."

"It comes to the same thing," observed Kilshaw. "Perry will dissolve;
the Governor has promised to do it, if he likes."

"Perry dissolve!"

"Yes," nodded Kilshaw. "You see--" He paused and added, "Our present
position isn't very independent."

Everybody understood what he hinted. Sir Robert did not care to depend
on the will of Coxon and his seceders.

"And what about Coxon and Puttock?" was the next question.

"Haven't I been indiscreet enough?"

"Well, what are you going to do yourself?"

"My duty," answered Mr. Kilshaw, with a smile, and the throng, failing
to extract any more from him, did at last set about the task of getting
home to bed in good earnest.

They could rest sooner than the man who occupied so much of their
interest. It had been a busy evening for the defeated Minister; he had
colleagues to see, letters to write, messages to send, conferences to
hold. No doubt there was much to do, and yet Norburn, who watched him
closely, doubted whether he did not make work for himself, perhaps as a
means of distraction, perhaps as a device for postponing an interview
with his daughter. He had seen her for a minute when he came in, and
told her he would tell her all there was to tell some time that night;
but the moment for it was slow in coming. Norburn had been struck with
Daisy's composure. She had seen the _Evening Mail_, and, without
attempting to discuss the matter with him, she expressed her conviction
that there could be nothing distressing behind the mysterious paragraph.
Norburn did not know what to say to her. He felt that in a case of this
sort a girl's mind was a closed book to him. He had himself, on the way
back from the House, heard a brief account of the whole matter from the
Premier's lips; it seemed to him, in the light of his ideas and
theories, a matter of very little moment. He was of course aware how
widely the judgment of many would differ from his, and when his mind was
directed to the political aspect of the situation, he acknowledged the
gravity of the disclosure. But honestly he could not pretend to think it
a thing which should alter or lessen the esteem or love in which
Medland's friends held him. And even if the original act were seriously
worthy of blame, the lapse of years made present severity as
unreasonable as it would be unkind. In vain Medland reminded him that,
let the act be as old and long past as it would, the consequences
remained.

"What!" Norburn cried, "w