Lady Caroom laughed softly.

“I have never heard you so eloquent in my life, Sydney,” she exclaimed.  “Do go on.  It is most entertaining.  When you have quite finished I can see that Mr. Brooks is getting ready to pulverize you.”

Brooks shook his head.

“Lady Sybil tells me that Mr. Molyneux is not to be taken seriously,” he answered.

Molyneux brought up his cup for some more tea.

“Don’t you listen to Lady Sybil, Brooks,” he retorted.  “She is annoyed with me because I have been spoken of as a future Prime Minister, and she rather fancies her cousin for the post.  Two knobs, please, and plenty of cream.  As a matter of fact I am in serious and downright earnest.  I say that Henslow won his seat by kidding the working classes.  He promised them a sort of political Arabian Nights.  He’ll go up to Westminster, and I’m open to bet what you like that he makes not one serious practical effort to push forward one of the startling measures he talked about so glibly.  I will trouble you for the toast, Brooks.  Thanks!”

“He is always cynical like this,” Sybil murmured, “when his party have lost a seat.  Don’t take any notice of him, Mr. Brooks.  I have great faith in Mr. Henslow, and I believe that he will do his best.”

Molyneux smiled.

“Henslow is a politician,” he remarked, “a professional politician.  What you Radicals want is Englishmen who are interested in politics.  Henslow knows how to get votes.  He’s got his seat, and he’ll keep it—­till the next election.”

Brooks shook his head.

“Henslow has rather a platform manner,” he said, “but he is sound enough.  I believe that we are on the eve of important changes in our social legislation, and I believe that Henslow will have much to say about them.  At any rate, he is not a rank hypocrite.  We have shown him things in Medchester which he can scarcely forget in a hurry.  He will go to Westminster with the memory of these things before him, with such a cry in his ears as no man can stifle.  He might forget if he would—­but he never will.  We have shown him things which men may not forget.”

Lord Arranmore, who had now joined the party, leaned forward with his arm resting lightly upon Lady Caroom’s shoulder.  An uneasy light flashed in his eyes.

“There are men,” he said, “whom you can never reach, genial men with a ready smile and a prompt cheque-book, whose selfishness is an armour more potent than the armour of my forefather there, Sir Ronald Kingston of Arranmore.  And, after all, why not?  The thoroughly selfish man is the only person logically who has the slightest chance of happiness.”

“It is true,” Molyneux murmured.  “Delightfully true.”

“Lord Arranmore is always either cynical or paradoxical,” Sybil Caroom declared.  “He really says the most unpleasant things with the greatest appearance of truth of any man I know.”

“This company,” Lord Arranmore remarked lightly, “is hostile to me.  Let us go and play pool.”