Warkworth dissented strongly.  He was a good deal of a politician, himself a “new man,” and on the side of “new men.”  Lord Lackington warmed to the fight, and Warkworth, with bitterness in his heart—­because of that group opposite—­was nothing loath to meet him.  But presently he found the talk taking a turn that astonished him.  He had entered upon a drawing-room discussion of a subject which had, after all, been settled, if only by what the Tories were pleased to call the coup d’etat of the Royal Warrant, and no longer excited the passions of a few years back.  What he had really drawn upon himself was a hand-to-hand wrestle with a man who had no sooner provoked contradiction than he resented it with all his force, and with a determination to crush the contradictor.

Warkworth fought well, but with a growing amazement at the tone and manner of his opponent.  The old man’s eyes darted war-flames under his finely arched brows.  He regarded the younger with a more and more hostile, even malicious air; his arguments grew personal, offensive; his shafts were many and barbed, till at last Warkworth felt his face burning and his temper giving way.

“What are you talking about?” said Julie Le Breton, at last, rising and coming towards them.

Lord Lackington broke off suddenly and threw himself into his chair.

Warkworth rose from his.

“We had better have been handing nails,” he said, “but you wouldn’t give us any work.”  Then, as Meredith and Delafield approached, he seized the opportunity of saying, in a low voice: 

“Am I not to have a word?”

She turned with composure, though it seemed to him she was very pale.

“Have you just come back from the Isle of Wight?”

“This morning.”  He looked her in the eyes.  “You got my letters?”

“Yes, but I have had no time for writing.  I hope you found your mother well.”

“Very well, thank you.  You have been hard at work?”

“Yes, but the Duchess and Mr. Delafield have made it all easy.”

And so on, a few more insignificant questions and answers.

“I must go,” said Delafield, coming up to them, “unless there is any more work for me to do.  Good-bye, Major, I congratulate you.  They have given you a fine piece of work.”

Warkworth made a little bow, half ironical.  Confound the fellow’s grave and lordly ways!  He did not want his congratulations.

He lingered a little, sorely, full of rage, yet not knowing how to go.

Lord Lackington’s eyes ceased to blaze, and the kitten ventured once more to climb upon his knee.  Meredith, too, found a comfortable arm-chair, and presently tried to beguile the kitten from his neighbor.  Julie sat erect between them, very silent, her thin, white hands on her lap, her head drooped a little, her eyes carefully restrained from meeting Warkworth’s.  He meanwhile leaned against the mantel-piece, irresolute.