or two fixed ideas in his mind, simple principles
on social questions of which he had spoken to his leader, and he never
wavered from the sight of them, though he had yet to state them. The
Premier sat, head cocked, with an ironical smile at the cheering, but
he was wondering whether, after all, his man was sure; whether he could
stand this fire, and reverse his engine quite as he intended. One of the
previous speakers was furious, came over and appealed to Lord Faramond,
who merely said, "Wait."

Gaston kept on. The flippant amusement of the Opposition continued.
Something, however, in his grim steadiness began to impress his own
party as the other, while from more than one quarter of the House there
came a murmur of sympathy. His courage, his stone-cold strength, the
disdain which was coming into his voice, impressed them, apart from his
argument or its bearing on the previous debate. Lord Faramond heard the
occasional murmurs of approval and smiled. Then there came a striking
silence, for Gaston paused. He looked towards the Ladies Gallery. As if
in a dream--for his brain was working with clear, painful power--he saw,
not Delia nor her mother, nor Lady Dargan, but Alice Wingfield! He had
a sting, a rush in his blood. He felt that none had an interest in him
such as she: shamed, sorrowful, denied the compensating comfort which
his brother's love might give her. Her face, looking through the
barriers, pale, glowing, anxious, almost weird, seemed set to the bars
of a cage.

Gaston turned upon the House, and flashed a glance towards Lord
Faramond, who, turned round on the Treasury Bench, was looking up at
him. He began slowly to pit against his former startling admissions the
testimony of his few principles, and to buttress them on every side with
apposite observations, naive, pungent. Presently there came a poignant
edge to his trailing tones. After giving the subject new points of view,
showing him to have studied Whitechapel as well as Kicking Horse Pass,
he contended that no social problem could be solved by a bill so crudely
radical, so impractical.

He was saying: "In the history of the British Parliament--" when some
angry member cried out, "Who coached you?"

Gaston's quick eye found the man.

"Once," he answered instantly, "one honourable gentleman asked that
of another in King Charles's Parliament, and the reply then is mine
now--'You, sir!'"

"How?" returned the puzzled member.

Gaston smiled:

"Th