that he had been right, but he did feel quite sure that the
thing had been done. He recognized it for a fact that, as regarded
the past, no more was to be said. There were to be no reproaches,
and there must be some tacit abandoning of Mrs Marsham's close
attendance. As to Mr Bott;--he had begun to hate Mr Bott, and had
felt cruelly ungrateful, when that gentleman endeavoured to whisper a
word into his ear as he passed through the doorway into Lady Monk's
dining-room. And he had offered to go abroad,--to go abroad and
leave his politics, and his ambition, and his coming honours. He
had persisted in his offer, even after his wife had suggested to
him that the Duke of St Bungay was now in the house with the object
of offering him that very thing for which he had so longed! As he
thought of this his heart became heavy within him. Such chances,--so
he told himself,--do not come twice in a man's way. When returning
from a twelvemonth's residence abroad he would be nobody in politics.
He would have lost everything for which he had been working all his
life. But he was a man of his word, and as he opened the library door
he was resolute,--he thought that he could be resolute in adhering to
his promise.

"Duke," he said, "I'm afraid I have kept you waiting." And the two
political allies shook each other by the hand.

The Duke was in a glow of delight. There had been no waiting. He was
only too glad to find his friend at home. He had been prepared to
wait, even if Mr Palliser had been out. "And I suppose you guess why
I'm come?" said the Duke.

"I would rather be told than have to guess," said Mr Palliser,
smiling for a moment. But the smile quickly passed off his face as he
remembered his pledge to his wife.

"He has resigned at last. What was said in the Lords last night made
it necessary that he should do so, or that Lord Brock should declare
himself able to support him through thick and thin. Of course, I can
tell you everything now. He must have gone, or I must have done so.
You know that I don't like him in the Cabinet. I admire his character
and his genius, but I think him the most dangerous man in England as
a statesman. He has high principles,--the very highest; but they are
so high as to be out of sight to ordinary eyes. They are too exalted
to be of any use for everyday purposes. He is honest as the sun, I'm
sure; but it's just like the sun's honesty,--of a kind which we men
below can't quite understand or apprec