nstantine angrily. "And then I'm
hanged if he'd vote with it!"

Some of the things here indicated May Quisante read about him in the
papers, some Quisante brought home from the House, some she heard from
friends or divined for herself; and her heart went out to Marchmont
under the cunning lure of contrast. The Dissolution drew near now, and
political conferences, schemes, and manoeuvres were the order of the
day in Grosvenor Road and in many other houses which she frequented.
Perhaps she exaggerated what she disliked, but it seemed to her that
everybody, her husband of course among the first, was carefully
considering how many of his previous utterances and how much of his
existing opinions he might conveniently, and could plausibly, disclaim
and suppress, and on the other hand to what extent it might be
expedient, and would not be too startling, to copy and advocate
utterances and opinions which were in apparent conflict therewith. This,
she was told, was practical politics. Hence her impulse of longing to
renew friendship and intimacy with a man who was dubbed unpractical. The
change would be pleasant, and, if she found something to laugh at, she
would find something to admire, just as if in the practical politicians
she found something to frown at, she contrived to find also much matter
for legitimate mirth. She had begun by thinking that a gift of humour
would make her married life harder; she was conscious now that without
that form of insight it would be utterly intolerable.

"I hear you're behaving very badly," she said to Marchmont, when he came
in obedience to her invitation. "I was talking to Mr. Blair about you,
and he had no words strong enough to denounce you in."

"Yes, it's atrocious. I'm thinking for myself," he said with a shrug, as
he sat down.

"For yourself instead of about yourself! With a dissolution coming too!"

"Oh, I'm safe enough. I'm a martyr without a stake."

"Well, really, you're refreshing. I wish we were safe, and hadn't got to
make ourselves safe; I don't think it's a very elevating process." She
paused a moment and then added, "I ought to apologise for bringing you
into such an atmosphere of it. We conspire here like Fenians or Women
Suffragists, and I know how much you hate it all."

"And you?" he asked briefly.

"Oh, yes, as the clerk hates his desk or a girl her practising. The
duties of life, you know."

She had received him in an exuberance of spirits, much as though she