“Why, you saw!” he said in astonishment, pointing to the evening paper—­“at least the beginning of it.  Louis is at the House now.  I expect him every moment.  He said he would follow me here.”

Marcella pressed her hands upon her eyes a moment as though in pain.  Anthony looked at her with a tardy prick of remorse.

“I hear Louis’s knock!” he said, springing up.  “May I let him in?” And, without waiting for reply, he hobbled as fast as his crutch would carry him to the outer door.  Louis came in.  Marcella rose mechanically.  He paused on the threshold, his short sight trying to make her out in the dusk.  Then his face softened and quivered.  He walked forward quickly.

“I know you have something to forgive us,” he said, “and that this will distress you.  But we could not give you warning.  Everything was so rapid, and the public interests involved so crushing.”

He was flushed with vengeance and victory, but as he approached her his look was deprecating—­almost timid.  Only the night before, Anthony for the first time had suggested to him an idea about her.  He did not believe it—­had had no time in truth to think of it in the rush of events.  But now he saw her, the doubt pulled at his heart.  Had he indeed stabbed the hand that had tried to help him?

Anthony touched him impatiently on the arm.  “What has happened, Louis?  I have shown Miss Boyce the first news.”

“It is all over,” said Louis, briefly.  “The meeting was breaking up as I came away.  It had lasted nearly five hours.  There was a fierce fight, of course, between Wharton and Wilkins.  Then Bennett withdrew his resolution, refused to be nominated himself—­nearly broke down, in fact, they say; he had always been attached to Wharton, and had set his heart upon making him leader—­and finally, after a long wrangle, Molloy was appointed chairman of the party.”

“Good!” cried Anthony, not able to suppress the note of exultation.

Louis did not speak.  He looked at Marcella.

“Did he defend himself?” she asked in a low, sharp voice.

Louis shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, yes.  He spoke—­but it did him no good.  Everybody agreed that the speech was curiously ineffective.  One would have expected him to do it better.  But he seemed to be knocked over.  He said, of course, that he had satisfied himself, and given proof in the paper, that the strike could not be maintained, and that being so he was free to join any syndicate he pleased.  But he spoke amid dead silence, and there was a general groan when he sat down.  Oh, it was not this business only!  Wilkins made great play in part of his speech with the Company scandal too.  It is a complete smash all round.”

“Which he will never get over?” said Marcella, quickly.

“Not with our men.  What he may do elsewhere is another matter.  Anthony has told you how it came out?”

She made a sign of assent.  She was sitting erect and cold, her hands round her knees.