had not seen the opportunity. But it had
come. Verily the stars in their courses were fighting for him. Other
names, he was aware, were before the Committee of the Local
Association, perhaps a great name suggested by the Central Unionist
Organization; there was also that of the former Tory member, who,
smarting under defeat at the General Election, had taken but a lukewarm
interest in the constituency and was now wandering in the Far East. But
Paul, confident in his destiny, did not doubt that he would be
selected. And then, within the next fortnight--for bye-elections during
a Parliamentary session are matters of sweeping swiftness--would come
the great battle, the great decisive battle of his life, and he would
win. He must win. His kingdom was at stake--the dream kingdom of his
life into which he would enter with his loved and won Princess on his
arm. He poured splendid foolishness through the telephone into an
enraptured ear.

The lack of a sense of proportion is a charge often brought against
women; but how often do men (as they should) thank God for it? Here was
Sophie Zobraska, reared from childhood in the atmosphere of great
affairs, mixing daily with folk who guided the destiny of nations,
having two years before refused in marriage one of those who held the
peace of Europe in his hands, moved to tense excitement of heart and
brain and soul by the news that an obscure young man might possibly be
chosen to contest a London Borough for election to the British
Parliament, and thrillingly convinced that now Was imminent the great
momentous crisis in the history of mankind.

With a lack of the same sense of proportion, equal in kind, though
perhaps not so passionate in degree, did Miss Winwood receive the
world-shaking tidings. She wept, and, thinking Paul a phoenix, called
Frank Ayres an angel. Colonel Winwood tugged his long, drooping
moustache and said very little; but he committed the astounding
indiscretion of allowing his glass to be filled with champagne;
whereupon he lifted it, and said, "Here's luck, my dear boy," and
somewhat recklessly gulped down the gout-compelling liquid. And after
dinner, when Miss Winwood had left them together, he lighted a long
Corona instead of his usual stumpy Bock, and discussed with Paul
electioneering ways and means.

For the next day or two Paul lived in a whirl of telephones, telegrams,
letters, scurryings across London, interviews, brain-racking
questionings and reiter