Mr. Liversedge had gone to work like a man of decision.  Between six and eight on the previous evening he had seen the members of that “secret caucus” whose existence outraged Mr. Chown—­in other words, the half-dozen capable citizens who practically managed the affairs of Liberal Polterham—­and had arrived at an understanding with them which made it all but a settled thing that Denzil Quarrier should be their prospective candidate.  Tobias was eager to back out of the engagement into which he had unadvisedly entered.  Denzil’s arrival at this juncture seemed to him providential—­impossible to find a better man for their purpose.  At eight o’clock an informal meeting was held at the office of the Polterham Examiner, with the result that Mr. Hammond, the editor, subsequently penned that significant paragraph which next morning attracted all eyes.

On returning to supper, Mr. Liversedge found his wife and Denzil in conversation with Eustace Glazzard.  With the latter he had a bare acquaintance; from Denzil’s report, he was disposed to think of him as a rather effeminate old-young man of metropolitan type.

“Well,” he exclaimed, when greetings were over, “I don’t think you will want for an audience to-morrow, Denzil.  We are summoning Polterham indiscriminately.”

Glazzard had of course heard of the coming lecture.  He wore a smile, but was taciturn.

“Pray heaven I don’t make an exhibition of myself!” cried Denzil, with an air of sufficient confidence.

“Shall I send coffee to your bedroom, to-night?” asked his sister, with merry eyes.

“Too late for writing it out.  It must be inspiration I know what I want to say, and I don’t think the sea of Polterham faces will disturb me.”

He turned sharply to his brother-in-law.

“Are you still in the same mind on that matter we spoke of this afternoon?”

“Decidedly!”

“Glazzard, what should you say if I came forward as Radical candidate for Polterham?”

There was silence.  Glazzard fixed his eyes on the opposite wall; his smile was unchanged.

“I see no objection,” he at length replied.  The tones were rather thick, and ended in a slight cough.  Feeling that all eyes were fixed upon him, Glazzard made an uneasy movement, and rose from his chair.

“It doesn’t astonish you?” said Quarrier, with a broad grin.

“Not overpoweringly.”

“Then let us regard the thing as settled.  Mr. Liversedge has no stomach for the fight, and makes room for me.  In a week’s time I shall be a man of distinction.”

In the midst of his self-banter he found Glazzard’s gaze turned upon him with steady concentration.  Their eyes met, and Denzil’s expression became graver.

“You will take up your abode here?” Glazzard asked.

“Shortly,” was the reply, given with more emphasis than seemed necessary, and accompanied with an earnest look.