repeated his success. The
Conservative newspapers the next morning gave a resume of his speech.
His Sophie, coming to sign letters in her presidential capacity,
brought him the cuttings, a proceeding which he thought adorable. The
season ended triumphantly.

For a while he lost his Princess. She went to Cowes, then to stay with
French relations in a chateau in the Dordogne. Paul went off yachting
with the Chudleys and returned for the shooting to Drane's Court. In
the middle of September the Winwoods' new secretary arrived and
received instruction in his duties. Then came the Princess to Morebury
Park. "Dearest," she said, in his arms, "I never want to leave you
again. France is no longer France for me since I have England in my
heart."

"You remember that? My wonderful Princess!"

He found her more woman, more expansive, more bewitchingly caressing.
Absence had but brought her nearer. When she laid her head on his
shoulder and murmured in the deep and subtle tones of her own language:
"My Paul, it seems such a waste of time to be apart," it took all his
pride and will to withstand the maddening temptation. He vowed that the
time would soon come when he could claim her, and went away in feverish
search for worlds to conquer.

Then came October and London once more.

* * * * *

Paul was dressing for dinner one evening when a reply-paid telegram was
brought to him.

"If selected by local committee will you stand for Hickney Heath?
Ayres."

He sat on his bed, white and trembling, and stared at the simple
question. The man-servant stood imperturbable, silver tray in hand.
Seeing the reply-paid form, he waited for a few moments.

"Is there an answer, sir?"

Paul nodded, asked for a pencil, and with a shaky hand wrote the reply.
"Yes," was all he said.

Then with reaction came the thrill of mighty exultation, and, throwing
on his clothes, he rushed to the telephone in his sitting room. Who
first to hear the wondrous news but his Princess? That there was a
vacancy in Hickney Heath he knew, as all Great Britain knew; for
Ponting, the Radical Member, had died suddenly the day before. But it
had never entered his head that he could be chosen as a candidate.

"Mais j'y ai bien pense, moi," came the voice through the telephone.
"Why did Lord Francis tell you to go to Hickney Heath last July?"

How a woman leaps at things I With all his ambition, his astuteness,
his political intuition, he