II

Ashe took his seat, dined, and saw the Prime Minister.  These things took time, and it was not till past eleven that he presented himself in the hall of Madame d’Estrees’ house in St. James’s Place.  Most of her guests were already gathered, but he mounted the stairs together with an old friend and an old acquaintance, Philip Darrell, one of the ablest writers of the moment, and Louis Harman, artist and man of fashion, the friend of duchesses and painter of portraits, a person much in request in many worlds.

“What a cachet they have, these houses!” said Harman, looking round him.  “St. James’s Place is the top!”

“Where else would you expect to find Madame d’Estrees?” asked Darrell, smiling.

“Yes—­what taste she has!  However, it was I really who advised her to take the house.”

“Naturally,” said Darrell.

Harman threw a dubious look at him, then stopped a moment, and with a complacent proprietary air straightened an engraving on the staircase wall.

“I suppose the dear lady has a hundred slaves of the lamp, as usual,” said Ashe.  “You advise her about her house—­somebody else helps her to buy her wine—­”

“Not at all, my dear fellow,” said Harman, offended—­“as if I couldn’t do that!”

“Hullo!” said Darrell, as they neared the drawing-room door.  “What a crowd there is!”

For as the butler announced them, the din of talk which burst through the door implied indeed a multitude—­much at their ease.

They made their way in with difficulty, shaping their course towards that corner in the room where they knew they should find their hostess.  Ashe was greeted on all sides with friendly words and congratulations, and a passage was opened for him to the famous “blue sofa” where Madame d’Estrees sat enthroned.

She looked up with animation, broke off her talk with two elderly diplomats who seemed to have taken possession of her, and beckoned Ashe to a seat beside her.

“So you’re in?  Was it a hard fight?”

“A hard fight?  Oh no!  One would have had to be a great fool not to get in.”

“They say you spoke very well.  I suppose you promised them everything they wanted—­from the crown downward?”

“Yes—­all the usual harmless things,” said Ashe.

Madame d’Estrees laughed; then looked at him across the top of her fan.

“Well!—­and what else?”

“You can’t wait for your newspaper?” he said, smiling, after a moment’s pause.

She shrugged her shoulders good-humoredly.

“Oh!  I know—­of course I know.  Is it as good as you expected?”

“As good as—­” The young man opened his mouth in wonder.  “What right had I to expect anything?”

“How modest!  All the same, they want you—­and they’re very glad to get you.  But you can’t save them.”

“That’s not generally expected of Under-Secretaries, is it?”