Nora came suddenly over to Tallente’s side.  She took his arm and somehow or other the strained look seemed to pass from his face.

“Dear friend,” she said, “this is very painful for you, I know, but your other cause of quarrel with Palliser—­you will forgive me if I ask—­was it about your wife?”

“It was,” Tallente replied.  “You are just the one person in the world, Nora, in whom I am glad to confide to that extent.”

She turned to Dartrey.

“Stephen,” she said, “either Palliser is dead and his death can be brought to no one’s door, or he is lying hidden and there is no one to blame.  You can wipe that out of your mind, can you not?  All that we shall have to consider now is the real effect upon the members of our party as a whole, if this article is published.”

“Have you a copy of it?” Dartrey asked.

Tallente shook his head.

“I haven’t, but if a certain suspicion I have formed is true, I might be able to get you one.  In any case, Dartrey, don’t come to any decision for a day or two.  If it is for the good of the party for you to throw me overboard, you must do it, and I can assure you I’ll take the plunge willingly.  On the other hand, if you want me to fight, I’ll fight.”

Dartrey smiled.

“It is extraordinary,” he said, “how one realises more and more, as time goes on, how inhuman politics really are.  The greatest principle in life, the principle of sticking to one’s friends, has to be discarded.  I shall take you at your word, Tallente.  I am going to consider only what I think would be best for the welfare of the Democratic Party and in the meantime we’ll just go on as though nothing had happened.”

“If Horlock approaches me,” Tallente began—­

“He can go out either on a vote of confidence or on an adverse vote on any of the three Bills next week,” Dartrey said.  “We don’t want to drive them out like a flock of sheep.  They can go out waving banners and blowing tin horns, if they like, but they’re going.  It’s time the country was governed, and the country, after all, is the only thing that counts.—­I am sorry to send you back to work, Tallente, in such a state of uncertainty, but I know it will make no difference to you.  Strike where you can and strike hard.  Our day is coming and I tell you honestly I can’t believe—­nothing would make me believe—­that you won’t be in at the death.”

“Don’t forget that we meet to-night in Charles Street,” Tallente reminded them, as he shook hands.

“Trust Nora,” Dartrey replied.  “She has been looking forward to it every day.”

“I now,” Tallente said, as he took up his hat and stick, “am going to confront an editor.”

“You are going to try and get me a copy of the article?”

Tallente nodded.

“I am going to try.  If my suspicions are correct, you shall have it in twenty-four hours.”

Tallente, however, spent a somewhat profitless morning, and it was only by chance in the end that he succeeded in his quest.  He strolled into the lounge at the Sheridan Club to find the man he sought the centre of a little group.  Greetings were exchanged, cocktails drunk, and as soon as an opportunity occurred Tallente drew his quarry on one side.