“You too, then,” she said, “have some of the old aim at heart.  You are not going to immerse yourself wholly in politics?”

“My studies,” he said, “will be in life.  It is not from books that I hope to gain experience.  I want to get a little nearer to the heart of the thing.  You and I may easily come across one another, even in this great city.”

“You,” she said, “are going to watch, to observe, to trace the external only that you may understand the internal.  But I am going to work on my hands and knees.”

“And you think that I am going to play the dilettante?”

“Not altogether.  But you will want to pass from one scheme to another to see the inner workings of all.  I shall be content to find occupation in any one.

“I shall be coming to you,” he said, “for information and help.”

“I doubt it,” she answered, cheerfully.  “Never mind!  It is pleasant to build castles, and we may yet find ourselves working side by side.”

He suddenly looked at her.

“I have answered all your questions,” he said.  “There is something about you which I should like to know.”

“I am sure you shall.”

“Lord Arranmore came to me when I was staying at the Metropole with your uncle and cousin.  He wished me to use my influence with you to induce you to accept a certain sum of money which it seemed that you had already declined.”

“Well?”

“Of course I refused.  In the first place, as I told him, I was not aware that I possessed any influence over you.  And in the second I had every confidence in your own judgment.”

She was suddenly very thoughtful.

“My own judgment,” she repeated.  “I am afraid that I have lost a good deal of faith in that lately.”

“Why?”

“I have learned to repent of that impulsive visit of mine to Enton.”

“Again why?”

“I was mad with rage against Lord Arranmore.  I think that I was wrong.  It was many years ago, and he has repented.”

Brooks smiled faintly.  The idea of Lord Arranmore repenting of anything appealed in some measure to his sense of humour.

“Then I am afraid that I did him some great harm in accusing him like that—­openly.  He has seemed to me since like an altered man.  Tell me, those others who were there—­they believed me?”

“Yes.”

“It did him harm—­with the lady, the handsome woman who was playing billiards with him?”

“Yes.”

“Was he engaged to her?

“No!  He proposed to her afterwards, and she refused him.”

Her eyes were suddenly dim.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“I think,” he said, quietly, “that you need not be.  You probably saved her a good deal of unhappiness.”

She looked at him curiously.

“Why are you so bitter against Lord Arranmore?” she asked.

“I?” he laughed.  “I am not bitter against him.  Only I believe him to be a man without heart or conscience or principles.”