that he had never yet made the mark in politics that he had hoped to make, that his abilities entitled him to make. The more he thought of it the more he realized that the coming half-hour might be of great significance in English politics; he had it in his own power to make it so. He was conscious of a strong wish to impress Barrington--perhaps Ferrier also. After all, a man grows up, and does not remain an Eton boy, or an undergraduate, forever. It would be well to make Ferrier more aware than he was of that fact.
In the midst of his thoughts the door opened, and Barrington--a man showing in his dark-skinned, large-featured alertness the signs of Jewish pliancy and intelligence--walked in.
"Are you up to conversation?" he said, laughing. "You look pretty done!"
"If I can whisper you what you want," said Oliver, huskily, "it's at your service! There are the cigarettes."
The talk lasted long. Midnight was near before the two men separated.