berserk."

"That's a sporting offer, at any rate. But, pardon me--we're talking
business--where is the money for another election to come from?"

"My poor father's death makes me a wealthy man," replied Paul.

Miss Winwood started forward in her chair. "My dear, you never told us."

"There were so many other things to talk about this morning," he said
gently; "but of course I would have told you later. I only mention it
now"--he turned to the Chief Whip--"in answer to your direct and very
pertinent question."

Now between a political free-lance adopting a parliamentary career in
order to fight for his own hand, as all Paul's supporters were frankly
aware that he was doing, and a wealthy, independent and brilliant young
politician lies a wide gulf. The last man on earth, in his private
capacity, to find his estimate of his friends influenced by their
personal possessions was the fine aristocrat Lord Francis Ayres. But he
was a man of the world, the very responsible head of the executive of a
great political party. As that executive head he was compelled to
regard Paul from a different angle. The millions of South Africa or the
Middle West might vainly knock at his own front door till the crack of
doom, while Paul the penniless sauntered in an honoured guest. But in
his official room in the House of Commons more stern and worldly
considerations had to prevail.

"Of course I can't give you an answer now," said he. "I'll have to
discuss the whole matter with the powers that be. But a seat's a seat,
and though I appreciate your Quixotic offer, I don't see why we should
risk it. It's up to you to make good. It's more in your own interest
that I'm speaking now. Can you go through with it?"

Paul, with his unconquerable instinct for the dramatic, hauled out the
little cornelian heart at the end of his watch-chain. "My dear fellow,"
said he. "Do you see that? It was given to me for failing to win a race
at a Sunday-school treat, when I was a very little boy. I didn't
possess coat or stockings, and my toes came out through the ends of my
boots, and in order to keep the thing safe I knotted it up in the tail
of my shirt, which waggled out of the seat of my breeches. It was given
to me by a beautiful lady, who, I remember, smelled like all the
perfumes of Araby. She awakened my aesthetic sense by the divine and
intoxicating odour that emanated from her. Since then I have never met
woman so--so like a scented garden of all t