d in his letters.
He pushed aside these and a packet of telegram forms as she entered,
and, rising to accept her discreet kiss, responded to her implicit
inquiry as to whether anything was wrong--her eyes had strayed
involuntarily to the clock--by pointing her attention to a paragraph
in the morning paper. His manner was more solemn than usual; it
betrayed an undercurrent of suppressed excitement.

"This is unusual," he remarked; "but, you see, I have an excuse."

She followed the direction of his finger: "Death of the Member for
North Mallow." The cream of the news was contained for her in the
heading, and so she did not read the rest of the notice, which was a
short one.

Now, North Mallow was the respectable constituency in which a
coalition of two parties had selected Mr. Sylvester to be their
candidate at the next election, which this death had transferred
into the immediate present.

"My dear boy!" said Mrs. Sylvester sympathetically.

Then she checked herself, recognising that a too open satisfaction
in the event--opportune as it might be--would be hardly decent.

"Of course, it is very sad for him, poor man!" she remarked. "But I
cannot help feeling glad that you should be in the House, and so
much sooner than we expected."

He interrupted her with another discreet embrace.

"My dear boy!" she said again vaguely, contentedly, as she poured
herself a cup of tea.

"He has been in bad health for some time," continued Charles. "He
died two days ago at Cannes. It is astonishing that I did not hear
the news before. I have wired to Hutchins, my election agent, and if
I can manage it, I shall run down to Mallow. Of course one is sorry,
but since it has been ordered so, after all, one has to think of the
party."

"Ah yes, the party," murmured Mrs. Sylvester sympathetically; "of
course that is the great thing. I am sure you will distinguish
yourself. I suppose there is no danger of a defeat?"

"Oh, it is a safe seat! But one has always to canvass; there is
always a certain risk. I sometimes wish----" He stopped short,
pulled nervously at his collar, finding it a little difficult to
express his meaning. "I think," he went on at last with a visible
effort, flushing somewhat, "that I must marry. An intelligent woman
devoted to my interests would be of great service to me now."

Mrs. Sylvester allowed her eyes to remain in discreet observation of
the tablecloth.

"I have often thought so," she said at last q