The house was an old-fashioned Georgian one. Upon the iron railings was a huge extinguisher, recalling the days of linkmen and coaches, while within was a long, rather narrow hall and a spiral staircase of stone worn hollow by the tread of five generations. The rooms were not large, but very tastefully, even luxuriously, furnished, with many fine paintings, pieces of beautiful statuary, and magnificent bronzes, while everywhere were soft carpets upon which one’s feet fell noiselessly. In that house, indeed in that very room wherein the four sat laughing in the June twilight, the pale-pink shades of the lamps shedding a soft glow over the table with its flowers and silver, many of the most prominent British statesmen had been entertained by the Colonial Secretary, and many a State secret had been discussed within those four dark-painted walls.
“The Prime Minister dined with us last Thursday,” Sheila remarked to Cicely Wheeler. “Lord Horsham came in later, and they had one of their private conferences.”
“Which meant that you were left to amuse yourself alone, eh?” laughed Sir Pemberton Wheeler, and he glanced mischievously towards Austin on the other side of the table.
“Yes. That is quite true.” Sheila laughed, instantly grasping his meaning. “Mr Wingate did not happen to be here. When father has a political dinner no ladies are invited. Some of those dinners are horribly boring, I can assure you,” declared the girl.
“Their eternal discussion of this measure and the other measure, and—oh! how they all intrigue, one Party against the other! Do you know that I’ve sat here and heard some most remarkable schemes.”
“Secrets, I suppose?” remarked Austin, twisting the stem of his windlass between his fingers.
“Yes—I’ve heard them discuss what they call matters of policy which, to me, appear merely to be the most ingenious methods of gulling the public.”
“Ah! my dear Miss Monkton, few politicians are so straight and open as your father. That is why the Opposition are so deadly in fear of him. His speech last week regarding the recent trouble in the Malay States was an eye-opener. He lifted the veil from a very disconcerting state of affairs, much to the chagrin and annoyance of those to whose advantage it was to hush-up the matter.”
“That is what father is always saying,” declared Sheila. “He often sighs when going through despatches which the messengers bring, and exclaims aloud ‘Ah! if the public only knew!—if they only knew! What would they think—what would they say?’”
“Then something is being concealed from the nation?” Austin remarked.