“There can be no question I think, Mr. Pearson—­between you and me—­as to the nature of such a proposal as that!”

“My dear sir,” Mr. Pearson had interrupted hastily, “let me, above all, ask you to take time—­time enough, at any rate, to turn the matter well over in your mind.  The interests of a great many people, besides yourself, are concerned.  Don’t give me an answer to-night; it is the last thing I desire.  I have thrown out my suggestion.  Consider it.  To-morrow is Sunday.  If you are disposed to carry it further, come and see me Monday morning—­that’s all.  I will be at your service at any hour, and I can then give you a much more complete outline of the intentions of the Company.  Now I really must go and look for Mrs. Pearson’s carriage.”

Wharton followed the great man half mechanically across the little room, his mind in a whirl of mingled rage and desire.  Then suddenly he stopped his companion: 

“Has George Denny anything to do with this proposal, Mr. Pearson?”

Mr. Pearson paused, with a little air of vague cogitation.

“George Denny?  Mr. George Denny, the member for Westropp?  I have had no dealings whatever with that gentleman in the matter.”

Wharton let him pass.

Then as he himself entered the tea-room, he perceived the bending form of Aldous Raeburn chatting to Lady Winterbourne on his right, and that tall whiteness close in front, waiting for him.

His brain cleared in a flash.  He was perfectly conscious that a bribe had just been offered him, of the most daring and cynical kind, and that he had received the offer in the tamest way.  An insult had been put upon him which had for ever revealed the estimate held of him by certain shrewd people, for ever degraded him in his own eyes.

Nevertheless, he was also conscious that the thing was done.  The bribe would be accepted, the risk taken.  So far as his money-matters were concerned he was once more a free man.  The mind had adjusted itself, reached its decision in a few minutes.

And the first effect of the mingled excitement and self-contempt which the decision brought with it had been to drive him into the scene with Marcella.  Instinctively he asked of passion to deliver him quickly from the smart of a new and very disagreeable experience.

* * * * *

Well! why should he not take these men’s offer?

He was as much convinced as they that this whole matter of the strike had of late come to a deadlock.  So long as the public would give, the workers, passionately certain of the justice of their own cause, and filled with new ambitions after more decent living, would hold out.  On the other hand, he perfectly understood that the masters had also in many ways a strong case, that they had been very hard hit by the strike, and that many of them would rather close their works or transfer them bodily to the Continent than give way.  Some of the facts Pearson had found time to mention had been certainly new and striking.