"You are too much of a reformer, too much of a crank—no, I'm sorry to tell you so, but in my inmost soul I believe you will fail. You're built that way! I don't know why, but men of influence have weighed you in the balance and found you wanting. William Murgatroyd, politically you're dead—that's what they tell me. There's no future for you; you have ruthlessly antagonised every valuable interest needlessly. That's not success!"
Murgatroyd's face paled; his hand trembled as he raised it in protest.
"But the people—the people believe in me?"
Shirley smiled again in spite of herself.
"You haven't an ounce of diplomacy in your whole body!"
"Not if you call obeying orders from Peter Broderick, diplomacy."
Still the girl was merciless.
"You hit from the shoulder wildly; it lands on and hurts your opponent, but it kills you. You're only honest, Billy, nothing else."
Murgatroyd swung about nervously and glanced out of the window as he cried:—
"Only honest! Doesn't that count with you—doesn't it signify?"