The train was nearing St. Pancras.  Marsham roused himself with an effort.  After all, what fault was it of his—­this tragic coincidence of a tragic day?  If Ferrier had lived, all could have been explained; or if not all, most.  And because Ferrier had died of a sudden ailment, common among men worn out with high responsibilities, was a man to go on reproaching himself eternally for another man’s vile behavior—­for the results of an indiscretion committed with no ill-intent whatever?  With miserable self-control, Oliver turned his mind to his approaching interview with the Prime Minister.  Up to the morning of this awful day he had been hanging on the Cabinet news from hour to hour.  The most important posts would, of course be filled first.  Afterward would come the minor appointments—­and then!

* * * * *

Marsham found the Premier much shaken.  He was an old man; he had been a warm personal friend of Ferrier’s; and the blow had hit him hard.

Evidently for a few hours he had been determined to resign; but strong influences had been brought to bear, and he had wearily resumed his task.

Reluctantly, Marsham told the story.  Poor Lord Broadstone could not escape from the connection between the arrival of his letter and the seizure which had killed his old comrade.  He sat bowed beneath it for a while; then, with a fortitude and a self-control which never fails men of his type in times of public stress and difficulty, he roused himself to discuss the political situation which had arisen—­so far, at least, as was necessary and fitting in the case of a man not in the inner circle.

As the two men sat talking the messenger arrived from Beechcote with Sir James Chide’s letter.  From the Premier’s expression as he laid it down Marsham divined that it contained Chide’s refusal to join the Government.  Lord Broadstone got up and began to move to and fro, wrapped in a cloud of thought.  He seemed to forget Marsham’s presence, and Marsham made a movement to go.  As he did so Lord Broadstone looked up and came toward him.

“I am much obliged to you for having come so promptly,” he said, with melancholy courtesy.  “I thought we should have met soon—­on an occasion—­more agreeable to us both.  As you are here, forgive me if I talk business.  This rough-and-tumble world has to be carried on, and if it suits you, I shall be happy to recommend your appointment to her Majesty—­as a Junior Lord of the Treasury—­carrying with it, as of course you understand, the office of Second Whip.”

Ten minutes later Marsham left the Prime Minister’s house.  As he walked back to St. Pancras, he was conscious of yet another smart added to the rest.  If anything were offered to him, he had certainly hoped for something more considerable.

It looked as though while the Ferrier influence had ignored him, the Darcy influence had not troubled itself to do much for him.  That he had claims could not be denied.  So this very meagre bone had been flung him.  But if he had refused it, he would have got nothing else.