Part 21 (1/2)

”No, kind,” said she.

She asked him to sit down.

”You look tired,” she added. ”How does your election work go on?”

Callon related the progress of his campaign, and with an air of making particular confidences. He could speak without any reserve to her, he said. He conveyed the impression that he was making headway against almost insuperable obstacles. He flattered her, moreover, by a suggestion that she herself was a great factor in his successes. The mere knowledge that she wished him well, that perhaps, once or twice in the day, she gave him a spare thought, helped him much more than she could imagine. Millie was induced to believe that, although she sat quietly in London, she was thus exercising power through Callon in his const.i.tuency.

”Of course, I am a poor man,” said Callon. ”Poverty hampers one.”

”Oh, but you will win,” cried Millie Stretton, with a delighted conviction; ”yes, you will win.”

She felt strong, confident--just, in a word, as she had felt when she had agreed with Tony that he must go away.

”With your help, yes,” he answered; and the sound of his voice violated her like a caress. Millie rose from her chair.

At once Callon rose too, and altered his tone.

”You have heard from Sir Anthony Stretton?” he said. ”Tell me of yourself.”

”Yes, I have heard. He will not return yet.”

There came a light into Callon's eyes. He raised his hand to his mouth to hide a smile.

”Few men,” he said, with the utmost sympathy, ”would have left you to bear these last weeks alone.”

He was standing just behind her, speaking over her shoulder. He was very still, the house was very silent. Millie was suddenly aware of danger.

”You must not say that, Mr. Callon,” she said rather sharply.

And immediately he answered, ”I beg your pardon. I had no idea my sympathy would have seemed to you an insult.”

He spoke with a sudden bitterness. Millicent turned round in surprise.

She saw that his face was stern and cold.

”An insult?” she said, and her voice was troubled. ”No, you and I are friends.”

But Callon would have none of these excuses. He had come to the house deliberately to quarrel. He had a great faith in the efficacy of quarrels, given the right type of woman. As Mudge had told Pamela, he knew the tactics of the particular kind of warfare which he waged. To cause a woman some pain, to make her think with regret that in him she had lost a friend; that would fix him in her thoughts. So Callon quarrelled. Millie Stretton could not say a word but he misinterpreted it. Every sentence he cleverly twisted into an offence.

”I will say good-bye,” he said, at length, as though he had reached the limits of endurance.

Millie Stretton looked at him with troubled eyes.

”I am so sorry it should end like this,” she said piteously. ”I don't know why it has.”

Callon went out of the room, and closed the door behind him. Then he let himself into the street. Millie Stretton would miss him, he felt sure. Her looks, her last words a.s.sured him of that. He would wait now without a movement towards a reconciliation. That must come from her, it would give him in her eyes a reputation for strength. He knew the value of that reputation. He had no doubt, besides, that she would suggest a reconciliation. Other women might not, but Millie--yes. On the whole, Mr. Callon was very well content with his night's work. He had taken, in his way of thinking, a long step. The square was empty, except for the carriages outside Lady Millingham's door. Lionel Callon walked briskly home.

CHAPTER XV

MR. MUDGE COMES TO THE RESCUE