And Giles Henderson is nominated—Hilary?"
"Yes," said Mr. Vane.
"I don't think any of us were—quite ourselves to-day. It wasn't that we didn't believe in you—but we didn't have all the threads in our hands, and—for reasons which I think I can understand—you didn't take us into your confidence. I want to—"
The words died on the senator's lips. So absorbed had he been in his momentous news, and solicitous over the result of his explanation, that his eye looked outward for the first time, and even then accidentally.
"Hilary!" he cried; "for God's sake, what's the matter? Are you sick?"
"Yes, Whitredge," said Mr. Vane, slowly, "sick at heart."
It was but natural that these extraordinary and incomprehensible words should have puzzled and frightened the senator more than ever.
"Your heart!" he repeated.
"Yes, my heart," said Hilary.
The senator reached for the ice-water on the table.