“Upon my word,” declared Erb, after a few moments’ thought, “to say ‘yes’ would be far and away the easiest thing to do. I owe precious little to my men after the way they’ve treated me, and it would just let them see—”
Mr. Barnes would excuse Lady Frances for interrupting, but a really most supremely brilliant idea had just occurred to her, and it was indispensable that she should communicate it without an instant’s delay. (The young woman panted with surprise and enthusiasm, and Erb watched her reverently.) Why should not Mr. Barnes—this was absolutely the greatest notion that had ever occurred to anybody since the world began—why should not Mr. Barnes do everything he could to forward his candidature as an Independent, and then, just at the last moment retire in favour of—
“No!” said Erb suddenly.
The young woman did not conceal her disappointment at Erb’s unreasonable attitude. No ambassador rebuffed in a mission on which future promotion depended, could have felt greater annoyance. But she recovered her usual amiability, and, leaving the discussion where it was, spoke further of her intentions in regard to Louisa and the trip to the South of France, on which subject she showed such real kindness that when Erb was presently shown out into Eaton Square by Mr. Danks (“Good evening, sir,” said Mr. Danks respectfully), he felt something like contempt for himself for having declined so abruptly to accept her suggestion and advice. He went off to Payne’s house, where something was done to a magic piece of furniture that pretended ordinarily to be a chair, whereupon it became a bedstead, and afforded comfortable rest for the night.
The next morning Erb, for about the first time in his life, found himself with nothing to do but to count the hours. He envied the easy carelessness of men able to loaf outside the public-houses in Dover Street; in some public gardens near there were able-bodied youths smoking cigarettes and sunning themselves luxuriously, content apparently to feel that there, at any rate, work could never force itself upon their attention, and no danger existed of encountering a job. Whatever happened, Erb knew that he would never slide down to this. It might well be that he would not find himself now in a position to ask Rosalind to become his wife, but he would never become a loafer. He walked up through the increasingly busy crowd of High Street, Borough, and comparison between their state and his forced him to recognise the fact that in no place, under certain conditions, can one be so lonely as in London.
“The very man!” cried a voice. The hook of a walking-stick caught his arm.
“That you?” said Erb. “Get my letter?”
“Got your letter,” said the white-haired Labour M.P. in his swift, energetic way, “and I’m going down now to put everything straight for you.”
“That’ll take a bit of doing.”
“I’ve had more twisted things to deal with than this. Which way were you going?”