THE WOMAN AND—­THE OTHER WOMAN

“You see, Mannering,” Lord Redford said, tapping the outspread evening paper with his forefinger, “the situation now presents a different aspect.  I have no wish to force your hand—­a few hours ago I think I proved this.  But if you are to remain even nominally with us some sort of pronouncement must come from you in reply to these statements.”

“Yes,” Mannering said, “that is quite reasonable.”

“The postponement of your campaign has been hinted at before,” Lord Redford continued, “but we have never used the word abandonment.  Now, to speak bluntly, the whole fat is in the fire.  Your place on the fence is no longer possible.  You must make your own declaration, and it must be for one of three things.  You must remain with us, abandon public life for a time, or go over to the other side.  And you must make promptly an announcement of your intentions.”

“I have no alternative in the matter,” Mannering said.  “In fact, I think that this has happened opportunely.  My presence with you was sure to prove something of an embarrassment to all of us.  I shall apply for the Chiltern Hundreds to-morrow, and I shall not seek to re-enter the present Parliament.  The few months’ respite will be useful to me.  I can only express to you, Lord Redford, my sincere gratitude for all your consideration, and my regret for this disarrangement of your plans.”

Lord Redford sighed.  Why were men born, he wondered, with such a prodigious capacity for playing the fool?

“My chief regret, Mannering,” he said, “is for you.  The Fates so controlled circumstances that you seemed certain to achieve as a young man what is the crowning triumph of us veterans in the political world.  I respect the honest scruples of every man, but it seems to me that you are throwing away an unparalleled opportunity in a fit of what a practical man like myself can only call sentimentality.  I have no more to say.  Forgive me if I have said too much.  For the rest, give us the pleasure of your company here for as long as you find it convenient.  We will abjure politics, and you shall give me my revenge at golf.”

Mannering shook his head.

“I am very much obliged to you,” he said, “but there is only one course open to me.  I must go back and make my plans.  If I could have a carriage for the nine-forty!”

Lord Redford made no effort to induce him to change his mind, though he remained courteous to the last.

“I was really glad to have him go,” he told Borrowdean afterwards.  “His very presence—­the thought that there could be such colossal fools in the world—­irritated me beyond measure.  You can write his epitaph, Leslie, if your humorous vein is working, for the man is politically dead.”

“One never knows,” Berenice said, quietly.  “There must be something great about a man capable of such prodigious self-sacrifice.  For at heart Lawrence Mannering is an ambitious man.”