“Tell him from me not to do it.  My love to them both.”

They shook hands again, and Paul drove off in the motor car that had been placed at his disposal during the election, and Silas continued his sober walk with his committee-men up the muddy street.  Whereupon Paul conceived a sudden hatred for the car.  It was but the final artistic touch to this comedy of mockery of which he had been the victim. . . .  Perhaps God was on his father’s side, after all—­on the side of them who humbly walked and not of them who rode in proud chariots.  But his political creed, his sociological convictions rose in protest.  How could the Almighty be in league with all that was subversive of social order, all that was destructive to Imperial cohesion, all that which inevitably tended to England’s downfall?

He turned suddenly to his companion, the Conservative agent.

“Do you think God has got common sense?”

The agent, not being versed in speculations regarding the attributes of the Deity, stared; then, disinclined to commit himself, took refuge in platitude.

“God moves in a mysterious way, Mr. Savelli.”

“That’s rot,” said Paul.  “If there’s an Almighty, He must move in a common-sense way; otherwise the whole of this planet would have busted up long ago.  Do you think it’s common sense to support the present Government?”

“Certainly not,” said the agent, fervently.

“Then if God supported it, it wouldn’t be common sense on His part.  It would be merely mysterious?”

“I see what you’re driving at,” said the agent.  “Our opponent undoubtedly has been making free with the name of the Almighty in his speeches.  As a matter of fact he’s rather crazy on the subject.  I don’t think it would be a bad move to make a special reference to it.  It’s all damned hypocrisy.  There’s a chap in the old French play—­what’s his name?”

“Tartuffe.”

“That’s it.  Well, there you are.  That speech of his yesterday—­now why don’t you take it and wring religiosity and hypocrisy and Tartuffism out of it?  You know how to do that sort of thing.  You can score tremendously.  I never thought of it before.  By George! you can get him in the neck if you like.”

“But I don’t like,” said Paul.  “I happen to know that Mr. Finn is sincere in his convictions.”

“But, my dear sir, what does his supposed sincerity matter in political contest?”

“It’s the difference between dirt and cleanliness,” said Paul.  “Besides, as I told you at the outset, Mr. Finn and I are close personal friends, and I have the highest regard for his character.  He has seen that his side has scrupulously refrained from personalities with regard to me, and I insist on the same observance with regard to him.”

“With all due deference to you, Mr. Savelli, you were called only the day before yesterday ‘the spoiled darling of Duchesses’ boudoirs.’”