Beatrice shook her head.  “I cannot,” she answered, smiling sadly.  “I am going on a long journey to-morrow, and I shall not return here.  Good-bye.”

In another second he was gone, more piqued and interested about this fair unknown than he had been about any woman for years.  Who could she be? and why was she so anxious to hear the debate?  There was a mystery in it somewhere, and he determined to solve it if he could.

Meanwhile the division took place, and presently the members flocked back, and amidst ringing Ministerial cheers, and counter Opposition cheers, the victory of the Government was announced.  Then came the usual formalities, and the members began to melt away.  Beatrice saw the leader of the House and several members of the Government go up to Geoffrey, shake his hand, and congratulate him.  Then, with one long look, she turned and went, leaving him in the moment of his triumph, that seemed to interest him so little, but which made Beatrice more proud at heart than if she had been declared empress of the world.

Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a man born to tower over his fellow men—­and well to die for him!  Could she let her miserable existence interfere with such a life as his should be?  Never, never!  There should be no “public scandal” on her account.

She drew her veil over her face, and inquired the way from the House.  Presently she was outside.  By one of the gateways, and in the shadow of its pillars, she stopped, watching the members of the House stream past her.  Many of them were talking together, and once or twice she caught the sound of Geoffrey’s name, coupled with such words as “splendid speech,” and other terms of admiration.

“Move on, move on,” said a policeman to her.  Lifting her veil, Beatrice turned and looked at him, and muttering something he moved on himself, leaving her in peace.  Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentleman who had been so kind to her walking along together.  They came through the gateway; the lappet of his coat brushed her arm, and he never saw her.  Closer she crouched against the pillar, hiding herself in its shadow.  Within six feet of her Geoffrey stopped and lit a cigar.  The light of the match flared upon his face, that dark, strong face she loved so well.  How tired he looked.  A great longing took possession of her to step forward and speak to him, but she restrained herself almost by force.

Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.

“Such a lovely woman,” he was saying, “with the clearest and most beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw.  But she has gone like a dream.  I can’t find her anywhere.  It is a most mysterious business.”

“You are falling in love, Tom,” answered Geoffrey absently, as he threw away the match and walked on.  “Don’t do that; it is an unhappy thing to do,” and he sighed.