DISASTER

Mannering, in his sitting-room at last, locked the door and drew a long
breath of relief. Upon his ear-drums there throbbed still the yells of
his enthusiastic but noisy adherents--the truculent cries of those who
had heard his great speech with satisfaction, of those who saw pass from
amongst themselves to a newer school of thought one whom they had
regarded as their natural leader. It was over at last. He had made his
pronouncement. To some it might seem a compromise. To himself it was the
only logical outcome of his long period of thought. He spoke for the
workingman. He demanded inquiry, consideration, experiment. He demanded
them in a way of his own, at once novel and convincing. Many of the most
brilliant articles which had ever come from his pen he abjured. He drew
a sharp line between the province of the student and the duty of the
politician.

And now he was alone at last, free to think and dream, free to think of
Bonestre, to wonder what reports of his meeting would reach the little
French watering-place, and how they would be received. He could see
Berenice reading the morning paper in the little grey courtyard, with the
pigeons flying above her head and the sunlight streaming across the
flags. He could hear Borrowdean's sneer, could see Lord Redford's shrug
of the shoulders. There is little sympathy in the world for the man who
dares to change his mind.

There was a knock at the door, and his servant entered with a tray.

"I have brought the whiskey and soda, sandwiches and cigarettes, sir," he
announced. "I am sorry to say that there is a person outside whom I
cannot get rid of. His name is Fardell, and he insists upon it that his
business is of importance."

Mannering smiled.

"You can show him up at once," he ordered; "now, and whenever he calls."

Fardell appeared almost directly. Mannering had seen him before during
the day, but noticed at once a change in him. He was pale, and looked
like a man who had received some sort of a shock.

"Come in, Fardell, and sit down," Mannering said. "You look tired. Have a
drink."

Fardell walked straight to the tray and helped himself to some neat
whiskey.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I--I've had rather a knockout blow."

He emptied the tumbler and set it down.

"Mr. Mannering, sir," he said, "I've just heard a man bet twenty to one
in crisp five-pound bank-notes that you never sit for West Leeds."

"Was he drunk or sober?" Mannering asked