It was the last straw, this! Peter Dale's voice shook with pa.s.sion.

"It's been a promise," he shouted, "for this many a year! A sop to the people it was, at the last election. There's one of us ought to be in the Cabinet--one of us, I say, not a carpetbagger!"

"We're the wrong type of man," Graveling broke in sarcastically.

"That's what he said. He was heard to say it to the Home Secretary.

The wrong type of man he called us."

Maraton suddenly changed his att.i.tude. He was momentarily conscious of Julia listening, from her place in the background, to every word with strained attention. After all, these men had doubtless done good work according to their capacity.

"My friends," he protested, "why do we bandy words like this? Perhaps it is my fault. I have had a long and tiring day, and I must confess that I to some extent resented a Labour man being set up against me, without a word of explanation. You mean well, all of you, I am sure, even if we can't quite see the same way. Don't let's quarrel. I am not used to Parties. I can't serve under any one. My vote's my own, and I don't like the political juggery of selling it here and there for a quid pro quo. We may sit on opposite benches, but I give you my word that there isn't anything in the world which brings me into political life or will keep me there, save the welfare of the people. Now shake hands, all of you. Let us have a drink together and part friends."

Peter Dale shook his head doggedly. He had risen to his feet--a man filled with slow burning but bitter anger.

"No, sir!" he declared. "Me and my mates have stood for the people for this many a year, and we've no fancy for a fine gentleman springing up like a Jack-in-the-box from somewhere else in the House, without any reference to us, and yet calling himself and advertising himself as the champion of our cause. Outside Parliament we can't stop you. The Trades' Union men think more of you, maybe, than they do of us. But inside you can plough your own furrow, and for my part, when you're on your legs, the smoking-room will be plenty good enough for me!"

"And for the rest of us!" Graveling agreed fiercely. "If you're so keen on being independent, you shall see what you can do on your own."

Dale was already on his way to the door, but Maraton checked him.

"Mr. Dale," he said, "you are an older man than I am, a man of much experience. I beg you to reflect. The feelings which prompt you towards this action are unworthy. If you attempt to send me to Coventry, you will simply bring ridicule upon a Party which should be the broadest-minded in the House."

Mr. Dale turned around. He had already crammed his black, wide-awake hat on to his head. Like all men whose outlook upon life is limited, the idea of ridicule was hateful to him.

"You mark my words, young man," he growled. "The one that makes a fool of himself is the one that's going to play the toady to a master who will send him to heel with a kick, every time he opens his mouth to bark! Go your own way. I'm only sorry you ever set foot in this country."

He pa.s.sed out, followed by Weavel. Graveling only lingered upon the threshold. He was looking towards Julia.

"Miss Thurnbrein," he said, "can I have a word with you?"

"You cannot," she replied steadily.

He remained there, dogged, full of suppressed wrath. The sight of her taking her place before the typewriter seemed to madden him. Already she was the better for the change of work and surroundings, for the improved conditions of her daily life. There was the promise of colour in her cheeks. Her plain black gown was as simple as ever, but her hair was arranged with care, and she carried herself with a new distinction, born of her immense contentment. Her supercilious att.i.tude attracted while it infuriated him.

"It's only a word I want," he persisted. "I have a right to some sort of civility, at any rate."

"You have no rights at all," she retorted. "I thought that we had finished with that the last time we spoke together."

"I want to know," he went on obstinately, "why you haven't been to work lately?"

"Because I have left Weinberg's," she told him curtly. "It is no business of yours, but if it will help to get rid of you--"

"Left Weinberg's," he repeated. "Got another job, eh?"

"I am Mr. Maraton's a.s.sistant secretary," she announced.

His face for a moment was almost distorted with anger.

"You're living here--under this roof?" he demanded.

"It is no concern of yours where or how I am living," she answered.

"That's a lie!" Graveling exclaimed furiously. "You're my girl. I've hung around after you for six years. I've known you since you were a child. I'll be d--d if I'll be thrown on one side now and see you become another man's mistress--especially his!"

He came a step further into the room. Maraton, who had been standing with his back to them, arranging some papers on his desk, turned slowly around. Graveling was advancing towards him with the air of a bully.

"Do you hear--you--Maraton?" he cried. "I've had enough of you! You can flout us all at our work, if you like, but you go a bit too far when you think to make a plaything of my girl. Do you hear that?"

"Perfectly," Maraton replied.

"And what have you got to say about it?"

Maraton shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"I don't know that I have anything particular to say about it. If it interests you to be told my opinion of you, you are welcome to hear it."

Graveling advanced a step nearer still. His fists were clenched, an ugly scowl had parted his lips. Julia came swiftly from her seat. Her eyes were filled with fury. She faced Graveling.

"Richard Graveling," she exclaimed, "I am ashamed to think that I ever let you call yourself my friend! If you do not leave the room and the house at once, I swear that I will never speak to you again as long as I live!"

He pushed her aside roughly.

"I'll talk to you presently," he declared. "It's him that my business is with now."

Maraton's eyes flashed a little dangerously.

"Keep your hands off that young lady," he ordered.

"You'd like her to protect you, would you?" Graveling taunted. "Listen here. I'm not the sort of man to have my girl taken away and made another man's plaything. Is she going to stop here? Answer me quickly."

"As long as she chooses," Maraton replied.

"Then take that!" Graveling shouted.

Maraton stepped lightly to one side. Graveling was overbalanced by his fierce blow into the empty air. The next moment he was lying on his back, and the room seemed to be spinning around him. Maraton was standing with his finger upon the bell. Julia was by his side, her eyes blazing. She spoke never a word, but as Graveling struggled back to his senses he could see the scorn upon her face.

Aaron and a man servant entered the room simultaneously. Maraton pointed to the figure upon the floor.

"Aaron," he said, "your friend Mr. Graveling has met with a slight accident. You had better take him outside and put him in a taxicab."

Graveling rose painfully to his feet. He was very pale, and there was blood upon his cheek. He leaned on Aaron's arm and he looked towards Maraton and Julia.

"Better apologise and shake hands," Maraton advised quietly.

Graveling seemed not to have heard him. He looked towards them both, and his fingers gripped Aaron's shoulder so that the young man winced with pain. Then without a single word he turned towards the door.

"Let him go!" Julia cried fiercely. "I am only thankful that you punished him. We do not want his apologies. I hope that I may never see him again!"

Graveling, who had reached the door, leaning heavily upon Aaron, turned around. His face, with the streak of blood upon his cheek, was ghastly.