him and use their information for electioneering."

"Well, hardly," said Constantine Blair. "Still, mind you, a constituency
has a right to know that its member is an honourable and equitable man
as well as a supporter of the principles it favours."

"Excellently well put, Blair," said Marchmont languidly. "Is it your
own?"

"No!" said May, with a sudden laugh. "I believe it's my husband's."

Blair looked a little put out, but his good-humour triumphed. "I'm not
above borrowing from my betters," he said. "Quisante did say something
of the sort to me, but how in the world did you know? Has he said it to
you?"

"Oh, no; I knew by--oh, just by the subtle sympathy that exists between
husband and wife, Mr. Blair." She laughed again and glanced at Marchmont.
"Sir Winterton must look out for the detectives, mustn't he?" she ended.

Marchmont saw, though Blair did not, that she jested uneasily and reaped
no pleasure, although she reaped amusement, from her clever recognition
of her husband's style. She had spoken in much the same tone about the
difference with Dick Benyon and the suspicions which Dick cast on "our
sincerity." He came near to perceiving and understanding what was in her
mind--what had been there as she watched Quisante sleeping. The first
suggestion of ferreting out something had come from him, purely in the
way of a cynical jeer, just because nobody would ever suspect him of
seriously contemplating or taking part in such a thing. Well, May
Quisante did not apparently feel quite so confident about her husband.

Blair bustled off, with a parting mysterious hint that they must lose no
time in preparing for the fray--it might begin any week now--and May's
face relaxed into a more genuine smile.

"He does enjoy it so," she explained. But Marchmont was not thinking of
Blair. He asked her abruptly,

"You'll go to Henstead and help him, I suppose?"

"Of course. I shall be with him right through. He'll want all the help I
can give him. It's everything to him to win this time."

"Yes, I know." Her voice had become troubled again; she was very anxious
for her husband's success; but was she anxious about something else too?
"If I can help you, let me," he said as he rose to go.

She gave him her hand and looked in his face.

"I'm afraid that most likely I shouldn't be able to ask you," she said
gravely. The answer, as she gave it, meant so much to him, and even
seemed to admit so much, that he wondered at o