“Planning the campaign, eh, Brott?  Or is that a handbook to Court etiquette?  You will need it within the week.  There are all sorts of rumours at the clubs.”

Brott shook himself free from his fit of apathetic reflection.  He would not have dared to tell his visitor where his thoughts had been for the last half hour.

“Somehow,” he said, “I do not think that little trip to Windsor will come just yet.  The King will never send for me unless he is compelled.”

His visitor, an ex-Cabinet Minister, a pronounced Radical and a lifelong friend of Brott’s, shrugged his shoulders.

“That time,” he said, “is very close at hand.  He will send for Letheringham first, of course, and great pressure will be brought to bear upon him to form a ministry.  But without you he will be helpless.  He has not the confidence of the people.”

“Without me,” Brott repeated slowly.  “You think then that I should not accept office with Letheringham?”

His visitor regarded him steadily for a moment, open-mouthed, obviously taken aback.

“Brott, are you in your right senses?” he asked incredulously.  “Do you know what you are saying?”

Brott laughed a little nervously.

“This is a great issue, Grahame,” he said.  “I will confess that I am in an undecided state.  I am not sure that the country is in a sufficiently advanced state for our propaganda.  Is this really our opportunity, or is it only the shadow of what is to come thrown before?  If we show our hand too soon all is lost for this generation.  Don’t look at me as though I were insane, Grahame.  Remember that the country is only just free from a long era of Conservative rule.”

“The better our opportunity,” Grahame answered vigorously.  “Two decades of puppet government are enervating, I admit, but they only pave the way more surely to the inevitable reaction.  What is the matter with you, Brott?  Are you ill?  This is the great moment of our lives.  You must speak at Manchester and Birmingham within this week.  Glasgow is already preparing for you.  Everything and everybody waits for your judgment.  Good God, man, it’s magnificent!  Where’s your enthusiasm?  Within a month you must be Prime Minister, and we will show the world the way to a new era.”

Brott sat quite still.  His friend’s words had stirred him for the moment.  Yet he seemed the victim of a curious indecision.  Grahame leaned over towards him.

“Brott, old friend,” he said, “you are not ill?”

Brott shook his head.

“I am perfectly well,” he said.

Grahame hesitated.

“It is a delicate thing to mention,” he said.  “Perhaps I shall pass even the bounds of our old comradeship.  But you have changed.  Something is wrong with you.  What is it?”

“There is nothing,” Brott answered, looking up.  “It is your fancy.  I am well enough.”

Grahame’s face was dark with anxiety.