Paul looked at the card in some bewilderment.  What in the name of politics or friendship were they doing in Portland Place?  Not to receive them, however, was unthinkable.

“Show them in,” said he.

Silas Finn, Jane and Barney Bill!  It was odd.  He laughed and took out his watch.  Yes, he could easily give them half an hour or so.  But why had they come?  He had found time to call once at the house in Hickney Heath since his return to town, and then he had seen Jane and Silas Finn together and they had talked, as far as he could remember, of the Disestablishment of the Anglican Church and the elevating influence of landscape painting on the human soul.  Why had they come?  It could not be to offer their services during the election, for Silas Finn in politics was a fanatical enemy.  The visit stirred a lively curiosity.

They entered:  Mr. Finn in his usual black with many-coloured tie and diamond ring, looking more mournfully grave than ever; Jane wearing an expression half of anxiety and half of defiance; Barney Bill, very uncomfortable in his well-preserved best suit, very restless and nervous.  They gave the impression of a deputation coming to announce the death of a near relative.  Paul received them cordially.  But why in the world, thought he, were they all so solemn?  He pushed forward chairs.

“I got your postcard, Bill.  Thanks so much for it.”

Bill grunted and embraced his hard felt hat.

“I ought to have written to you,” said Jane—­“but—–­”

“She felt restrained by her duty towards me,” said Mr. Finn.  “I hope you did not think it was discourteous on her part.”

“My dear sir,” Paul laughed, seating himself in his writing chair, which he twisted away from the table, “Jane and I are too old friends for that.  In her heart I know she wishes me luck.  And I hope you do too, Mr. Finn,” he added pleasantly—­“although I know you’re on the other side.”

“I’m afraid my principles will not allow me to wish you luck in this election, Mr. Savelli.”

“Well, well,” said Paul.  “It doesn’t matter.  If you vote against me I’ll not bear malice.”

“I am not going to vote against you, Mr. Savelli,” said Mr. Finn, looking at him with melancholy eyes.  “I am going to stand against you.”

Paul sprang forward in his chair.  Here was fantastic news indeed!  “Stand against me?  You?  You’re the Radical candidate?”

“Yes.”

Paul laughed boyishly.  “Why, it’s capital!  I’m awfully glad.”

“I was asked this morning,” said Mr. Finn gravely.  “I prayed God for guidance.  He answered, and I felt it my duty to come to you at once, with our two friends.”

Barney Bill cocked his head on one side.  “I did my best to persuade him not to, sonny.”

“But why shouldn’t he?” cried Paul courteously—­though why he should puzzled him exceedingly.  “It’s very good of you, Mr. Finn.  I’m sure your side,” he went on, “could not have chosen a better man.  You’re well known in the constituency—­I am jolly lucky to have a man like you as an opponent.”