The Princess drove over from Chetwood Park for dinner on Christmas Day.  He had to worship from afar; for a long spell of the evening to worship with horrible jealousy.  Lord Francis Ayres, a bachelor and a man of winning charm, as men must be whose function it is to keep Members of Parliament good and pleased with themselves and sheeplike, held the Princess captive, in a remote corner, with his honeyed tongue.  She looked at him seductively out of her great, slumberous blue eyes, even as she had looked, on occasion, at him, Paul.  He hated Lord Francis, set himself up against him, as of old he had set himself up against Billy Goodge.  He was a better man than Frank Ayres.  Frank Ayres was only a popinjay.  Beneath the tails of his coat he snapped his fingers at Frank Ayres, while he listened, with his own agreeable smile, to Mademoiselle de Cressy’s devilled gossip.

He was very frigid and courtly when he bade the Princess good night at the door of her limousine.

“Ah, que vous etes bete!” she laughed.

He went to bed very angry.  She had told him to his face that he was a silly fool.  And so he was.  He thought of all the brilliantly dignified things he might have said, if the relentless engine had not whirred her away down the drive.  But the next morning Lord Francis met him in the wintry garden and smiled and held out a winning hand.  Paul hid his hatred beneath the mask of courtesy.  They talked for a few moments of indifferent matters.  Then Frank Ayres suddenly said:  “Have you ever thought of standing for Parliament?”

Paul, who had been sauntering between flowerless beds with his companion, stood stock still.  The Chief Whip of a political party is a devil of a fellow.  To the aspiring young politician he is much more a devil of a fellow than the Prime Minister or any Secretary of State.  If a Chief Whip breathes the suggestion that a man might possibly stand for election as a Member of Parliament, it means that at any suitable vacancy, or at a general election, be will, with utter certainty, have his chance as a candidate with the whole force of his party behind him.  It is part of the business of Chief Whips to find candidates.

“Of course,” said Paul, rather stupidly.  “Eventually.  One of these days.”

“But soon?”

“Soon?”

Paul’s head reeled.  What did he mean by soon?  “Well,” Lord Francis laughed, “not to-morrow.  But pretty soon.  Look here, Savelli.  I’m going to speak frankly.  The party’s in for a long period out of office.  That’s obvious.  Look at the majority against us.  We want the young blood—­not the old hacks—­so that when we come in again we shall have a band of trained men in the heyday of their powers.  Of course I know—­it’s my business to know—­what generally you have done for the Young England League, but I missed your speech at Flickney Heath in the autumn.  You had an immense success, hadn’t you?”

“They seemed pleased with what I had to say,” replied Paul modestly.  “When did you hear about it?”