"Show them in," said he.
Silas Finn, Jane and Barney Bill! It was odd. He laughed and took out his watch. Yes, he could easily give them half an hour or so. But why had they come? He had found time to call once at the house in Hickney Heath since his return to town, and then he had seen Jane and Silas Finn together and they had talked, as far as he could remember, of the Disestablishment of the Anglican Church and the elevating influence of landscape painting on the human soul. Why had they come? It could not be to offer their services during the election, for Silas Finn in politics was a fanatical enemy. The visit stirred a lively curiosity.
They entered: Mr. Finn in his usual black with many-coloured tie and diamond ring, looking more mournfully grave than ever; Jane wearing an expression half of anxiety and half of defiance; Barney Bill, very uncomfortable in his well-preserved best suit, very restless and nervous. They gave the impression of a deputation coming to announce the death of a near relative. Paul received them cordially. But why in the world, thought he, were they all so solemn? He pushed forward chairs.
"I got your postcard, Bill. Thanks so much for it."
Bill grunted and embraced his hard felt hat.
"I ought to have written to you," said Jane—"but—-"
"She felt restrained by her duty towards me," said Mr. Finn. "I hope you did not think it was discourteous on her part."
"My dear sir," Paul laughed, seating himself in his writing chair, which he twisted away from the table, "Jane and I are too old friends for that. In her heart I know she wishes me luck. And I hope you do too, Mr. Finn," he added pleasantly—"although I know you're on the other side."
"I'm afraid my principles will not allow me to wish you luck in this election, Mr. Savelli."
"Well, well," said Paul. "It doesn't matter. If you vote against me I'll not bear malice."