Part 35 (1/2)

Brott sighed wearily, but already there was a change in him. His face was hardening--the lines in his face deepened. Grahame continued hastily--eagerly.

”Public men,” he said, ”are always at the mercy of the halfpenny press, but you know, Brott, your appearance so often in Society lately has set men's tongues wagging. There is no harm done, but it is time to stop them. You are right to want to understand these people. You must go down amongst them. It has been slumming in Mayfair for you, I know. But have done with it now. It is these people we are going to fight. Let it be open war. Let them hear your programme at Glasgow. We don't want another French Revolution, but it is going to be war against the drones, fierce, merciless war! You must break with them, Brott, once and for ever. And the time is now.”

Brott held out his hand across the table. No one but this one man could have read the struggle in his face.

”You are right, Grahame. I thank you. I thank you as much for what you have left unsaid as for what you have said. I was a fool to think of compromising. Letheringham is a nerveless leader. We should have gone pottering on for another seven years. Thank G.o.d that you came when you did. See here!”

He tossed him over a letter. Grahame's cheek paled as he read.

”Already!” he murmured.

Brott nodded.

”Read it!”

Grahame devoured every word. His eyes lit up with excitement.

”My prophecy exactly,” he exclaimed, laying it down. ”It is as I said.

He cannot form the ministry without you. His letter is abject. He gives himself away. It is an entreaty. And your answer?”

”Has not yet gone,” Brott said. ”You shall write it yourself if you like. I am thankful that you came when you did.”

”You were hesitating?” Grahame exclaimed.

”I was.”

Grahame looked at him in wonder, and Brott faced him st.u.r.dily.

”It seems like treason to you, Grahame!” he said. ”So it does to me now. I want nothing in the future to come between us,” he continued more slowly, ”and I should like if I can to expunge the memory of this interview. And so I am going to tell you the truth.” Grahame held out his hand.

”Don't!” he said. ”I can forget without.”

Brott shook his head.

”No,” he said. ”You had better understand everything. The halfpenny press told the truth. Yet only half the truth. I have been to all these places, wasted my time, wasted their time, from a purely selfish reason--to be near the only woman I have ever cared for, the woman, Grahame!”

”I knew it,” Grahame murmured. ”I fought against the belief, I thought that I had stifled it. But I knew it all the time.”

”If I have seemed lukewarm sometimes of late,” Brott said, ”there is the cause. She is an aristocrat, and my politics are hateful to her. She has told me so seriously, playfully, angrily. She has let me feel it in a hundred ways. She has drawn me into discussions and shown the utmost horror of my views. I have cared for her all my life, and she knows it. And I think, Grahame, that lately she has been trying constantly, persistently, to tone down my opinions. She has let me understand that they are a bar between us. And it is a horrible confession, Grahame, but I believe that I was wavering. This invitation from Letheringham seemed such a wonderful opportunity for compromise.”

”This must never go out of the room,” Grahame said hoa.r.s.ely. ”It would ruin your popularity. They would never trust you again.”

”I shall tell no one else,” Brott said.

”And it is over?” Grahame demanded eagerly.

”It is over.”

The Duke of Dorset, who entertained for his party, gave a great dinner that night at Dorset House, and towards its close the Prince of Saxe Leinitzer, who was almost the only non-political guest, moved up to his host in response to an eager summons. The Duke was perturbed.