It was with that same peculiar smile—­the bushy eyebrows closing together, the lips very tight—­that her husband approached her late one evening in the first week of May.  They were in their house in Kensington now; there had been a dinner party, the last guest was gone, and Paula sat in the drawing-room, thinking how she had impressed a certain polite old member of Parliament, a man whom it was worth while impressing.  Mr. Dalmaine took a seat near her, and leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees.

He asked:  ’What were you saying to Puggerton when I passed and looked at you—­you remember?  Something about working men and intelligent voting.’

’Oh, I was telling that tale of yours about the candidate whose name was Beere, and who got in so easily for—­’

‘I thought so,’ he remarked, before she had finished.  ’And you went on to say that I thought it a pity that there were not more men on our side with names of similar sound?’

‘Yes, I did.  Mr. Puggerton laughed ever so much.’

’H’m.  Paula, my dear, I think it won’t be amiss if you leave off talking about politics.’

’Why?  I’m sure I’ve been talking very cleverly all the evening.  Mr. Liggs said I was an acquisition to—­something, I forget what.’

’No doubt.  For all that, I think you had better give your attention to other things.  In fact—­it’s not a polite thing to say—­but you’re making a fool of yourself.’

Paula’s features hardened.  She looked very beautiful tonight, and had, in truth, been charming.  Her appearance suffered when the delicate curves of her face fell into hard lines.  It was noteworthy that the smile her husband now wore always caused this change in her expression.

‘I’m glad you know that it isn’t polite,’ she answered, sourly.  ’You often need to be told.’

’I hope not.  But you try my patience a little now and then.  Surely it’s better that I should save you from making these ridiculous mistakes.  Once or twice this week I’ve heard most absurd remarks of yours repeated.  Please remember that it isn’t only yourself you—­ stultify.  Politics may be a joke for you; for me it is a serious pursuit.  I mustn’t have people associating my name with all kinds of nonsensical chatter.  I have a career before me, Paula.’

He said it with dignity, resting a hand on each knee, and letting his smile fade into a look of ministerial importance.

‘Why are you ashamed of having your stories repeated?’

’Well, I told you that when—­when I didn’t think of the need of measuring my words with you.  I’ve been more cautious lately.  If you had any understanding for such things at all, I could explain that a trifle like that might be made to tell heavily against me by some political enemy.  Once more—­if you are drawn into talk of that kind, you must always speak of working people with the utmost respect—­with reverence.  No matter how intimate a friend you may be speaking with—­even with your mother or your father—­’