Dartrey, with his arm around her waist, turned to Tallente.

“An entirely unrehearsed exhibition, I can assure you, Tallente,” he declared.

Nora pouted and passed her other arm through Tallente’s.

“That’s just like Stephen,” she complained, “advertising his domestic bliss.  Never mind, there is room for an easy-chair for you.”

Tallente took a whisky and soda but declined to sit down.

“I walked home with Stephen,” he said, “and then I felt I couldn’t go away without seeing you just for a moment, Nora.”

“Dear man,” she answered, “I should have been terribly hurt if you had.  Do make yourself comfortable by the fire.  You will be able to check all that Stephen tells me about the debate to-night.  He is so inexact.”

Tallente shook his head.  “I am restless to-night, Nora,” he said simply.  “I shall walk up to the club.”

She let him out herself, holding his hand almost tenderly.  “Oh, you poor dear thing!” she said.  “I do wish I knew—­”

“What?”

“What to wish you—­what to hope for you.”

He walked away in silence.  They both understood so well.—­He found his way to the club and ate sandwiches with one or two other men, also just released from the House, but the more he tried to compose himself, the more he was conscious of a sort of fierce restlessness that drove the blood through his veins at feverish pace.  He wandered from room to room, played a game of billiards, chafing all the time at the necessity of finishing the game.  He hurried away, pleading an appointment.  In the hall he met Greening, who led him at once to a secluded corner.

“Prepared with your apologia, Tallente?” he enquired.

“It’s in your office at the present moment,” Tallente replied, “finished this morning.”

Greening stroked his beard.  He was a lank, rather cadaverous man, with a face like granite and eyes like polished steel.  Few men had anything to say against him.  No one liked him.

“How are you regarding the appearance of these outpourings of yours, Tallente?” he asked.

“With equanimity,” was the calm rejoinder.  “I think I told you what I thought of you and your journalism for having any dealings with a thief and for making yourself a receiver of stolen property.  I have nothing to add to that.  I am ready to face the worst now and you may find the thunders recoil on your own head.”

“No one will ever be able to blame us,” Greening replied, “for publishing material of such deep interest to every one, even though it should incidentally be your political death warrant.  As a matter of fact, Tallente, I was rather hoping that I might meet you here to-night.  The chief and Horlock appear to have had a breeze.”

“How does that concern me?” Tallente asked bluntly.

“It may concern you very much indeed.  A few days ago I should have told you, as I did, that nothing in the world could stop the publication of that article.  To-day I am not so sure.  At any rate, I believe there is a chance.  Would you care to see the chief?”