Not that Mr. Crewe was in the least abashed. He chose this opportunity to make a survey of the situation, nodded to Mr. Ridout, and walked up to the padded armchair.
“How are you, Mr. Vane?” he said. “I thought I’d drop in to shake hands with you, especially as I have business with the Speaker, and heard he was here. But I’m glad to have met you for many reasons. I want you to be one of the vice-presidents of the State Economic League—it won’t cost you anything. Ridout has agreed to let his name go on.”
The Honourable Hilary, not being an emotional man, merely grunted as he started to rise to his feet. What he was about to say was interrupted by a timid knock, and there followed another brief period of silence.
“It ain’t anybody,” said Mr. Bascom, and crossing the room, turned the key in the lock. The timid knock was repeated.
“I suppose you’re constantly interrupted here by unimportant people,” Mr. Crewe remarked.
“Well,” said Mr. Vane, slowly, boring into Mr. Crewe with his eye, “that statement isn’t far out of the way.”
“I don’t believe you’ve ever met me, Mr. Vane. I’m Humphrey Crewe. We have a good friend in common in Mr. Flint.”
The Honourable Hilary’s hand passed over Mr. Crewe’s lightly.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Crewe,” he said, and a faint twinkle appeared in his eye. “Job has told everybody you were coming down. Glad to welcome a man of your ahem—stamp into politics.”
“I’m a plain business man,” answered Mr. Crewe, modestly; “and although I have considerable occupation, I believe that one in my position has duties to perform. I’ve certain bills—”
“Yes, yes,” agreed the Honourable Hilary; “do you know Mr. Brush Bascom and Mr. Manning? Allow me to introduce you,—and General Doby.”