n his busy life. He had his parliamentary work for Colonel Winwood,
his work for Miss Winwood, his work for the Young England League. He
had his social engagements. He had the Princess Zobraska. He also began
to write, in picturesque advocacy of his views, for serious weekly and
monthly publications. Then Christmas came and lie found himself at
Drane's Court, somewhat gasping for breath. A large houseparty,
however, including Lord Francis Ayres, the chief Opposition Whip,
threatened to keep him busy.

The Princess drove over from Chetwood Park for dinner on Christmas Day.
He had to worship from afar; for a long spell of the evening to worship
with horrible jealousy. Lord Francis Ayres, a bachelor and a man of
winning charm, as men must be whose function it is to keep Members of
Parliament good and pleased with themselves and sheeplike, held the
Princess captive, in a remote corner, with his honeyed tongue. She
looked at him seductively out of her great, slumberous blue eyes, even
as she had looked, on occasion, at him, Paul. He hated Lord Francis,
set himself up against him, as of old he had set himself up against
Billy Goodge. He was a better man than Frank Ayres. Frank Ayres was
only a popinjay. Beneath the tails of his coat he snapped his fingers
at Frank Ayres, while he listened, with his own agreeable smile, to
Mademoiselle de Cressy's devilled gossip.

He was very frigid and courtly when he bade the Princess good night at
the door of her limousine.

"Ah, que vous etes bete!" she laughed.

He went to bed very angry. She had told him to his face that he was a
silly fool. And so he was. He thought of all the brilliantly dignified
things he might have said, if the relentless engine had not whirred her
away down the drive. But the next morning Lord Francis met him in the
wintry garden and smiled and held out a winning hand. Paul hid his
hatred beneath the mask of courtesy. They talked for a few moments of
indifferent matters. Then Frank Ayres suddenly said: "Have you ever
thought of standing for Parliament?"

Paul, who had been sauntering between flowerless beds with his
companion, stood stock still. The Chief Whip of a political party is a
devil of a fellow. To the aspiring young politician he is much more a
devil of a fellow than the Prime Minister or any Secretary of State. If
a Chief Whip breathes the suggestion that a man might possibly stand
for election as a Member of Parliament, it means that at any suitab